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Wayward Jul 25
What is it about you that haunts me?
I let you go so I can set you free.
You meant everything to me and we were forever,
But it isn't our time to be together.  

I was completely lost before I met you.
You gave me reason to live and direction to follow.
But now we're back at square one,
And the loneliness has already begun.

I promised you I'd never leave.
You promised never to let go of me.
Yet here we are, far apart in distance and in thought.
I wonder how we'd be if we hadn't fought.

Blocking is a blessing, and you used it well.
I regret my decision, now I'm in ****.
A life without you, is no life at all.
I just wish you'd pick up my call.

With several attempts I lost faith.
I think it's goodbye, this is our fate.
I'll always wonder if I made a mistake,
If I could've avoided all our heartache.

                                                     ­             -Wayward❤
I didn't really know how else to let go of my emotions. Its really bad, I agree, but I needed some sort of an outlet for the hurt I was feeling. Much love.
marïama Dec 2013
part of me wants to scream... i want to scream out to the world to get them to understand.
I want to scream until there isn’t a single breath left in my lungs, until they sting with the energy i’ve expended and my words hang in the air for all  to hear.
to be poet you must write with a certain passion
live with the satisfaction that you can constantly assemble phrases, words and lines
because to truly write you must feel..
you must freely write your emotion
you must learn to let go of your darkest secrets
allow the words to flow from your mind
emancipate yourselves from mental salvery
they cannot comprehend why I write,
I am working for inner peace,
fighting for the freedom of my soul
writing is my form of release , because sometimes
poetry is not a turning loose of emotion but an escape of emotion
moments when I start writing and yet know what I am even to write of
poetry is about discovering , just like happiness
these aren't things ready made
we fear what we know but do not understand
we are loose at the seems
pretending to fine
Azurel M Jul 23
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I'm not broken, I'm free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...

Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.

Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.

The man who has...
Pants swollen, hair to his brow,
Along his jaw,
Down his legs,
Sprouting from his toes.
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on his sheets, not between his legs
A beautiful girl lies beside him
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, scars, burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Maybe one day you will.
Any one who can relate to this but can’t say it, I hope I can be your voice.
Cné Sep 2017
Contemplate a teardrop,
and this is what I see.
A drop of moisture
from an irritation?
Some agree.

What is a teardrop made of,
just some water from a gland?
But brush it off and contemplate
the moisture on your hand.

It's also made of sorrow
or from pain that you may feel
A treasure of emotion
on your cheek
that might congeal

"Tears of happiness" are made
of joy or great suprise
That fall like rain in summer
from a pair of smiling eyes.

They course down cheeks in rivers
or collect on lashes there.
They form in silent puddles
when emotions are laid bare.

Tears are gems as precious
as a diamond that is mined
So do not take them lightly
if their origins you can't find.

They're made of things like music
that can make the heart take wing
Or how the soul can elevate
to hear an angel sing.
Just thinking
Inspired
Cné Jun 2017
There's a key
      that unlocks rainbows
             that I keep within my heart.
It's a little "catch"
      within my chest
             where melancholy begins to start.
It unlocks walls,
      emotions hide behind
              (for my protection).
And it cracks the shell
      surrounding me,
              to give my soul direction.
Without this key,
      I'll always be
              a fire detachment smothers...
An empty vessel,
      self-absorbed...
              bereft of love for others.
But with it...
      ah...then life becomes
              a carousel of feelings.
A roller coaster
      ride of love
             with ups and downs revealing....
all the colors of the rainbow
       all the tastes,
                the sounds, the rhythms..
all the warmth of sacred lovers
       and the heartbeat
               that's within them.
And the key is dual
        in purpose
               with it's compass so unerring;
Guiding to my soul-mates
       with a lifetime
               that's worth sharing.
So, when I've found my heart's desire
       THEN
               I'll set the rainbow free.
Unlock the words
      within my heart
               and throw away the key.
Daisy Marrow Aug 2013
Once I was a king loathed by my kingdom.
I was a machine built from the toughest iron nothing could break through.
I left my emotions to rust in the rain and murdered them in the cold night.
But I let my ego hold my strings and now I can't even treat a human right.
I meet a manic on the south side of town.
With a cane in hand and his mind locked in a birdcage since the war.
He was a maniac for trusting me and loving me and all my iron core.
I don't believe his tales for,
he is dead on the inside.
Departed from his heart,
He says he feels more alive this way.
With a cigarette in my hand, I hope for his life to never feel alone again.
Sherlock BBC
Sherlock/John
2013
ABOVE THE FUCHSIA COLORED CITY
IS A FRENCH ROSE COLORED SKY,
SWOLLEN WITH ANOTHER NAME
OTHER THAN CLOUDS COLORED
SALT AND BONES.

THE CITY'S AIR SMELL OF GREY
ELEPHANT'S BREATH AND POETRY.
I BLAME THE LEMONADE  COLORED
RAIN THAT DIDN'T FALL TODAY
FOR THIS CONUNDRUM.

MAYBE THE RAIN IS PROBABLY
SOMEWHERE SITTING STILL
IN THE HOT SEAT OR MAYBE IN
HEAVEN'S COLORLESS TIGHTLY
CLOSED LAP.
SITTING
               THERE
                          THINKING
                             ­                WHAT
                                                       COLORS                      
                                    ­                               GO
                                                                ­         BEST
                                                            ­                     WITH
                                                                ­                         WILD
                                                                ­                    EMOTIONS?
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