"contagious" poems
I LOVE MYSELF
With all my flaws
In my Beautifulness,
In my mistakes,
In my weakness,
In my darkness.
I love myself, because I am worth it.
I am a high power person who can move mountains with my love, thoughts and dreams
I am good, kind, funny, full of life and love, contagious with my explosive energy
Some things may be equally essential but nothing is more important than loving oneself
And at this moment the love I have for myself goes above and beyond.
It could reach the end of the universe if I just unwrap it
I love me in my inane, craziest, sanest, beautiful twisted, darkest and funniest way
I love me in a way that no one does
I love me in my fullest woes
I am everything that I can and will be
I am frightfully proud of my flaws and proudly wearing them as no one is perfect
This is the start of a new journey to me
The journey of love and self acceptance
The journey to fully embrace and value my own self
I allow myself to fall in my stupidest and biggest way, just to get back up and catch my breath again
Failure will not stop me but make me stronger
I am fully seeing me and smiling at my imperfected and distorted reflection
Hugging myself so tightly, refusing to let go
The more I am spending time with me,
The more and more my love grows
Is it bad for my health ? I do not think so.
It’s true, I am better, happier, more free, powerful, at peace
The sun is shining on me
I don’t need no help to be beautiful, ‘cause I’ve got me
I’ve got that uncontainable light from within me
I am smoldering a treasure, sharing laughter, joy and sadness with myself
I have learnt the phases of myself
So distant from that little insecure girl I used to know
As I allow her opinions to matter
I have accepted her difference
Her different kind of beauty, I have learned to love
This feeling of wholeness, self acceptance, comfort and love, is liberating
I wrap myself around my contorted and beautiful else to form a ME
As I am, Raw and Real
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
Friendship isn’t about being liked
It isn’t about being invited to that party
It isn’t about being picked first in gym class
It isn’t about being popular
Friendship is about having that shoulder to cry on when you’re not invited
When you’re picked last
When you’re sitting alone at lunch
It’s about having that person who lets you be you
Who makes you feel good
loved
proud
Therefore friendship isn’t about just anyone to me
It’s about one
It’s about one girl who makes me feel all these things
Who makes me feel good
loved
proud
It’s about one girl who is always there for me
Who makes me smile every morning
Who makes me want to be better but still makes me happy to be me
It’s about my best friend
But it’s not about how we’re best friends, anyone could be
It’s about the million little things, that no one could be but her
It’s about the way she’s always happy to see me
It’s about the way she laughs with me when everyone else stares
It’s about how when she smiles, she glows and it’s contagious
It’s about the way she just is, and how it makes me
Everything about her, the million little things that make her up
That is what our friendship is to me
That’s what friendship is
It’s love.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 8:52 PM UTC
Lovesick and you've got the cure.
Got all these symptoms. You know what for.
Don't be afraid of this contagious disease,
Just take my requisition form.
I've made room for you in my atria and ventricle.
You're the capillary to my arteriole and venule.
You're the amniotic fluid to the child in my heart.
I find you even in the interstitial parts.
Treatment like uours is like a centrifugAl force.
So be the **** stasis my heart is longing for.
Some homeostasis is what we need.
We will make compromises to succeed.
Lay me supine and you in prone.
Sensory neurons fire
Exocrine glands make to pressure
Spark endocrine glands to hear you moan.
Without your heart I'd be anemic.
Withiutbyour arms I'd be half a paraplegic.
Your kisses give me air, without them I'm cyatonic.
You're the fibrin in my veins, to my pain an anesthetic.
I'm ready for some long-term care and affection.
Got a chronic condition that needs your attention.
I k now I'm concluded, parts of me sclerosed.
Don't wait post mortem to know that you're the most.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
Never let someone else decide how good you are. And never make an exception to that rule.
Your words, and your unique we of expressing them, are a gift given to you. If someone else doesn't appreciate them, then good for them. It's not their gift, so it has nothing to do with them. Its your responsibility to respect your gifts and to protect them from negativity; typical of these lower life forms, called Haters; annoying little creatures that feed off of other people's energy and hard work - they spawn fairly quickly and dewl in the depths of social media, hidden behind computer and smartphone screens. Usually over-weight, bad breath, single and filthy broke. Hindered by limited hand-eye coordination; they simply **** at every thing. They are pretty pathetic, in person. I mean they look human, but have no spinal cord, so they don't stand up straight. Their habitats similar to that of a large roach, just messier with and more filth. I hear they are contagious, so be careful. Don't let their negativity rub off on you, or you will end up like one of them. A soulless zombie, paroling posts looking for a something stupid to say.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
I hope that you will smile today
and give yourself a break.
A smile can be great medicine.
It helps when hearts might ache.
Perhaps, if you try hard enough,
the smile becomes a grin.
And when you've worn it long enough,
you'll feel it grow and then...
The grin becomes a chuckle
and it then becomes a laugh.
And everyone will wonder if
you've made a social gaffe.
For laughter is contagious
and it helps to get us through.
Here's hoping that today will bring
some happiness to you.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and
Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and
revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial! Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,
neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ****** exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,
perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and
pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,
song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,
India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
Don’t fall in love with me.
There are days when I get sad without a reason and I just stare at the ceiling with tears streaming down my face.
Don’t fall in love with me.
On those days, I don’t talk to anyone. I just bury myself in my bed and think about how I became this mess of sadness.
Don’t fall in love with me.
I will become attached to you and I will cry myself to sleep if you don’t text me good night before you go to sleep and I will convince myself that it’s because you got tired of me.
Don’t fall in love with me.
I’m too much. I will depend on you. I need attention, much more than other people. I’ll talk to you in metaphors and make you one. I’ll write poems about you and opening up my skin at 2 A.M.
Don’t fall in love with me.
I couldn’t stand you coming home to find me on the bathroom floor shaking and crying, with blood spilling from my wrists. I couldn’t stand seeing the disappointment in your eyes.
Don’t fall in love with me.
I will pour everything I’ve left of me into you, every bit of love, until I have nothing to give. Until I become completely empty.
Don’t fall in love with me.
I’m scared that my sadness is contagious.
Don’t fall in love with me.
I will replay your sweet words in my head when I hate myself so much that I want to die. Your words will be the only thing that make me stay.
Don’t fall in love with me.
You will live in fear. You won’t be able to leave me, because you’d know if you did, I wouldn’t have anything to live for.
Don’t fall in love with me.
Before I met you, there wasn’t a single person who could’ve made me stay. You’re my reason now.
Don’t fall in love with me.
Because I will fall in love with you.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
It happened in the dark of the night,
Scrolling through a story line my attention was caught by a picture,
She carried a wondrous smile, bright and very warm and inviting,
In response I began to smile as well, beaming in the somber night,
Though my smile was not a mirror, it was distorted, yet brighter,
I soon understood that my body wanted me to carry on, shine on,
Not stopping despite having no reason to grin I began to chuckle,
The moonlit night had turned crimson, yet it was more luminous,
Was it because of my means, my very purpose of being a bound,
Bound to time and fate that I couldn't recall to stop smirking ?
Or was it the blooming of a flower in this phantomed moonlight ?
I must've stopped asking questions, of transient content,
Because, they would ruin the beauty of this contagious expression,
Ending up losing the track of time or any means whatsoever,
I fell asleep by the melody of the wind, as itecho's through the valley,
Even if tomorrow were never to arrive, I wouldn't care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes.
~ Umi
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad
Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last
A routine that is now muscle memory.
Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.
Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard
Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.
But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.
Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike, how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?
Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race
Although a place feared –
Africa.
My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
cultures
languages
All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.
Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
Home.
Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.
She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.
My Africa –
is beautiful.
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
Inner beauty is to me
The hardest and easiest thing to see
Hard because of the world we're in
Easy because my eyes aren't dim
Don't get down because of your reflection
Because inner beauty is like a contagious infection
When you find it, others do too
So to be beautiful, it's all up to you
Everyone has it, though it's not always found
You must believe in you and turn your life around
Because when you glow everyone will see
The true you and your inner beauty...
- max friedman
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
A rainy dreary Halloween from 2006.
Candlelit late night
bedroom phone calls.
Your dream about a train ride and mushroom farmers.
My dream about hidden cities.
"I want to feed you ****** and a muscle relaxer and **** the **** out of you"
How long has it been Now?
Too long maybe, some lines are stretched too thin, through waiting and longing, love and lust and the once closest of friendships,
Stretched like Taffy till nearly gossamer strands wound meandering miles of complex life events and other unshared memories.
A too familiar voice.
Echoes of "I want you to have the perfect blow job"
Spaces in conversations that would have been empty if not for the most contagious laugh I've ever heard.
One not matched before or since.
Can you live in the past and long for the future? Is it greedy to desire more of something that was already so sweet? I don't tell anyone about my dreams now. Candles sit on.the shelf primarily unlit.
There are no more secret cities.
No mushroom farmers or train rides
But there are still threads
Stretched like Taffy but woven like a tapestry.
Across time and distance.
Made of memories.
All you'd have to do Is tug on a thread.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Inner beauty is to me
The hardest and easiest thing to see
Hard because of the world we're in
Easy because my eyes aren't dim
Don't get down because of your reflection
Because inner beauty is like a contagious infection
When you find it, others do too
So to be beautiful, it's all up to you
Everyone has it, though it's not always found
You must believe in you and turn your life around
Because when you glow everyone will see
The true you and your inner beauty...
- max friedman
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
My sisters have witchy feet.
Their words, not mine.
If someone else puts them down
I firmly draw the line.
When they are laughing,
Just because they are together,
The joy I hear from them
Seems to change the weather.
It might be chilly or gray
But today the clouds evaporate.
Inside it’s all warm and cozy,
And I do not exaggerate.
They manage to find something
That they can all laugh about
Even when that laughter rises
To the level of three sided shouts.
It usually starts when one dances
And turns it into a wiggle.
Then all three of them break out
In wild, uncontrollable giggles.
Or a memory will get triggered
Of something outrageous
And the laughter takes over.
It is immediately contagious.
I am always rewarded by this
Circus of the instantly absurd
That turns into the best of all
Sounds I have ever heard.
May I wish all of you have
What has happened to me;
To have such close members
Of our often silly family.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
I have a sickness,
which is contagious,
spreading with quickness,
which is outrageous.
Every person I look upon,
is struck with the feelings of hate,
soon these feelings will be gone,
as someone else carries this weight.
Is there a cure for what I feel?
Must i react with such zeal?
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
My King,
At sixteen we have the world at our feet.
We're building our future with unsteady hands.
One day we might run, leaving this little town in the dust.
Hand in hand. Crowns atop our heads.
The two of us against the world, off to build our own castle.
Battles raging around and between us, but we will win them.
One day we will walk through the doors of our castle, our kingdom, our home.
One day our story will be told.
They will tell it.
We will tell it.
To the little princess or prince that fills our castle with the pattering of little feet, beyond contagious laughter, and more mess than we'll feel we can handle.
It will be wonderful, an adventure we face together.
A journey through life, all our own
Love, your Queen.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 8:46 PM UTC
You're my storm cloud disguised as sunshine
but your masquerade never stops the rain.
Laughs like lightning flashing across your face
sharp and dangerous, followed by the thunder of
my ignorance, cluing you in on how far your lies
stretch into my desperation to be wanted.
Lightning.
Thunder.
Oh I never thought
I was that funny
Your electric strings
Pull the punch lines out of my mouth.
Thunder.
The lightning's best friend.
Thunder.
You must really like me
You must have told your friends about me too.
Because that cackles coming out of their
throats when I tell a joke sound just like
the storm, the zigzags of fire that tear through the clouds.
telling me how funny I am, how much they love having me around.
How you need me.
Time for my response… its my job right?
Thunder.
Thunder.
Why is it now that the way you curl your lips
when I make my jokes
looking
less
and less
like a smile?
Your friends know that shape
and they know how to make their lips look the same way.
Is it some contagious thing that they all have, and disease
passed around the room every time that lightning escapes.
But they all think I am funny
It must just be a friend thing…
I should learn how to do it too.
Thunder.
Thunder.
Streaming pixels
Blurry faces of “friends”
it must have been a mistake
The love me
next time,
I’ll make sure to clear it up with them
why wouldn't they want me to attend?
Thunder.
Thunder.
Glances like knives
Darting through the air like flies
and infestation of insects that
carry messages that
I don’t understand.
But they do.
Like a major league team
catch after catch
never missing those eyes that
seem a little bit darker
and a little bit colder.
Passing the ball around the bases
returning the favor.
Why can’t I grip ball that seems to bind
them all together
leaving trails of
text messages
and parties
that I was not invited to
this ball that seems to always
keep me on the outfield.
And how come everytime that ball goes
around
and
around….
its feels like
a punch to the stomach
never ceasing to knock me
down
and
leave me
breathless.
This must be what friendship feels like…
Thunder.
Is it?
because I look around
these hallways
where I always walk to fast
trying to keep up
yet I am always
one
step
behind.
I see that
these other girls
walk in straight lines
arms joined so that no one
falls
too
far behind
yet I’m always walking in
dizzy circles
wondering when they will
turn around to see if I am
still following,
still standing,
still funny.
Thunder, the lightning's best friend…
but that is never who I was to you.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC
pompeii runs through our veins,
hot with the taste of ash & decay.
some of us are fortunate enough to
become ruins; others are ruinous,
sepulchers of epidemics, air-born, contagious.
a disease that could make London a cemetery.
we dress ourselves up like relics, clothed
in silk and gold and gossamer,
as if they could one day be armor.
as if they could bring us safety.
as if we deserve such things when everything we touch rusts.
it takes only twenty-two years for the
average person to realize they are a weapon.
that words are knives and actions are razor blades,
as if to remind the living that we
came into the world screaming—
and we have never been silent since.
we are the Morrigans, the cursed women,
those whose destiny is entwined with death.
we court death, invite her to our dinner table every night,
let her sleep in the guest room, leave the doors and
windows unlocked for her.
death, we realize as women forced to bear
the weight of the dead on our shoulders,
never comes as a thief.
she comes as a lover, smelling of lilac, a grin
too white and too large to be human.
still, we invite her in,
because even death, regardless of form,
makes for better company than the empty dark.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
If you weren't dark skin you'd blush,
You and your pleasantly "spring" demeanor,
blooming smiles in secret inside your hazmat suit,
from any type of feelings,
you are already infected,
-- and contagious,
yet refuse to admit the goosebumps
on your neck,
without the fortunate luxury of showing your emotion
society has deemed you timeless,
an eloquent flagrant aroma,
the definition of fine wine with a zest -- a spiciness of an impatient "summer",
you are warm,
and the stem of your smiles comes with thorns of poison,
weapons of mass destruction,
so you're cloaked,
tucked away from societal norms,
and expectations -- who are we to judge,
you are correct,
your skin,
is the right tone,
to
grab the attention for all the unwelcome,
literal and figuratively baring a cluster of
ideas,
wants,
desires -- requested by only the elite,
pasteurized and preserved until then.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
I remember you
from your beautiful smile
your cinnamon scented hair
your contagious laughter
your nail-biting addiction
your pointless insecurities
to our silly inside jokes
our dumb little fights
our peculiar bets
our goofy text messages
through tears and smiles
you were the only one who understood
my unspoken words
my concealed pain
my unexpressed happiness
my puzzled feelings
counting your days
we recalled our mischievous memories
when we danced in the rain
when we rang doorbells and ran away
when we pranked the gullible ones
when we stole Ikea pencils
when we fangirled over stunning guys
when we were together
everything turn into excitements
moments with you
I remember them all, Grace
it was a week before December twenty-fifth
when the monstrous cells stopped your heart
a glimpse of smile
appeared upon your face
as you're being taken
far away from us
skin turned pale
body stiffened
tears flooded my sight
there were wailing across the room
time flies like a bullet train without you
it's a rainy day today
you've always loved rainy days
sinking my knees in the dew-wet grass
raindrops whisper in my ears
as I brush off the gray snow from your stone
I still remember you, Grace
I still do
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
what i cant understand
is how people can write poetry about the flowers
or the sunshine
it just seems so irrelevant
when there are so many more beautiful things to write about
like your dainty, thin, long fingers
and the way your lips emit a tiny bit of air when you pronounce ‘th’ words
your towering, awkward, bony body
loosely, limply entwined in mine
that make up your gentle, comforting hugs
how melodic your voice is, almost lulling me to sleep
your contagious, animated smile
how you write as if embroidering the pages
gracefully, an art
and the words float mid-lines
reflecting how your thoughts float among the clouds
doolally detonations of enigmatic pure excitement
over the most extraneous of matters
your eyes, the captivating bluish-steel of a mid-winter night sky
their flare, and the way they light up when you maunder lovingly of such passions
alas perhaps, poetry about plants or the weather are just as beautiful
but i
would not know
for even the planet, and nature
and sheer beauty of life
seems pale
in prejudiced comparison to your radiance
and how bright you make
my insides feel
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Your colors are so heavy, how dare I, I cannot sleep. Years inundated under, through skin coils, marigold fields. Yellow crocuses, orange California poppies. Moors of cattle ranchers, yokes of oxen. Plasticine uber-confidence, silky white-skinned testubular thrice people harmonies. Blisses of contagion, contagious bliss. Wrists and incisors, tying down in a bedroom, waking up to live harps and choruses. You dance like you're so alive, but I'm so alive I can't dance. Or breathe. Or knead my fists of earthen wears, or sell my soul completely. I drove off a cliff last night, but the four foot fall ended neatly. The plateau authors my chance to sew my bright, beyond- my fortunes. But the hour before I fall asleep, seems to be the greatest torture.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
Her man had left for California.
Left her with nothing but the dog
to fight the emptiness of her apartment.
She told me she couldn't sleep anymore,
told me she couldn't eat anymore.
She got sick,
so sick— swore that it was
tuberculosis, malaria, typhoid fever—
My experience led me to my own diagnosis;
another case of a love long lost.
I didn't have the heart to tell her.
Instead I slept with her,
despite the risk of sickness.
She was afraid it was contagious.
I laughed, told her I would
take the risk.
I stayed there two weeks, laughing.
She could eat again,
she could smile again,
she made up love late into the night.
It seemed like this
quarantine was paradise.
Till up one night there was a
knock on the door.
It seemed like her bags
were already packed.
It seemed like she was gone
within the few moments it took to see
who it was behind the door.
Told me to lock up the
apartment, leave the key under the
*** of wilted hydrangeas.
He was back from California.
It seemed like she was cured—
of her malaria, her yellow fever, her cholera—
Just like that, a clean bill of health.
A modern day
miracle.
It seemed to have been
contagious,
after all.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
I look down at my hands
There I see they seem to be fading away
I feel like a pill dissolving in a cup of water
I can no longer see my hands
Just a blur of my wrists
The fading continues
Why do I have to leave when everyone else can stay
I am leaving
Leaving forever
I try to call for help
But no one answers
I see everyone else carrying on
but no one talks
No one helps
I can tell they know I am here
Side glances
Whispers
They know I need help
Maybe they just don’t want to
Maybe they don’t want to be needing help too
Loneliness isn’t contagious
I am fading more
Now I know they want no part of me
Now I am almost gone
I will be gone forever
I wonder what they will do
When I am gone
I don’t think they will care
If they don’t care when I need help
Why would they care when I don’t
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 7:10 PM UTC
Moon is not beautiful
She doth not shine golden
She drops weakened, white light
on creatures craving sleep
She sits there and stares
At a frightened little world
with her cold, chilling glow
and a hostility deep
It's ingrained in her soul
to make the nimbus look fearsome
ghastly and pale
like a place to hide demons
She debases belief
We forget our star-wish
and thick, we go fishing
at nighttime
And then, Moon releases
a loneliness, cold
and we can't elude
we're stuck in the hole of
This brooding solitude mood
and its tole.
There's no escaping anytime soon
As we start to fear
the burning sun
And I suppose, this is my loathing of Moon.
Moon is contagious.
She offers the aid of her presence, unfailing
When we're washed down like willows, weakened
and wailing
And we can sail under her
Just as the dime
It's a lie that the night's
only clock-start for crime
When she's out from the hiding place
to be bright as Moon can
There's not a direction
No footpath
No overworked plan
And when I remember:
Beauty needs not a rival
I suppose I'll be loving Moon, soon again.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
We all just want to be truly free,
Of all the hatred and misery.
But the limitations of humans, you see,
Is that we can't decide what's meant to be.
We can't control what happens around us,
Not even prevent tragedies that faze us.
And while happy and sad are simultaneous,
It seems only the depression becomes contagious.
Life is hard, and we all know,
When only a mask, can we show.
Only one can relate and help us grow,
But the breeze carrying love, will rarely blow.
I just want to live in happiness,
Feel nothing but the eternal bliss.
But the only thing that brings me this,
Comes from her lips, that one special kiss.
But what do I do when she's not here?
She may not return, that's what I fear.
Her time to go, seems to be near,
But I can't let go when I hold her so dear.
Each day that passes, what grows is her pain,
And as a human, it's what I can't contain.
I'd love to die, but I must refrain,
Because that would just drive her totally insane.
We don't want to be, not at each others' side,
But The Lord didn't make that for us to decide.
To know this just happens, sounds like genocide,
Losing her is like breathing cyanide.
We can only see through our own eyes,
We can't comprehend another's demise.
It's this very limit that I despise,
Because I'll never know when her soul cries.
The limitations of being human,
Make us permanent catechumens.
Only she could restore my faith,
But lost I will be, shall I see her wraith.
She is all that matters to me,
Together forever, we wished we could be.
My soul can't escape the depths of this Hell,
Without her, there I'll eternally dwell.
But her soul being a pure white dove,
She saves me with her beauteous love.
So I beg thee great Lord, not bound like us,
Save her, it's You to whom, her I entrust.
She's the one who takes away,
The sins that always lead me astray.
Lord, you know, for you are not I,
She's my Angel, I see in both eyes.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC