Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Rises Ash, fades to grey
Pigeons no longer rule this domain
Swans may not be eternal
My saving grace
is just a pretty face
BUT
God forbids my soul waste away.

Withering and flaxen
But under the sheer coat
Lies a endless darkening day
Souls that wasted away
Locked and loathed
Loved and
Scorned scorned scorned

Bottomless depths of darkness they say
Wasting away
God forbids my soul die away

In the trenches and shot
The death of the baby
I live to see no life
I live to die as wise

But
I'll leave a key
If your soul yearns
You'll reach me
Search the gravel
Search the dirt

All I want is
Angst
Depression
Optimism
Showy Seas
Consuming Me
Vanilla Lipsticks
No one saw the teenage boy
Fascinated by how well she hid her toys.

Embarrassed I am
O help the girl with severed dreams
I do not wish to live here
I do not wish to know this dream.
I do not wish to be a young lady
My words polite and sanitary

I wish to travel like a mad man
Like a dove
Like a regret-less old lady

Hair wisps
Eyes liquid
Soul watery

O Let me be
O Let me be, O Let me be

I was clinical
They were cynical
I was a psychologist
It was the crucible

Mind of a poet
Thinker of a historian
Lethal, lethal combination

Home is 1984
School is the Renaissance

That may not do

Embarrassed I am
Embarrassed You are too.
Teenage Angst
Problems
Sad
Melancholy
Swaying hair.
Brown wisps
Placating, Floating, Caressing.
The tiniest tinges of amber
Soft, soapy, strawberry
Little pints of pink
Swelling
Apple eyes
Blueberry skies
Brown, flickering
Fluttering eyelashes
Worn out pages
Crumpled copies
Crinkled, sprinkled, twinkled.
Swaying peach
Floating free
Specks of a lit red
Snowflakes
Coffees and Biro Pens
Messy scrawl and hasty chatter
***** nails, lips bare
Ears akin, smiles are not within
Late nights of films and English homework
Tattered textbooks, damp.
Gentle lift
Small, precise.
Danity and weighty
Nails afloat, teeth sunk in
Lips still bare
Eighteen.
Ribbons
Twisted Eyebrows
Bare lipped frown
Fear strikes
Brown wisps
Flicks of red
Pints of pink
Tattered copies of her death.
Unseen.
I glanced at her

She stared back.

I looked at her

She stared back.

I continued to glance at her

She stared back

I looked back at her

She stared back.

I kept my eyes on her

She glared back.

I looked at her

She glared back.

I stared at her.

She glared back

I looked at her.

She glared back

She stared back.

Just glaring, just staring, the dead corpse stilling in her arms.
This one is for the girl with unkempt hair and a messy soul.
Splattered in paint, ink dribbling on wrists.
Faces sprinkled with tears; gloss on a canvas.
Hearts sewn, bursting at its blood-spewn seams
Watching through her window,
Reminiscing her childhood dream.
The director calls for her, it’s her scene
Cream Cream Creamed
Nothing is what it seems
This one is for the girl with unkempt hair and the messy scenes.
They didn’t like my naked body.
My roughed up, pale skin
My nestled dark hair on the sides of my armskins
My tiny ******* peeking, cusp of womanhood

“The naked body isn’t natural, you’ve misunderstood.”

Oh okay, so today I’ll put on my miniskirt.

“You clearly hold no respect for yourself and are conforming to these Hollywood standards that a woman must look like a ****. How un-feminist of yourself.”

Oh, then today I’ll put on a dress.

“What are you doing? Conforming to patriarchy? To this idea that you must be the epitome of innocence and revel in this idea a girl must be a silly fool?”

Fine, today I’Il put on a T-Shirt.

“Goodness! No sense of style! No sense of class! No sense of taste! As a woman, you should be trying to look the part of one that is polished!”

What a ******* mess.
FINE! Maybe I should wear a nun’s dress!

“Oh no, today that’s suggestive, a costume for Halloween,”

Waxed
Shaved
Scrubbed
Plucked
Trimmed
Moisturized
Se­xualized
Materialized
Labelled
Packaged
Stored
Selling
Sold
Feminist, Feminism, Women
I am Munich

I am Paris

I am Edinburgh

I am New York City

But I am not New Jersey

I am not Bonn

I am not Alberta

I am where the city lights are

My life is a piece of art

I am where the symphonies lie

I am wherever Nabokov and Dali want me to be

I am on paints and pictures

I am temptation of rapture

Oh, Mister Nabokov, why this fate for me?   (I beg to you)

Oh, Miss Grey, why this fate for me?          ( I envy you)

Oh, Miss Banks, why this fate for me?        (I hate you)

Tortured ****
Next page