Identity.Dear Friends,This was lovely.I won't ever forget it.Even if my fateIs to be asking the doctorFor the third time in a week,What my name is -This shall be the one thing,I will never forget.
Letter for the Self-BrokenTo Everyone Who Needs It,Your mask looks stunning today. Congrats, many people have finally noticed you. It's nice to see that you're so happy... Although, I think you look just as beautiful without that mask. I also want you to know that we, I and all your friends and other loved ones, notice you everyday. (I apologize for taking you for granted if that's what's it; you're such a great person, though, and I learned to accept and expect that.) Lastly, I am glad to see you happy - and I'd be ecstatic to know that it isn't just a coat around your hollowness.Hey, you, one of the people I love - I care about you. A lot. I need you on this world because I don't think I could handle this crazy ride without you. I need your shoulder for my tears so that I can be strong enough to be here for you now. I need your hand to hold when it's cold and you're desperate for warm temperatures. I'm here for you, too, when it comes to your heart. The ice may make it gleam beautifully, but I like w
Snowstorms of the HeartWind blowsHarsh icyBreezes.Outside,The snowRevealsA story;My heartSpeaks,EmptiedOf love.EmotionsBlow wildIn icy windsFound inHell's depths.
Icy AdorationYou can keep yourSummer-time clichésWhilst I dread theComing seasons.I adore short walksBarefeet in the snow,And holding hands whileCreating snow angels.Let your feet burn duringThose long, sandy walksWhile he follows thePrints you leave behind.I prefer being frozenIn the arms of love,And walking on water,Across frozen scapes.Allow yourself to sweatBeneath sweltering shine,And drowning in wavesOf shark-infested water.All my love may ever beIs a hopeful cliché, butWhilst your heart heats,Mine shall simply melt.
I Just Want to Understand.You know the shreds of my story.Lately, I've even given you the glueSo that you can piece it all together,And just understand me.So why won't you let me in?You gave me a sheet of paper,And bare snippets of the rest.I tried offering my own glue,But you just threw it away.I just want to understand.I don't want you to hurt,I just want to know how it feels.I want to be empathetic,And maybe even learn sympathy.I just need you to speak to me.Tell me what hurts, and let's dissect itAnd understand why it's killing you.Just let me in so that I, too, can see -And together we can beat it down.
TravelersThe soft of sound of creaking glimmers throughout the village. To any foreigner, the noise could be recognized as a symbol of a ghost town. If not that, then perhaps the garden that lies in the midst of these worn vintage homes. There the color of the vines and the grass are a color so gray their roots seem to feed off gravestones. A single step on one of the blackened roses would sound a crack so loud the dead would awake. Maybe that was the event triggered the sight at hand. The rhythmic squeaks yet continued as a bike rolled on between the dead lengths of flowers. Upon the withered seat sat a skeleton. Its joints scraped against nearby bones without protective cartilage. The bike itself joined the hymn as the pedals tried to move. On and on, the noise carried through. But just like the dead trees that fell without no one to see, are these sounds ever heard - ever made?
Strength is BeautyThis year I want to be beautiful;Define beauty as strength,And that is all I want.I want to be beautiful enoughTo stop holding back the tearsAnd to rise above the crises.I want to be beautiful enoughTo speak what is on my mindAnd to fix reasons for thought.I want to be beautiful enoughTo survive my very own mindAnd to make it to next year.I want to be beautiful enoughTo share this poem I'm writingAnd to never stop sharing.This year I want to be strong;Define strength as beauty,And that is all I want.
Regret and RevengeRegret and Revenge (Pt. 1)She holds herself up, tall. With her body straight, her hands at her sides, and her eyes diverting everyone else's, she stands. Nobody seems to notice her as she stand by in her black skinny jeans and dark jacket. Hidden in the corner of the bar, she believes that nobody can see her tears. It's not long before she learns of her false thinking. She turns her head slightly to avoid his gaze, hoping her stature will show more confidence than her eyes. Yet, he walks towards her. He raises his hand to her face as he wipes away her tears. Before her thought process even has the chance to begin, he's already leaned in, pressing his lips against hers. She returns the action. His hands find new homes on her broken body, beginning a night of a untold history.Regret and Revenge (Pt. 2)The bed she lies in is one of the softest she's ever experienced. Hearing steady, low breaths next to her, she decides to stay a little longer. She grasps her pillow a little tighter and
Seasonal MurderWinter's ChillSnowy kills to enchant sorrowIn the art of the first snowfall;Bare feet make fresh prints,Felt as painlessly as whatThe victim no longer feels.Spring's BloomFlowering tombs lace corpsesWhile April's showers pour tearsAs to water May's flowers.Shame though roses live,Their vines wilt quick.Summer's HeatSun cheats the white skinNow burned red and burning;The sand represents no mercy,Because blood never liesWhen shed from prints.Fall's TreeLeaf pleas to not yet brownAs its friends take the wind downTo catch a ride to the ground.Dead leaves even need angels,Or they'll be lost in the breeze.