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"crossfires" poems
I don't even know where to begin with this one - nothing could have prepared me for you. Nothing. I KNOW mental health issues are real, but if stigmas are the rain-clouds baby you are a hurricane. No, more like a tornado, I finally understand why you can only get a few minutes warning to take cover. No one can predict the sudden build of pressure. It's palpable. Raises every hair on my back it is animal fear, all wide eyes, lizard brain and heartbeats. You lash out with the coordination of a drunk at the bottom of a bottle, sparing no one in the crossfires But as fast as it begins, it is over, and I am left shaking teary-eyed in the rubble and ruin wondering if that natural disaster was actually real. I look around and I can't figure out if I'm Dorothy or the witch beneath the house. And can a twister even hold remorse? I close my eyes and click my heels three times, wishing I was anywhere but here.
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Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 11:08 PM UTC
There's No Place Like Home
The crossfires Of our hearts desires Will never get us far. The lessons we learn And the rewards we earn Will shine as bright as a star. The burdens we carry Are nothing but heavy With all the doubts we face. In sickening times Within all the hateful rhymes We all eventually win the chase. Till death do us part Till the last beat of my heart I will never let you go. The darkness may come But never forget to hum The song of beautiful tomorrow. -n.s.
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Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
The Song of Tomorrow.
convinced she had no beauty, she stared at her own reflection into her pupils , down her throat , into her ear canals, until her own face morphed into something unrecognizable. she cut herself open , let her veins run like a stream , shed her skin, searching for any beauty that may exist deep deep down. and in her desperate searching she found it , lines and bumps and curves she once thought were horrid transformed before her eyes. in her constant and endless willing , wanting , wishing for them to be beautiful, they became. and the world started to notice , eyes widened , heads turned , hearts opened , and groins awoke and she reveled in her new-found power. she wrapped men and women alike around her dainty but deft fingers, shining jewels. her beauty was a power ignited and fueled by herself alone and she burned , a beautiful flame , with an intensity that left nothing but ash and scar in her wake. exhausted after ******* the life out of yet another and already seeing the next one willfully align in her crossfires, she tried to lessen the flame , to tame what she had now become , she wrapped herself in cloaks , shaved her lustrous locks , and swore herself to celibacy. but her beauty was unleashed and could not be returned to her dark depths. it shown through every crack and cloth and she ran , ran from herself , ran from the world. touch became sinful and painful and unwanted , gazes became violating , haunting , and she cried out at the world blaming them for being so weak and lustful and victim to the wills of the skin and she cried out at herself , brushing her finger tips over her own skin , for the power she had wished into being had become her greatest curse , the world , in which she only wished would see her , to love her , she consumed violently and she now found herself utterly alone , with only herself to love.
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Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
the curse of beauty
convinced she had no beauty, she stared at her own reflection into her pupils , down her throat , into her ear canals, until her own face morphed into something unrecognizable. she cut herself open , let her veins run like a stream , shed her skin, searching for any beauty that may exist deep deep down. and in her desperate searching she found it , lines and bumps and curves she once thought were horrid transformed before her eyes. in her constant and endless willing , wanting , wishing for them to be beautiful, they became. and the world started to notice , eyes widened , heads turned , hearts opened , and groins awoke and she reveled in her new-found power. she wrapped men and women alike around her dainty but deft fingers, shining jewels. her beauty was a power ignited and fueled by herself alone and she burned , a beautiful flame , with an intensity that left nothing but ash and scar in her wake. exhausted after ******* the life out of yet another and already seeing the next one willfully align in her crossfires, she tried to lessen the flame , to tame what she had now become , she wrapped herself in cloaks , shaved her lustrous locks , and swore herself to celibacy. but her beauty was unleashed and could not be returned to her dark depths. it shown through every crack and cloth and she ran , ran from herself , ran from the world. touch became sinful and painful and unwanted , gazes became violating , haunting , and she cried out at the world blaming them for being so weak and lustful and victim to the wills of the skin and she cried out at herself , brushing her finger tips over her own skin , for the power she had wished into being had become her greatest curse , the world , in which she only wished would see her , to love her , she consumed violently and she now found herself utterly alone , with only herself to love.
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We were walking down the highway Talking bout our desires How we planned to see the world Wanted to dance naked around fires He looked over at me And his eyes pierced into mine He said he never met a girl Who he thought was this fine I blushed and looked away And smiled and said you’re lying I knew that he wasn’t, but still I was trying We stopped off at the oak tree To marvel at its wonder All its branches reaching upward All the shade that it left under He grabbed up my hands Slipped his fingers in with mine We talked under that oak tree Till we lost all sense of time And the skies passed above us And the stars waged wars We got caught up in the crossfires Between our heads and our hearts When I woke up in the morning I was cold and alone I found laying on my heart A note that he had wrote It said you looked happy here But I had to keep going Know that I love you, and that this speaks nothing of you
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Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
Nothing of you
The sound of your voice, that feeling of you next to me- it used to be all I ever craved. Just wanting to spend time with you- get to know you- It's all I ever thought of, all I ever fantasized. I used to imagine the moment you'd walk up, and whisper. Whisper words that would make my heart skip a beat. With you, I wished to develop a love. A love so powerful that noone could ever tell us otherwise. Yet, you insist on war. You wish to fire away and prove you're superior. Strike, when I least expect it. Attack. Attack me witha sense of doubt in your heart. But my treasure, answer something for me. If you truly feel nothing, then why do you hesitate? Your passion for me is beginning to show through your amour of pride. A sense of stability is what you crave. But how can you when you're trapped between the crossfires of love and war?
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Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
Love and War