Who am I?
Who am I?
A rebel? A hero?
A monster with blood and bones?
Not one of these things.
A little lion girl, maimed and alone.
A coward, needy and ashamed,
A girl trapped in darkness, begging for a light,
But all she could manage were stumbles through the night.

In the midst of it all, the struggle and fall, I felt my legs give out,
Weak and worn out, I lay in the pit.
For what shall I fight for? This hell? This ****?
Many gathered around and yelled 'you can't quit',
They rattled but could not touch, could not help, for they too are sick.

I heard a gentler voice in the crowd, and I wanted to answer,
But dropped my head in the mud,
With every effort, the pain just grows tenser.

In my heart,  I asked "Who are You?", "Where have You been?" I spat.
Still, You called my name, and cleared the brush and pitfalls so I could get up and walk back,
But I was trapped in a pit,  I was ashamed, without a thought, I sent You away,

Still, You came closer and knelt down to my level so that we were face to face,
"What are You doing?" I bitterly noted, when I saw that You reached for me,
I then swatted your hand and said, "No one tends to these scars, it's too much of a demand".
But you replied; "Not for me, I heal every wound with My love and My own right hand."
So I just sighed and gave into His embrace, what did I have to lose?

With Your hands on my back You picked me up,
You took my feet and set them on a rock,
You breathed into my heart and for the first time, I felt life,
You touched my eyes with your finger, and I saw heaven on earth,
You whispered to my mind, "You can trust Me, Holly.  I am the way the truth and the light"

And in that very moment I knew, I was reborn with the Son,
I walked to the mirror and saw a new reflection, a brave face with purpose,
A lioness who may inherent all of His kingdom under the sun,

And so, this is the end of a testimony, I run down a new road now,
With my hand in God's hand and a smile on my face remembering His first embrace,
Wherever I travel, even in the valley of the shadow of death, I keep a hand stretched out and a heart of trust,
Because My Lord never fails, and already He has conquered all things for us.

And now You're here,
My heart is at rest,
You crushed  my fears.
My life is blessed.
I found the savior,
Praise Jesus Christ.

I will serve you, great God,
For the rest of my days.
For what life can become,
Living for Amazing Grace!

Till kingdom come,
Till kingdom come,
Glory in the highest,
I lift up all praise,
I will love You forever,
My Lord and His Son.

I know that you are always with me. I follow that scent, the calm folded crisp smell of cigars lit on the rainy morning in the streets of Calais. I pass through the art galleries, boat docks, pubs, markets and old churchyard buildings. That scent again? It draws me in and embraces me close into secluded streets. I see friendly faces wearing the same weepy eyes and bright smiles every day. They were buskers, street tramps, just in my eyes fellow lost rebels who I admire. They haven’t yet given up even now their naked without luxury, starved of food and clothing they wander around building up a new home every day.  

Every time the buskers see me they each greet me in turn shake and kiss my hands. I drop a penny down; they play out their beautiful music and sing their songs into the early hours of the evening. The air of the night is surrounded with the distinctive smell of cider and cigars. Outside the docks of boats the pub is festered with local communities drinking and talking about previous nostalgia. People laugh and cheer at the buskers who come into the pubs and applaud even louder when each of them comes on stage. They play, they dance, they rant in their own unique way in time to the guitar and banjo. When the evening is finally over music and laughter without question just stops, I can hear those... heavy awkward whispers, muffled voices and coughs of things left unsaid. At that point each of the smiles of the lost rebels fades out into the night, they know they must face and enter that filthy alley alone forced into the solitude of old cardboard boxes. I thought they did a splendid show and award them money and praise in return some of them come up to compliment and kiss me again.

The next morning I visit the library to indulge in my long lost passion of French poetry but I keep on getting distracted. I pick up on that very dangerous scent of cigars, wine and … aftershave. It was just so intoxicating, the fuel I craved. The aroma got stronger outside, something was around me. I was feeling that someone had just touched my breast, pinched my ******* then started to bite, caress and kiss my back but that feeling had quickly faded out.I sat down, unable to detect anything. I open up an loaned book of poems by Christina Rossetti. Before I could read her first poem, a written letter had fell to the floor. It was encrypted in my name with a place and time. I begun to read it out aloud as if it was some fairy tale enchantment.

The cigar smoke started to rise, embrace and surround me it filled my eyes again. A young man appears at my feet. He is *****, long black hair; smile cheeky but eyes concrete and dreamy when magnified they melt into a fire. I gaze into his piercing green eyes; I can already feel my body heating up and chest feel tenser. We start to greet each with a handshake, he grabs my hand and begins to put each of my fingers into his mouth. Straight away I could feel this urge to share everything with him to plant that warm kiss onto his lips. We start with talking for hours about our previous past, poetry and art. I read out some of the poems in French and he was translating them for me. He asks whether I would want to go Paris with him; he knew the best historic sites to take pictures and then without any hesitation he flashes out two train tickets. A charmer no less, but I feel drawn to follow him hoping he would lead me to more adventure. We both catch a train together from Calais to Paris. He takes me into the French café near his apartment we end up drinking coffee together out in the balcony. He drove me around in his car; we end the day with having a great picnic of red wine, sandwiches, cakes and croissants out in the jardin. We end the first evening having a smoke or two out in the beautiful countryside air. He drops me back to my villa and kisses me slowly on the ears then begins to whisper softly the words k.i.m.m.y into my ear. I could feel the last of his words really start to linger, the final words before leaving me and promising to meet up the next evening outside his own apartment.

I came out the next evening wearing a tight red frock and bright red lipstick on the ****** cobbled streets. We both embrace each other with small kisses on the cheek, walking down with our tongues tied in knots and arms locked together to the local tavern drinking more wine. When it finally got late I was allured to follow him into his apartment a classy one bedroom with a double bed, rose flowers on each window ledge. There is another classy rose wine bottle on the table and a room of old books. We sit on the sofa watching movies, eating chocolate and sipping on wine. My head begins to spin, lose some focus. Could this really be love or was this just another drunken lusting daze? I droop to his shoulders; He recites bits of his own poem, I can’t help but stare into his deep eyes when he reads them, I look up again at his moist lips when he reads out aloud the final words. I yearn to snog him or for at least him to make that first move. I feel dizzy and high on red blooded wine and cigars. I could then feel him starting to kiss the temples of my neck and feel his soft teeth mingle and bite leaving small indented marks on my neck. I draw even closer towards his mouth; I can feel his beard tickle me. I love to taste him, love that aroma! He tastes of dimly lit cigars which mingle with my fruity perfume. At this point I feel that the ember inside surround and heat up my whole body. I want him to really light me up so I can explode into them blue flames. I begin to clench up my body as he bites my neck, we both kiss frantically. He whispers into my ears and begins to nibble on them. We end up huddled up together in bed! The window reflects that the sun is approaching, he sits on top of me staring at me blankly in silence. He takes time to admire my calm sleepy concrete clay features.

He knows that when the sun comes up that everlasting rainbow of color we created together will begin to melt and transform back into monochrome. It just comes to the end. we know we can not argue, we must leave each other. I know I must say the two forbidden words. The very two words that turn me back into this empty corpse. I hate them; I greet him with a long lost embrace, the in-completed hug and the final words to end everything! Bon- Voyage At the same time trying to hold myself together, I leave on that last train, feeling tired and drained but only for a second. The whispers of his voice fill up the station crying out… KIMMY, kimmy... kimmy! . They echo out and embrace me again, they always make me smile.

I catch the last train back to Calais then head off home to stormy England. I never feel sad to leave him or the place behind because I will always remember him. Just as any dying whisper, music of buskers, words of a poem. The bond you share is never really gone it ignites again to finally burn on eternally.

the phone rings,
**** its already late
I dress up past, I grab my things
rushing out through the gate

it was a grey rainy day,
the shoe lace was untied.
stepping on the puddles through the alleyway
I smelt the leftovers cornered to be putrefied
in the distance i heard the foghorn bray
and then suddenly the ipod died,
it wasn't the slightest idea of my heyday
and so it made me stupefied.

the alley never seem to end.
for once I was hoping for a commotion.
and then it made a slight bend
and a shadow appeared at the cross section.
everything got a trascend blend
looked like life moved ahead in a slow motion.

the figure was human like
and with each tick it moved slowly-closer.
my body was abruptly covered with spike,
as the motion became tenser.
the cold hit me like a pike,
yet my mind said he was just a bypasser.

I knew I shouldn't have been there.
I stared the figure drenched in the rain.
all I wanted to do now was run anywhere
before it blew away my brain.

before I could make my escape
he cought me by my arm.

his eyes were cold and senseless
but his hands felt delicate.
for a seond life became aimless
as I became his captivate.
his charm was flawless
his beauty was the least I could appreciate.

he suddenly let go of me
I stared into his eyes and realized I must leave
I turned around and made my move away......




TO BE CONTINUED...

Dear 2020,


   “I know that this is going to be the last letter. Things have gotten worse, so much worse, and I know that I will disappear like I was never there. I never affected anyone much, really, I just got in the way, and caused people shame. I’ve caused myself shame. I’ve done all the wrong things, and I know that now I am a burden on my family. They have all gotten tenser since I was diagnosed. They have gotten angrier, now they fight more than they ever used to. I am such a burden on them. They don’t need me, all I do is disappear into my room and try to pray for God to **** me in my sleep or something, which obviously isn’t working. I’ve brought everyone's mood down. I’m sorry if I had seemed promising before, I will have never had much of a life at this rate and I know Sean can be”

   I don’t know what else to say. I believe in it all, except for the part about this being the last letter, but if I had written to you last night like I was going to then this is probably what I would have said. I instead used a crisis text line, which helped… for a while.
   I don’t like coming home anymore. I don’t think Connor, and the rest of them could understand, when it’s not abuse or anything, it’s just so unhappy here. Everything is tense, and it doesn’t feel like a home anymore. I am yelled at so much, and cut so little slack.
   I am eating again… way too much. And I’ve… found another razor head. After all that digging in my bathroom, I knew I would. But if I’ll use it… Oh, I know I probably will. Having my body hurt takes my mind off of my heart, which is why I also like P.E. Even know, with my hand wrapped up, I earn so much sympathy at school when Connor is really the only one who knows what really happened to it. Well, Connor, my parents, and you.
   I really don’t think my parents love me anymore. They had loved a tomboy, with long hair, extroverted, with skills at writing and drawing and who didn’t care whether people hated her or loved her. I am feminine, with a boy’s haircut that I don’t like to brush, introverted, with anorexic tendencies and no passion or skills at anything at all. And yet somehow my broken, hurting self-attracts people. Overall of my years in elementary school, three people had confessed their feelings for me. In this year alone, it has been five. What hurts is knowing that even those who I do like back I could never be a worthy partner for. The chance of my dying, lashing out at them, or simply deciding to ignore them as an isolationist technique to be happy is much too high, which is why only two of them like me now.
   I’m so tired. All the time. Even when I take naps (for instance today I fell asleep at Walmart) I am still extremely tired. I think I am just tired of being here. I want to go home. I say this a lot to myself, although I don’t really know where I mean by home. I think I mean this third dimension, one I’ve thought up myself. It’s the place I go when I sleep, or when I’ in my room by myself for a long time doing nothing. Sometimes when I say I want to go home I mean that I want to die, so that I could live in that third dimension forever. I would really like that.
   It’s called the third dimension because if my actual house is the first dimension, and school is the second, then that is the third. The rest of my world (Walmart, the castle, etc.) is just surrounding fabric of the first (and largest) dimension. But when I don’t want to be either at home or school, I want to go to the third dimension. Which is like death, and can be rarely mimicked from one of the other dimension. And even if I am homeschooled next year, I will not be able to escape the first dimension. So I need, and want, the third.


That is all I have to say, really, except that I am thinking of posting these letters on my Hello Poetry page, since I will never read them in 2020, and perhaps someone will find that I am relatable. Or stupid.


Love always,


Hollin

i remember going back to the now bleared moment, where it burgeons in
its ruinous hands. they demolished the hearth long ago and the dearth only fills
the air together with the splinters of what
was once yours — the wind is much tenser there, and there too is the bleak behemoth-shadow cast by the towering bell of the cathedral juxtaposed to the many a pompous mango tree enshrouding it like parasols to young, tender loam.
we were akin  to those moments of death,
lauded by the assuage of its avid fondness — when it has died, we can hardly tell that it were stripped out of life
and when it continued to live, we denied it
inside us that it was no more than an ephemera enjoyed. rain obscured the
dry land seeking till, and sooner than we
knew,
        the leaves have abandoned the trees
and we were underneath a shade of
       our own.

As I press on the fog is thicker,
I can't see as it's getting denser.
Where I will end up i don't know,
but I'm starting to feel tenser.

As the mist settles down and I can see,
I just can't help but wonder if I'm free.
That's all I've ever wanted,
But all I get is to be haunted.

I'm getting scared for what might take place,
As I'm trapped in this tiny hellish space.
I want to venture and find a new life,
So I can be set free from all this strife.

The clouds form into a storm,
Like the way everything takes a new form.
It's very ominous in this sky,
You could even say one could cry.

The thunder strikes and let's a loud roar,
But what is the strike really meant for?
The thunder is loud and makes it hard to hear,
And you'll wonder what you're doing here.

In the end after all the damage is done,
You start to think that storm has just won.
The storm has laid heavy burdens inside,
And you wonder if you may have died.

You know you need a new beginning,
But you never wanted such a terrible ending.
Why did all of this have to go on,
Maybe it was to make you be gone.

It may not ever be fair,
But what should be will never be there.
Who will make sure you're alright,
And make sure you don't take you're final flight?

You want to go and see that great Man,
But you wonder if you ever can.
But that is quite alright,
So don't worry about you're plight.

A second chance may await you very soon,
And you'll always be looking at the same moon.
As bad as it had seemed to be,
The storm really had set you free.

Say goodbye to this cruel place,
For maybe you'll beat it in the end of the race.
Don't turn around just keep going on,
Because one day it might just be gone.

Until the next time this is your last farewell,
Say goodbye as you leave this hell.

She blushed
she went beetroot red.
his breath quickened pace
he too went red in the face
Their hands shook
He had another look
He went red a little more
Her eyes were glued to the floor.
She was tenser than tense
to him things did not make sense.
What was wrong, does anyone know?
Is Cupid short of one arrow? if so
it has most probably got lost above
in the little land they call love.

And just like starlight,
it takes billions of years.
It shimmers, it fades.

Cosmic suffering,
rattling of constellations.
New shapes in the sky.

Small in their own lives,
but creating new cultures
in ******* for us.

Volumes of white lies,
tenser deafening quiet,
and bright like a star.

Built as mountains are,
dense as the passing of time;
gone when morning comes.

So often my love is shallow or fake
Unwilling to do what I know it takes
I am too wrapped up in my self-love
Self-interest and self-pity
To see that my vision is itty-bitty
I miss the sunset staring at the ground
Tenser than a spring I'm so tightly wound
In the war between the spirit and flesh
Caught in the middle, I'm a hot mess
So easy to say I love you
But so difficult to really prove
You love me without condition
And you send me out on mission
Jesus; source of love in pure perfection
In your love help me be a reflection
Imperfect as I may be shine through me today
Grant me grace to turn back to you
And the discipline to obey

For freedom is found in following
The law of the Lord is the light of love.
Perfect peace and power passes over
When we watch with awe and wonder
What happens when, in our need, we kneel.
Sorrow and sadness in the savior's shadow
Are arrested in authentic love's atoning act,
Shed for sinners in the ultimate sacrifice.
Body and blood broken and beautiful
We are given the gift of God's great grace.
Recall the wretched reign, be reborn renewed
For Christ has come to call his child.

The Met Office is where
past tenser's went when
they were late for a date
due to inclement weather.