Little smile
Written on a sheet of notebook paper
Guitar strings
Plucked by a boy who's midnight hair masks his true personality

Shy kid of 17
No visible emotions just strings
Guitar strings

You look at him with broken promises from past lovers tattooed to your pupils
While the only thing made permanent in his are music notes
And though those are there for you too
The cons outweigh the pros

An open mic night
Who could've guessed that what I was planning on as
"just another open mic"
might have turned into this

But things don't always go as planned
For me they almost never do
And while I usually try to view the glass as as full
More times than not things turn out the opposite way
Leaving me...
Half empty

So think of this poem as your warning
I know more than anyone that sometimes it may seem like my baggage is deemed too heavy to carry
And if it appears to be too much for you
Just do me a favor and let me know before I unpack into your space

Guitar strings caught my attention
Loose threads on the sweater of my unraveling attention span

Take a chance
Take the plunge
Let yourself fall into a new romance
Don't think
Just.. Do.

I am a sheet of music
I start quietly building on the quartet of Strings
the Violin starts a shimmering sound
backed up with the viola
the solemn sound of the cello
and the ground breaking bass
united in harmony

There is a rest a break in note
I am part of a Symphony an overture
out of the heart of the music
a quiet roll
the timpani building in sound
full orchestra building in amazing ******


Fireworks, Percussion, Brass, Woodwind, Strings
Combined together in unity
performing to the quality levels of sound
the amazing Tchaikovsky in 1812

Creativity and Imagination
shaking the core of the earth

We live another complication everyday,
Adding another thread to bind us.

It's been so long...
Can't move my wings, my limbs--
How did I get stuck?
Did I do this to myself?
The *puppeteer is pulling too hard!
I want to move,
But I can't
I'm twisted up,
The thread is too tight;
I can feel the dread of suffocation on the horizon.
I'm trying, I'm fighting,
I want to be free!
But I can't move anymore...

The thread won't let me,
The strings are being pulled too tight--
My prison, it cuts into my skin,
I can barely breathe enough to live on...
I want this suffering to end!

Aah! Yes...
I remember now,
I took the thread of my own free will!

It started that day...
When I heard them speak,
I did as they asked,
And the thread wound around me.
I didn't ask for answers and didn't speak of my questions;
I kept on going where their path lead,
And I ended up here:
Suffocated, stranded, in naïve ignorance.

Even though the puppeteer wants me to move,
Even though I can feel his anxiety to help;
He can't do a thing.
The thread has been wound too tight,
*If the thread won't snap soon,
I will.

The days are numbered.
As the grey falls upon us,
With every other mind wondering
You tear me down like a succubus.

With your elegant, mystical being,
And my prudence as I believe what I'm seeing.
You dwell well in silence, hiding in the shadows.
Hiding a smile behind that askance, a laughter that carols.

But, I am courageous, though.
Willing to take that leap.
I just need you to know, love.
That I have no strings on me.
- Aks

If your heart
truly had strings,
I would wear my
fingertips raw
in search of your melody.

Pull my strings
my puppet master
Lift my feet
and walk faster

Set the stage
make the scene
Raise the curtain
going to please

Music plays
Hit the spot
White light flash
Devious plot

Applause is heard
Silence beckons
Disbelief
All is reckoned

Made you smile
or made you cry
Drop my strings
The puppet died

When the strings stop strumming
Where does the music go?

Puffs of thistledown
floating in the air.

Lovely lady
dark blue plums
and the tracery of lace.

'Toot' says a trumpet
to the cry from a clarinet.

Tinkling piano notes
flowing
lilting, rippling, fleeting
fleeing.

Bows, strings and violins.

Echoes of yesterday
fading into grey.

Sorry I can't be one of your subject

Is that what you want me to do

Sorry I can't be a little perfect

I'm Just that shallow to you

Maybe I am somewhat translucent

I can only let so much through

Sorry I'm not so as weird or different

It's not bad to blend in 

you

Don't have to serve as an image

Like everyone else wants to

You try to play the part

I don't have purple hearts 

You only tear me apart

Whoa oh uh oh oh

Whoa oh uh oh oh 

I'm not Your thing

I don't have puppet strings