I sat next to a boy with the prettiest hands on the bus; I
was too scared to look him in the eye. They reminded me of
yours, thin and pale and with veins laced through them of
the palest lilac. I sat across from a woman on the train
today and her eyes were the most captivating thing I'd ever
seen, a sparkling amber that caught gold in the light. But
it wasn't until I followed her off onto the platform and saw
the stretch marks, like bolts of lightning, like cravasses in
a cliffside, the same stretch marks that you hate so much on
your own skin, the ones i trace with the tips of my fingers
as we attempt to inhale each other, between her shirt hem
and pants' waistline, that I realized just how much she
looked like you. I see you everywhere, and in everyone.
One shade of your eyes glinting in a passing subject sends me
into crippling nostalgia for the wet sparkling I saw when you
told me how beautiful I was for the last time. I never took
that chance to tell you just how beautiful your hands, your
eyes, your flaws are. I can't believe I never took the chance
to let you know just how beautiful I find you, because I
have a fear I never will.

does the prettiest flower light a horizon
prettier than her?
Can any martingale sing a melody
with her perfection?
Heaven is on the horizon,
a glow of earthly crimson,
An orchard of apple trees,
set on a hill
in dimming backlight.
Blossoms glow from her limbs.
Seasons work magic,
Calm is all a glow,
distance is relative,
when seeing life
renewed.
Life is a circle,
of red glimmers
and yellow hues.

Sometimes I like to be alone,
Being alone excuses you from
Following social norms,
Of feeling judged for every little thing
You do right,
Or wrong.
You are no longer under the watchful
Eye of society;
You are free.

Loneliness by choices is a very different
Matter than from those times
Where you feel completely alone
In a sea of people.
Another benefit of being alone:
You do not feel alone.
It is an active choice of removing
Yourself
From those around you.
It avoids feeling rejected, unwanted,
Intruding on the wonderful,
Golden world of the accepted.
Instead you can have your own
Perfectly and selectively chosen
Party of you.

Here you are number one.
You are the best
At everything and anything.
You are the strongest, prettiest, fastest, smartest.
But you are also the worst.
The weakest, ugliest, slowest, dumbest.
But maybe it’s worth being the worst
If it means you can be the best,
Too.

In the real world,
There are always people better than
You.
There are always people worse than
You.
But in the real world, it is hard to feel
The best at anything,
While feeling the worst is,
Almost,
Natural.
That is why I prefer to be alone.
I encourage you to join me,
But not to actually join me,
For my party of one is full.
But you are welcome to reap the
Benefits of being utterly alone
Somewhere far away from me,
Where I am spared of your judgments,
And you of mine.
Together we can live in bliss,
Separately and
Alone.

You have the prettiest
eyes in the world Darling,
they make me melt,
I get overcome
when you look at me.
I love it when you gaze
deeply into my own,
because eye-contact with you
is everything,
especially
when you
swallow
my pride
and feel joy.

Call me paranoid,
or clairvoyant,
or a desperate seeker in need
of a kindly wink
who gets blank
stares from the battered
courtyard
plot of Black-eyed Susans.

I’ve seen sweet
grimaces and gruesome
grins locked in the fuzzy
outlines of a hinge
with its unused spins
perpetually
putting the bedroom
door ajar.

Cheerless chuckles
and twinkling frowns
bubble up
from the brown-edged
peels of paint
on a water-damaged ceiling
constantly keeping my looking-
back glass fogged.

They come visit, sometimes
smiling, often beguiling,
these faces who lurk
in this saddest of places
where I hold
their ghostly echoes
safe from the outside
voices cautioning me:

“Too many conjured guests,
even the prettiest
ones you’ve grown
fond of, eventually become
so much unfiltered noise.
Find and kneel down among
the moss
and lichen-covered pews.

“Put your whisper-burned ear
to the quiet-cool earth there
and hear her tell you,
‘Look up.
Look up. Share,
oh do share dear,
in the wonders of this infinite
and unpeopled blue.’”

I know more about your pictures than I do about you
I don’t care if it makes me weird
It was the only way I could be close to you until I get over
The things we both feared

You weren’t the prettiest girl I’d ever seen
But you were the most alive
You don’t have any money or care about tomorrow
It’s a life so different than mine

Every time I look I know it’s how you used to be
That’s because time has already passed for me
And the days that make you happy today
Are the ones that once made me happy to see

I keep forgetting if it was once or just a dream I have
The past can seem so real
But not as real as what you can’t wait to feel again
Even if it’s from a picture you must steal

Greenbelts, old clothes and earrings love the rain
Make-up never runs when it’s really you
Nothing matters most of all the rules
There is time for smiles tomorrow is for pain

Every time I look I know it’s how you used to be
That’s because time has already passed for me
And the days that make you happy today
Are the ones that once made me happy to see

she was nice
she was kind
she was depressed

she laughed
she smiled
she cut

she wore make-up
she dressed the prettiest
she hated herself

she got tired
she gave up
she killed herself

c.m.

calm the beautiful blue mornings, green calm growing pastures
I meditate passionately viewing, white visions floating on
until some afternoons, on a horizon unexpectantly, out of the prettiest
cyan grows grey storms.
Heat builds, rises rapidly condensing moisture,  particles charge,
cyan dims to black; the world arises angrily.
Me and the sun hide hidden, the dark horizon growls. Flashes,
and thunder roils on awakening fears.
When she calms down, I meekly peek again, see a peaceful cloud and cyan
calmness.
Summer calm   blue green.
Red blonde clouds blowing free.
Again.

i spent seven days in a foxhole
eating sand and burying the secrets
of former lovers.
i gave myself the silent treatment
for the first four days
then i sang for the other three.
i dreamed of cowboys and westbound trains
and i had an old sack full of bottles
so i wasnt alone.
i was a fine toothed comb
or a skill saw
and i felt useful for once in my life.
i crushed a box of lightbulbs on
the fourth night
and i found the prettiest place to sleep.
i hung photos on the wall of the prison
to keep me happy
and missing you.
now i live in the basement of the world
and i wish for nothing more
than a swiss army knife and
one word from you.

If you would've stayed, imagine the world that could've been in the palm of our hands...
Clear, pristine, blue water with millions of particles that resemble sand; the greenest grasses on never-ending acres of land.
The prettiest, most jaw dropping sunrises; not even God could create firsthand.
Mountains--that skyrocket to the promise land,
And vast miles of swampy wetlands.
Hummingbirds that majestically keep darting by,
While mingling below the clouds with the butterflies;
All the while, the fields are growing wild rye.
What on earth could ever make you turn your back and say good-bye,
Knowing this is how we envisioned our world and how the rest of our days would unwind...

the world is fading away - blues to gray, oceans to ash. there is death on the lips of strangers, in the eyes of my
family, in the soul of my lover.
my fingers are turning blue.

every day, the same song is played - beginning with solo piano, a somber, bleak melody, soon joined by strings and a clear soprano voice, echoing and piercing, ominous, haunting.

it is the prettiest death march I have ever heard.

fire consumes the trees, the sky, houses and buildings, but it cannot touch my heart, covered in ice and snow.

the river runs red with blood.

blood from strangers, my family, my lover.

and I am alone, waiting for death.
I am surrounded by red rivers and
ash-filled seas, fire - but death has only
taken my skin, bruised and black, and my heart, not my soul.

the sky is drenched in darkness.

I prepare their epitaphs as blood rains from the swollen sky.

It comes in waves
From the shore, your eyes look heavenward
The wind blows through the hollowness
The water comes in, creeping between your toes
As you don't know what is to come.

It comes in waves
At times, it is calm, cloudy skies and the breeze anew
Wisps of foam form the prettiest of shapes
The ocean is a calm mirror, reflecting the universe
It is silent, all is alright.

It comes in waves
The currents get stronger at times
The sunlight burns your skin so slightly
You move left and right, struggling to stand still
But it's enough to get by...

But the waters are unpredictable.

It comes in waves
Suddenly, huge tides arise
Colossal monsters of blue gliding towards you

You did not see them coming.

Your feet are buried beneath the dense sand
The day is darkness so sudden, no salvation in sight
You try to run, but instead you are fallen
Watching the tidal waves topple over you,
Consuming you,
Suffocating you,
Drowning you.

And there's no escaping.

when you realize you started from a seed.
a seed that was nurtured to grow.
grow up to be the prettiest
flower
tree
bush
shrub
then you will realize the trueness of being alive

you may have gotten stepped on
you may have gotten dirt kicked up in your eyes
but you became a shining flower
tree
bush
shrub.
you can do whatever you want.
but remember the reason you got dirt kicked on you?
because you were watching kids play in the back yard.
remember why you were picked?
a baby saw you for the first time.

Bad times turn into good memories
you wish you had back.
savor every opportunity.
never let it die like the flower
tree
bush
shrub

Paint the walls
Paint the floors
Paint the cracks
Bettween the doors
Paint your love
The prettiest hue
Paint a smile
Just for you
Paint the trees
And paint the roses
Make everything
The color of posies
And while you're at it
Paint the lasses
The ones who dance
And sing of ashes
Paint the town
And paint the world
But leave untouched
One little girl
For if you Paint
All over her
You'll forget about
Who you were

our footsteps in synchronisation
rang and echoed
with more depth than the
actions that ensued

i remember the coldness in the air
the biting gravitation of your body
in
proximity

too far and never close enough

and how i spoke from the heart,
whilst tripping over the nuances
the syntax
the delivery

the night is kinder than usual;

you're very distracting when you smile
snuffing out turns of phrase

& you're so sweet it makes me nauseous
in the prettiest of ways

-- and the way i saw you then
a pleasant melody in my mind
sweeping through the senses
free and unrefined

and i am humming
the tune, the best i can, for you

we imagined our bodies were continents but my
continent became an never ending earthquake,
trembling until it tears through the exoskeleton
of my body. the earthquake was panic attacks. i
learned to interact with them so i could see it coming.
i learned to appreciate the homes i destroyed, and
i helped you clean up the rubble after i obliterated you.
architect of sadness: you built an expansive house
that's always empty and chilly. you let the prettiest
flowers wilt and die. your bright colors coating your
exterior shows promise and sentiments, but even the
ones who walk through your doors notices the absence.
it's always too late to sever ties when you are given the
keys. your voice is like the dinner bell, ringing through
the west and east hallways and haunting these walls. we
were two different worlds clashed together like the big
bang, we were pangaea, a super continent exploding with
content and then continential drift split us open. somewhere
along the line, you became australia and myself the united
states, where swimming to you became an impossible
task. even at the end of it all, i asked for the keys to
enter inside the same house holding empty promises
and a foundation i knew was built from the hands of an
amateur architect. is that what love is? walking into the
scorch of hell's fire because you're willing to deal with
the permanent third degree burns and scars the fire will
leave on you? because that's how i know i love(d) you.

- kra

I didn't want to let go...
of all of our memories
of the long lost nights talking
of the dreams we'd share to one another
of the interest that was once mutual.

I didn't want it to change...
at least not into this
i liked you so much
i couldn't tell you what this feeling is.

But you let me go, and I fell on your shallow ground...
i wasn't the prettiest, so you didn't want me
i wasn't the funniest, not entertaining
i'm not the most colorful, so you didn't see me
but you used to...what happened?

Yet, after I told you that I couldn't watch you disappear...
and although you didn't seem to care
somehow, i felt relieved.

Because it wasn't you that I was going to lose...
but just another part of me.
i saved my self, and i got away.
i truly cared for you
after all the things telling me not to...
and you let me get away.
thank you

Blessed tree of the forest
It blooms with the wind
And in it's mind eye
It shall whither to love

So a fawn but a man
Asked the queen, but a mother
A freedom of a night
Without her rule

He had discovered the prettiest of thistles
A stinging sensation
Her dress looms through the Earth
And her heart looms through his soul

But the queen of the forest
Was his master
She pulled from a cradle of leaves
For he was left to leave

He owed her life
But wanted a night
Of waves in the ocean with his flower

The queen, the tyrant
Agree she may
But in her heart
She was dancing through thorns

But the lover was dead for when the fawn reached
She was stabbed at the heart
A baby left to die

The man returned
But his mother was dead
By a wilted tree

Those eyes, those eyes
I was a big fool
To be fooled by them.

Yes, I fell for them, boy.

"We'll get somewhere."
I used to read within them.
You claimed it was true.

And I believed it, I believed them

I believed you.

It was true; you were real, after all.
But that was an eternity ago's truth
It doesn't mean much now.

Not that I know better about the truth..
The truth that you've been concealing.
Yes, boy, you keep it concealed.

Those eyes, those eyes.
I swear they were the prettiest things, after sunset

They still are, I guess.

But not to me no more.

Your honey-coated hazel of eyes..
I hope they don't whisper another girl in
With their honey-coated honesty.

"I'll love you forever."
I bet they're saying that to another her now.

I was in my dream last night...
The girl in my dream was a self image that my self conscious created.

She had long thick curly hair running down her back like a wild river,
and There were these thin wisps of black curls that rested on her forehead and would not budge no matter how many times she swept them aside

The ensemble she wore was rich in color
I admired the way the colors complemented each other
incredibly lively and elegant
She wore an azure tank with an emerald silk scarf
A Celeste cascaded long skirt embellished with tiny vibrant glass beads that shimmered ever so brightly
She was bare foot but i couldn't help but notice every step she took
On her ankles were anklets that dangled the prettiest of gems

She walked towards me
Her beautiful clothing dancing against her body

She sat next to me on the curb and said
"You look sad, what is the matter?
i can see the circles under your eyes
the insufficiency of laughter

Your heart and your mind are intertwined
You convince your mind to keep you in a dark place
then your heart crumbles leaving your care-fee spirit behind.

These are simply realities you must face

you know, things fall apart
so better things can come together
it might break your heart
but believe that hurtful moments don't last forever

Sometimes in-explainable things happen
sometimes the going gets tough
but you cant allow it to break your spirit for too long
The sun will rise again, sure enough."

Then, just as she gracefully came,
she gracefully left
I Awoke.
She left me with my sadness
for me to decide.

‘You’re going to be
the prettiest girl at the
funeral,’
he wanted to tell her
as he watched
that dark outfit that
resembled a maid for sorts

but it wouldn’t be
an appropriate thing to say
when the funeral was
for her father

Not that she displayed a lot of grief
either. She was more concerned
with the goth maid outfit
and how it would look on her

“My daddy would love to see
me in this,” she said

And then
her boyfriend said, “Who
wouldn’t?”

She eyed him from
across the room
and said, “My mom... Eh, but to
hell with her. If I’d listened
to her, I’d be a nun
now. In fact, if I weren’t an
adult able to make decisions
for myself right now, I’m sure
she would’ve arranged for me to
go to some monastery or something
like that, wherever nuns go.
And she dares wonder why I
reserved all my love for daddy and
gave her nothing. Every time
we’d get close
she’d get in the way. If I didn’t know
better I’d say she’s the
entity behind his death, really.
My daddy was a loving
man, this I know for sure. He was
all good and I... I miss
him so much already. I just wish
I could... Wait!”

“What?”

“I got an idea.”

He didn’t like the tone
with which she said
that, nor the grin
on her face
as she reached into her *****
and pulled out her phone

He had many questions
for her
but there was no time
to ask. She moved in and grabbed
his hand and dragged him
along,
out of the room and long
the corridor
all the way to the room where
her father sat in the
casket awaiting to be
taken to the grave

“Here, hold this,” she said
as she handed him her phone

Wordlessly
she climbed onto the casket
and stretched herself
along her father’s body
“C’mon,” she said, “take a few
pictures.”

Her boyfriend did. When you have
too many questions assaulting
you at once, you
give voice to none, just
play along

The funeral that followed
was a short one, with
few mourners

The loudest cry came from
the wife of the departed
after some unknown number sent
the pictures to her
phone

I am just a girl,
Not average,
But definitely not above average,
I've made up my own category,
They Label me,
I hate it,
They don't know me,
They just know what they see,
And I know it's not the prettiest view in the world,
But why do they have to put in their say,
I'm sick of it,
But I know them,
And their cruel words,
They Will never die,
There will always be someone,
Who has to judge someone they don't know,
Someone like me.

You think the world hates you.
The current always pushing,
The worms always digging,
And the fisherman taking your friends.

But the world thinks nothing of you.
Because you're an oyster
In a sea of oysters
And nobody can see what's inside.
It could be a pile of dirt
Or the sea's prettiest pearl.

So you can wait your whole life
Expecting someone to come
And crack you open
Or you can find your own light
Make your way to shore
And bide your time outside the ocean.

Such a beauty cannot go
untainted for long
even the prettiest rose
will grow herself some thorns

Luring your naive pray
in your arms, your twisted game
make them stay, and then you slay
the thorns of you will be their end

Theres something about the summer
— the way the sun
Turns skin pink,
A blush which will
Fade,
Though the memories will not.
The way the light breeze
Caresses fiery skin,
The way the trees
Provide shaded cover
For adventurers
Looking to rest.
But for the life of me
I cannot describe
In avid detail
How sunkissed skin
Makes even the prettiest
Tan crayon jealous,
And i cannot possibly
Begin to match the blue
Of the sky
To the lines
On my paper.

I'll go bottled blonde,
I'll be, again, fragile and skinny.
In plastic surgeries
I want to waste every penny.
I wear makeup
until my skin's all messed up.
I took thousands of pills
until my stomach said stop.
I work out until fatigue,
I write down every meal.
When you say I look better
it gives me self esteem.
But fear strikes evey time
that I get closer to the scale.
It scares me that instead of a number
it'll show the word whale.
I desire to be
the prettiest in the land.
I long to have
the perfect golden tan.
Delicate flower
for everyone to stare.
The magnetic one
that has nothing to repair.
I want to look radiant,
I want to look like a star.
My idea of the perfect weight
will make me take it too far.
But I don't really mind
about my health nor my spirit,
as long as I'm adored,
as long as I have a merit.
They only see you if you're pretty,
they ignore all the wrong;
You may be unstable
but you're worthy of a song.
And I'm not even concerned,
not like someone will notice.
No one did the last time
but anyway I'll tell you this:
I don't care if you find out
all the things that I conceal.
You can talk all you want,
I have nerves of steel.

On a spring day, Emelia soared through the field, like a baby robin learning to fly, running in diagonals with her hands brushing against every shrub and leaf she saw.

Mud drenched pink overalls
and a bright blonde bowl cut.

She ran like a bumble bee on a mission
to pick the freshest, prettiest flower.

Stepping over bugs and playing tag with chipmunks,
she giggled uncontrollably and was a friend to all that walked nature's green carpet, tripping over wild, wispy grasses.

She looks up with innocent eyes, beaming like two sunflowers,
"We have to share," she announced to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.

She had just seen Pocahontas for the first time
and wanted nothing more than to become a color of the wind.

The wind blew the leaves in a nodding fashion,
showing agreeance to the young sprites statement.

She whipped and whirled her arms toward the sun
as it danced on her skin through the branches of her friends.

"I want to do this forever," she squealed.
So, she did.

20 years later, the girl grew
But with a dimmer light
Weaker legs
And a hole in her chest.

On a cold night, Emelia staggered through the barren field, fueled by a magic dust that made her feel like a crashing plane
Running in diagonals with her hands
Brushing against her watery eyes, keeping them from flooding.

Mud drenched ripped jeans
and a long, shaggy haircut mirroring the bark on the trees.

She ran like she was being chased by a vicious monster
trying to find the safest space for her to vent after feeling her brain bleed from her nose and heart deflate in its cage.

Stumbling over broken bottles and playing tag with her inner demons, she was a slave to all that walked nature's casket, tripping over roots and graves, smashing against a tree.

She looks up with innocent eyes, welling with painful tears,
"We have to share," she whispered to the big tree
that resembled Grandmother Willow.

She felt an unbearable pain that no one should live with and wanted nothing more than to be numb.

The wind stopped in it tracks, the leaves stagnant on their branches, showing heart wrenching dismay to the old skeleton's statement.

She sobbed and heaved with her arms wrapped tight to her torso
as her skin danced with her shuttering bones and tightening muscles.

"I don't want to do this forever," she helplessly breathed.
But, she did.

spasms of unbearable pleasure
course through me like a treasure
spawned upon a bohemian island
when i behold you, beauty incarnate
you're the epitome of accomplishment
an apotheosis of the woman of the age
your eyes are a velvety soft hue
your chin is a stroke of aesthetic genius
you have a fine finish like prettiest silk
and you're an open book of life, to read
at leisure 'neath a flamboyant tree in bloom
woman let me serenade you with this poem
let me sing of the passion in your eyes
let me wax lyrical about your coy mouth
lead me to a tropical hideaway
then banish all things negative , and
let me be your obsession through life
as we stroll together towards the rising sun