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Disengage[in some vague fashion]
she was aware of the i m p e n d i n g blow
but time seemed irrelevant [at the moment]:
struck by a strange--elegance?--
as his palm descended [with all the grace
of a tree felled by lightning];
the m.e.a.s.u.r.e.d, deliberate fall,
almost majestic in its resignation--
c u l m i n a t i n g with
a CRACK of thunder and
a bolt of pain.
BipolarYour gentle gaze like razor blades
Both cut me to the core
The shadows hide the lines you've crossed
Yet still I'm craving more
You're never who you seem to be
I don't know who you are
One moment you're the one I know
The next so very far
This dream in which we used to live
Uncertain now and bleak
Breathtaking as the cloudbreak is
Still havoc storms do wreak
My wild nightmare never ends
I cannot seem to wake
I'm desperate to find escape
Before I finally break
It's not you it's me I say
As hollow as it rings
No longer can I weather this
High time to test my wings
The words fall like an icy rain
Chilling, sharp, but true
Yet though I try to end it here
I'm still falling for you
Losing steamI am fifteen
but my body and
are not mine.
I have scars on my arms
and memories of dark beauty--
bitter beads of blood
slide the knife
unzip my skin
and step outside--
who would I be
and how would I look?
perhaps I'm hollow?
underneath all this--
I'm not actually real?
maybe I was never here
just a dream
or was it a nightmare?
everybody wants me to
act my age
but I'm fifteen
so God only knows what that means.
not a child
not so innocent
not an adult
still too young.
I have to learn to talk to adults
and make phone calls to strangers
and manage my money
and drive a car.
I have to take care of the twins
teach them and protect them
and still be their friend.
I have to grow up soon
but i don't know if I'm ready...
Wake-up callwhen you're drowning in an ocean of sad thoughts,
you don't trip out onto the beach:
sooner or later, the waves will sweep you off your feet
and you will be unprepared
when the waters close over your head.
instead, you take a deep breath
and say your prayers
and you dive in.
the quickest way to learn to swim
is to have no other choice.
Safeshe tells me that they stole her words
marked them in red and wrung them out dry
leaving her shockingly [bare]
so she took up her -sharpest- pen
and she c a r v e d out her words
[close to her heart they'll be safe]
CathieSalt-and-pepper hair contrasts sharply with the crisp, starched pillow;
bone-thin arms resemble bed rails--
tears in my arms, the morphine drip in your vein.
My inner rage refutes your calm acceptance.
You ask if we are waiting for you to die: no.
We are waiting for a miracle,
we are waiting for you to heal--
We are waiting for something that will not happen.
We are stretching for something that is out of reach.
We are holding onto our obsolete hopes, the small fragments of our lives
so closely, we cannot see the bigger picture
In a paradox, God is calling you clearly,
but we can't seem to hear His voice--
only the silence ringing in our ears
as the monitor stops
your breathing ceases
your face un-creases--
and, for the first time in years,
you run Home.
InvocationSpeak through me, Muse, and sing me the tale
Of that girl unskilled in the ways of the world--
The intrepid wanderer,
Seeking truth for years on end,
Oblivious to the dynamics around her
As others talk with their eyes and dance with their words.
Many the nights she's lain awake,
Living the hurts of her friends, powerless to help.
Trying to save the world
When she can't even save herself.
She wrote dark storms of words
And ascertained the deceptive nature of journals.
She lied to others and she lied to herself.
She learned that sharp words leave scars,
Struggling each day to open her eyes
And walk toward the light;
Yet despite her best intentions, sometimes she strayed:
But hands were there to guide her back to the path,
And hearts were there to share her pain.
Growing and changing and coming to see
That she didn't have to understand humanity to be human--
She doesn't have to earn love to be loved,
And angels can hide in the oddest of places.
Of these trials and tribulatio
In the interest of full disclosurei am not the person you think
and you will realize that all too soon.
i am not what people have built me up to be
and i am destroying myself in trying to measure up.
i am not interesting.
if i were a puzzle, all of my pieces
would be careworn with age and wear
colors dull and muted--
a picture prosaically familiar;
there is nothing pretty to look at here.
i am not beautiful. i am not the kind of person
that they write about,
stories and poems that make you cry.
i am not strange enough to be special,
but i am not normal enough to fit in.
i am not fragile enough to engender support,
but i am not strong enough to help myself
let alone those who are foolish enough to rely on me.
i am not a delicate collectible
that people wish to adopt
and call my problems their own.
i am a dusty cliché
that has seen better days.
let me be clear:
i am none of these things.
i am not.
We fight for our dream.
We're just waiting to die.
The same emotions
with a different drive.
Sometimes dead, sometimes alive.
The same in one way,
different in another
brother and sister, sister and brother.
So close in feeling,
so different in the end.
Falling apart, or finally on the mend?
Which am I?
Will I ever know?
Fighting to stay or ready to go?
Maybe I'm both,
in some impossible way.
Emotions oddly mixed everyday.
I'm such a freak.
Excuse me, I laugh, I should call it "unique"
The Ocean At NightNo, I will go alone.
I will come back when it's over,
When tides recede, revealing
Footprints melted into sand,
Glistening white from rays of blue.
I long for the shine of shadow.
We must part ways,
Walk back toward houses
Where light bulbs flicker with guilt,
And sinks drip with secrets.
Lonely and quiet emptiness
Creates a home of memory.
I will come back when it's over,
The noises of splashes and screams quiet,
The sun's arrogance descended over the horizon.
I will return in silence and black,
Lulling waves to sleep, at last.
Together, we can be.
don't listen to mei would be a real
poet if i wrote
about suicidal pain
and self harm
and in no productive
way other that to
repeat in trite
fashion what i had
been writing about
since the day i
discovered it caused
i would be a real
poet if i wrote
about the boy who
got away and how
he didn't love me back
because it's all
i knew how to write
but that's okay because
that's all people
want to read about.
My Escape.Can't you see I'm sorry?
All you do is coldly,
Push me away,
Even though you know I'm halfway,
To dead, I'm sure you couldn't careless.
You were my escape from this darkness,
But now I'm drowning in my own mind.
I can't seem to find,
Another way, so I will live like this tomorrow and everyday.
I have a peculiar feeling you may,
Come back and toss me away,
Just like before.
I may never be able to let you in again.
Perhaps this is the end,
Although I will not be able to live with it.
It Isn't Wrong...I used your words to form an apology
Because I didn’t know another way
To make you acknowledge me
But I’m still here, you know
As much as I was a year ago
I’m going in blind and taking shots in the dark
But I’m pulling every word from the bottom of my heart
I’ve had a lot of time to see things straight
You’re someone that I love, that I could never hate
That’s why every time I tried forgetting about you
I couldn’t force myself to do what I had to do
Now I can see your pain, I’m sorry I put you through it
If there was one thing I could change
You know that I would undo it
I don’t want to live, I don’t want to breathe
The reason we’re like this is all because of me
I don’t want you to be yet another closing door
You think I could care less, darling, I couldn’t care more
Take away from this all the evidence you need
I miss you just as much as you say you miss me
I want this forced silence to come to
I am weakI am weak because
I can't swim,
I can't fly.
I can't speak.
Because I am afraid of the
I am weak because
I let my emotions in my way,
I don't stand up,
I just die.
I am weak because,
when I was called a
dumb birthday slut,
I just cried.
Because when I was bullied,
I just kept silent.
When I was thought of
having a disease,
suicide was my only thought.
But at the end I realised
that I am not weak,
I am strong.
I was strong enough to
not commit suicide,
to blossom from my cuts,
to speak for my own.
Because I was strong enough
to realise that no matter
I will always be weak.
Run AwayCute little Henry was such a good boy
He never lied
He never stole
And he always did what he was told
Nice little Henry was always so naive
When he was bullied
He thought the bigger kids were just being friendly
So he never tried to stop them
Handsome little Henry was always happy with how he looked
But one day when he was older
He decided to change
So he took a knife to his skin and grew a little bolder
Poor little Henry was always going through something
In the past year, his dog had been hit by a car
One of his closest friends had deserted him
His best friend had died
And got his dad arrested
Sad little Henry was always calm
When his parents got into a fight
He would hide in his room
And when he felt like breaking down
He would grab his knife
Depressed little Henry had an idea one day
He grabbed a bag
Filled it to the brim
And when he was ready to leave
He heard his parents arguing
Desperate little Henry dropped his bag and rested against his door
Tears rolled down his face
Child of DreamsThere I saw through shards of glass
frozen in time, portraits of the past
folds of demon's masks
Liquid mirrors and dripping skies
through blue fire and silver eyes
of escape from reality's lies
Awake through dreams, asleep through life
Among the vicious, among this light
around the malicious, black fire of night
The naked greed and transparency
of mankind's creed and of what I see
thy kingdom come humanity
That's what I am, only taking and taking.
Money, food, feelings, time, energy.
How can I give back when there is nothing left in me to give?
Nothing, nothing, it has all wasted away.
It was all ripped out of my heart.
Selfish, that's what I am.
I gave and I gave until there was nothing left.
I gave my entire being over, and it was used and abused.
My body, my mind, my soul, all twisted to one's expectations.
I was so hopelessly lost in him, I drowned in his lust and anger.
Now there is nothing left, and I have become a creature of want.
No longer wrapped up in him, now I am a stranger wandering, taking and taking.
Don't remember where I was, don't know where I am headed.
Selfish, am I really?
Lucidall this time she's seemed so near
her angel face you hold so dear
she'll find you in that darkest time
her eyes will speak sans reason, rhyme
in time you will remember things
of birds and bones and broken wings
of deadly secrets, shattered dreams
things left unsaid and silent screams
with open heart and open mind
stand in the rain and you will find
that healing lies in these things true
and to remember changes you
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More