Somewhere in the willows
You hear it through the walls
Starts as a whisper
But then it soon calls
Make your way to
The adventure that awaits
You are the key
That opens the gates
Troubles and trickery
A daring little spell
Bring your wits about you
Hope it goes well
Witches are brewing
Skeletons will dance
Vampires are preying
You'll be put in a trance
Haunted are the willows
Who call out your name
Answer to them
You must finish the game
You won’t live there forever.
One day, you will leave this place, and you will
take all of your things with you. You will decide what to keep and what to throw away.
When you are cleaning out your home,
emptying your room,
what will you do with my skeleton in your closet?
you are the aftermath of what happens when
we stop holding our breath, stop
boxing things up and start to let them breathe.
I am the aftermath of everything
I keep in my bed at night, but I'm learning that I can crush bones
as easily as being crushed.
I am the shards of sharp things we all
tiptoe around to avoid, I am
the softness that settles in your bones when you decide
to stop running away. Add up the cost of
sleepless nights and kissing pavements, toss the body counts
I think you've seen enough cold fingers
for this life.
Make your home in me, let the dust settle gently
over the contours of these walls;
it may be a little
bleak at times, but when you come home here you won't
have to leave any piece of you at the door, you won't have
to tread lightly or keep
your voice soft.
I'm taking it all in with fresh bursts
of inspiration, drawing you like the only
way out, and I hope
as you're waking up and fitting
your hands around new promises,
you'll leave a blank space for me to write
my name into, I'll be marking
my skin with things we say
and do, I'll be cleaning
out my closet to put your skeletons into.
So many things to look at – pretty
Girls with short hair, long hair,
Brunettes and blondes
Short and tall – they have secrets
They’ve got them all
The nice ones, too stuck on plans
To ever be free, college and marriage
Is all the dreams the see
The tall ones, those with
Beautiful smiles and smoking bodies
Their lights blotted out by insecurities
But who of them will look through me
And who can see the person
That I’d truly wish to be
I stand here, waiting for something
In between it all; someone who
Sees me for that which I am
A girl that doesn’t run from the skeletons
In my Titanic-sizes closet
And doesn’t die from boredom
When I sit still, when times get calm
But I’ve been here before
And I loved my time here, yet
How could I even sit still
With the cries I hear at night
I'm clueless as to how to fall in love
I think it should have happened
At this point, or maybe even long before
My mouth and lips are on someone’s thighs
The cheap guitar I own, neglected in the corner
You and me, for now, is all there is
It won’t last long
Until I won’t see you
Just like you never
Truly saw me.
A poem about my ability to misjudge others instead of giving them a chance.
I don't know how to not count
my footsteps, I tread
lightly on foreign ground because I fear
any semblance of change and I fear
disturbing this place and time with my presence.
take it all out of me. It comes
back to me with flashes behind my eyelids, but I'm learning
to let the dust settle after I brush it off
of my hands.
Late night promises turning into
roadmaps to lead us through the half-plans and changing seasons,
I scarf this down with abandon because time
does not always wait for us and so I want to inhabit
all the corners of your psyche before it is too late, before we take a wrong turn and the maps
we drew up no longer apply.
******* solitude, it ripens
with the sweetness of new fruit because, after all,
even I can change, and it seems you've sculpted
a masterpiece out of me while I played
unaware in your
Toss this up into the wind, I have no need of maps
in the future I seek - it is golden all
on its own, and the wrong turns become calculated into
peaceful accidents, new paths into
foreign horizons. I slide these uncertainties
out of their shells and break
them open in the clean
spring air - you always told me to
clean out my closet before worrying
about someone else's.
Do these dreams learn to take flight
in the morning, or remain stagnant like dust
settling over old skeletons?
I'll leave that up to
the sunrise and fate's clumsy fingers, she leaves
me hanging often but in the end her blunders
are always suited to some unknown purpose.
Skeletons in the closet,
Voices in your head.
Cobwebs in the corners,
Monsters under the bed.
Ghosts from the past,
Shadows on the floor.
If I face mine,
Will you face yours?
One bottle of wine all to myself
Didnt even need a glass
Just drank straight out of the bottle
Not one person aware
Just as I prefer it
Im sure it will come to a head
As soon as my tongue touches that one drop
that will push my limit
Everyone will hear it time and time again
Cant keep it bottled up
But for now, I'll keep the bottle up
Don't want to talk just yet, but it will allll come out eventually
Sometimes we wonder why the past haunts us;
I think it’s because
we can never know where we’re going, we can only know
where we’ve been,
and sometimes where we’ve been feels like
stomachs lined with barbed wire, sometimes it feels like
reaching for a glass of water but finding kerosene instead.
I’m starting to think that I’m going
somewhere warmer, I’m starting to hope
of a place where the sun falls on my shoulders in
soft dappled patterns, a place where my hands
are free to be held, instead of dragging
old skeletons out of the dirt, instead of swallowing
pills just so that I can breathe.
I’m starting to hope that the places I’ve been are
a fading flicker on the way
to something better; and I’ve found
a certain something that sits in my stomach like an antidote
to all the anxiety I used to consume.
The best part is that all of these things
I have a tendency to drudge up are just there, they don’t
possess me like they used to
they don’t make their home in me anymore and they don’t
rattle their skeletons against my ribcage when I breathe.
I’ve learned that the softest remedies can be found
during the lowest of lows; I’ve found
that the truth to the madness is never
going to be where you are searching for it.
In graveyard of an ego mind
little skeletons of old thoughts
attempt to rise.
They dance about
trying to gain a life after death.
They move as zombies
with dead cells
harboring fear, lack, and judgment.
My focus on grave-site
is imperative before
virus of negativity spreads.
Affirmations rock solid cover
with intent to for
evermore put them rest.
as mind realigns with heart.
A place where now flowers grow
warmed with the sun's
vibrations of love.
Inspired by Ankit Kumar Upadhyay Thanks
The skeletons in my closet,
keep me company.
Running from my problems,
I cannot see.
It's all going too fast.
It's all just passing me by
I'm pushing and pushing and pushing the rock up the hill
But it's pointless
It just falls back down,
The world's a blur
My feet are tired.
We're at a standstill
Lost track of time.
My life's just passing me by.
//i swear i'm not as emo RAWR XD as my poems make me seem\\