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Mariana Nolasco Dec 2013
I've been losing myself lately.

I don't know where to find me.
someone save me
Mariana Nolasco Oct 2013
Our breaths combined
Your heart melted in mine
As my heart melted in yours
Becoming one only
Beating in unison
Cutting through the silence
*Pushing away the shadows...
Mariana Nolasco Apr 2013
It’s a dream!*                                                          ­                
I scream to my insides

as I look for a way out of this place.
It’s a dream! Only a dream!                                                          ­
-But, it is not.

I hear footsteps.
Have I gone mad?                                                            ­    
No! They’re footsteps!                                                      ­        
Quick, find a way out.                                                            ­
I swoop, wave and brandish

That sword that was once useful.

Then I run, and then hide.

I pray, I beg and pant.

But they find me, and  t h e y  take me!
and more, I scream:

LET ME BE FREE!                                                         ­   
But
I                      
                        
can’t          
          
be…


I wake up.

In my bed, that’s old and *****.

And I cry, because I couldn’t save you in that dream

Just like I cannot save myself.

I don’t know,

if I am brave:

for I close my eyes yet once again

That, dry and glassy,

b e g  for some hours of peace

knowing that we are not alone.

That my Erinyes, just like ravens

Are sitting by the edge of the bed

Patiently waiting

Without a sound

For me to
turn    
off              
the                  
l                              
i                        
g                
h        
t...





*click
this poem does not rhyme because I first wrote it in another language. I thought someone could like it, so here it is. Do give feedback, please.
Mariana Nolasco Mar 2013
I think that the most common problem in society is getting confused between
"she looks happy" and "she is happy"
Mariana Nolasco Feb 2013
Will time really cure this wound?

Will it ever stop oozing my blood?

That is what all people assume

But what if this time, they’re wrong?

What if this time, I’ve gone

To the point of no return?

That one that tells me I’m doomed

Where not even time will help me bloom

When not even hope will keep me from being consumed

By this misery.. by my self-inflicted wounds?

What if this time, I've gone

To the dark place I call home

To the cloaks that keep me safe

Inside my mind, inside my brain

What if this time, I'm done.

What if I'm just simply gone.

What if tomorrow,

I'm dead

Will you miss me?

Will you pray?

Will you regret

Or will you laugh?

Will you cry

and will you lie?

Will you ever wonder




Why?                                                  ­                          .
Mariana Nolasco Feb 2013
How dreadful, that the world runs on money

and not peace

Terrible, isn't it?

That this causes joy

And   love   causes   tears.

How can we be scared, to share our dreams

Yet completely willing to ignore the screams

Of the children, the elders, these wisdom machines.

For the children, find a way, to live with nature, live in peace.

And the elders, they're all tired, of what seems to be

a never ending war, a fight for money, for control, from king to queen.

Aren't we to learn a lesson, from these people, from the kids?

Are we to stay with arms crossed, letting our world wither, disappear?

I refuse.

                 I refuse to stay in place and watch my world burn.

                                                                 I refuse to live blindfolded and believe the lies I hear today.
I refuse.
                I refuse.

  Does it make a difference?

                                     If I simply refuse...
  What can I do?

  What can I do to save us and save myself?
                                                                             To change this tragic ending,

                                                                                                                                So that we can start again
Mariana Nolasco Feb 2013
I am scared that my future children will be raised not by me, but by the media
I am terrified that they will change who they are to fit in.
I really wouldn't stand seeing them like robots,
Children of, not me, but society.
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