SavedYour tangled up soulhas taken a toll,Hiding dark and deepthe secrets you keepThe tears you have shedfrom thoughts in your head,Dear they were all fiction:a made up addictionI want you to knowI see through the show,I know that your eyestell genuine liesI watch as you feignas you’re still in pain,And my soul will be toountil I have saved you
Melancholy thoughtsI tastethe sweetnessin your words,only to wonderhow many othershave tastedthem too.
ShipI missed you todayI regretfully say,My feelings are tidesmoving every which wayThe image of youshall be washed apart,As the shore and the oceando gently departAnd the way that my feetleft prints on the sand,Is the way that I feltwhen you held my handBut it's time to move on,this ship's found new land,The anchor is sunk,and I will withstand
Barb WireYour barb-wired brainwon't let me in,and I'm getting cuttrying to jumpthe fence.
Candle WaxYou meltmy heartlike candle wax,but I'm afraidover timeI'll getburnt.
The tough gets growingI'm knee-deep in mud,grumbling and mumblingabout what I didto deserve this messAnd my mother glares,saying,"When I planted you,I put you deep in the dirt,not to bury you alive,but to teach you thatwhen the growing gets tough,the tough gets growing."
Lonely:When you'reso unwantedthat evenyour thoughtschooseto exityour company.
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stopspewing pretty metaphors at me,for with each elaborate comparison,I feel a bit moredetached from this worldAnd maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,but would you beif you felt like the entire universewas resting upon your shoulders,and someone was just there saying:But you’re stronger than the powerful beatsof a butterfly’s wingsAnd maybe I do need more confidence,but would you exuberate itwhen the part you hated most about yourselfwere the freckles that have speckled your face for years,and someone was just there muttering:They’re not flaws,but rather stars that form constellationsYes, I can’t help but hateall those unrealistic metaphorsyou choose to pelt at me when I’m low,yet the irony is,I know that those beautiful wordsare realistic in your eyes,So I can’t hate you.
Railroad TracksYou drawrailroad trackson your wristhoping themetal-made grooveswill takeyou somewherebetterBut these tracksyou're chugging along ononly put youon a trainthat is zoomingtoward a deep,dark tunnelAnd at the end of this tunnel,there is no light.
Get Lost"Get lost," they said vindictively:A knife stabbed through my soulAnd being young and ignorant,I took these words so cruelI swam through roaring oceans,and I trekked the mountains highI spent time on deserted landwith me, myself, and IAnd as I wandered aimlesslyacross these untouched placesI realized to get lost,you must seek a destination
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moonhas craterstoo,and lookhow brightit shines,even inthe darkestof times.
GoodbyeI want to mutter a million things,but they’re catching in my throatAnd my heart is heavy in my chest,with a weight that holds a heavy loadThis weight is not a pound of gold,but rather a pound of worthless rocksAnd now I’m spitting bits of gravelas I try to talk
A message to the brokenYou drown yourselfin liquid sorrows,letting the salty messburn your wounds,and the sadnessto drip in your mouth,consuming your wordsand you sayyou deserve the pain,but I want to dry your face,and whisper in your earhow the clouds cry too,while they hold such beauty,and so do you.
PalaceThis palacewe've built for ourselvesisn't going to last foreverand I can already see the vines growing,and the cracks forming,and the walls crumblingdowndowndownto the ground thatis falling awayAnd I just can't understandwhy it is so hard to builda beautiful creation like we have,yet so easy to destroythe masterpieceonce it's made
Dear DeathI sink my kneesinto the sodden dirtsurrounding the graveof a human long goneI touch the stone'schiseled cursive wordsand trace the letters:how gelid they've becomeI stare at the flowersthat people have left;upon the plot,ham-handedly choppedAnd I contemplatemy inevitable deathhoping no flowers are leftfor the message they possess"I'm trading life for death."
Atelophobia Atelophobia The word sticks to my tongue like cotton candyThe sweet, fluffy combination of lettersstruggling to embody a correct connotationAnd even the dictionary definition seems sugarcoated:"Fear of imperfection."Is that what they say when I'm up until 3am,editing my English paper for the umpteenth timeThe tick-tock tick-tock of the clockpromptly proliferating the roomAnd I just sit there changing good to great,and peaceful to quiescent,hoping that my teacher will be drunk in his bungalowwhile he grades my chicken-scratch calligraphyAnd he’ll see stars instead of how horrid it isOr is that the word they use,when I struggle to consume a 25-calorie chunk of chocolatebecause I just know it will go straight to my hips,or when I step on the scaleand watch the black dashes zoom bylike a carousel spinning,And as the twirling and whirling makes me sick,I know throwing up still won’t make me thinAnd is that the term they mutterwhen I'm sob
Apologies to a friendYou pour your heart out to me,and are willingto submerge mein an oceanof loveyet when I see the waterrushing towards me,I convince myselfI don't liketo swim
Sheets“I adore you,”she said, whimsically twisted in the rippled gossamer sheets of their bed.And in these words were memories of weather-worn love letters,long kisses with smeared roseate lipstick,and layered mascara outlining her chatoyant eyes,for he loved the way it looked.“I misspoke,”she said months later, tightly grasping the rippled gossamer sheets of her bed.And in these words were soiled and crumpled goodbye notes,untarnished roseate lipstick on her opulent lips,and smeared mascara, creating an ashy mess on her pillowcase,for who cares if he used to love the way it looked.She whispered to empty sheets,“I meant abhor you.”
she's gone, she's gone.don't tell a broken girl withgrief pouring into the juts of her cheekbones,hunger suffocating into the curves of her ribs,that her eyes are madeof moonlightand her hair was weaved fromsunshine when you arelight years away and millennia too late
In needTake my hand. I won't let go.
Unsaid truths and spoken hateunsaid truths and spoken hate will forever be how I remember you.I won't remember your petiteand deliciously sweet smile.I won't remember the nervous way you'd embrace meas though my open arms might be retracted at any moment.I won't remember your kindnesswrought from a belief you deservednone of what life had been willingto bless upon you.I won't remember how I nearly lovedevery little part of youfrom your crooked smirkto your large handsmolded perfectly to fit in mine.I will remember your cowardiceyour fear of the possibility of my love.I will remember your lieswhispered sweetly to mein that empty library of how you thought we could last together.I will remember all the embittered and loving words which choked me as you forcedsuch hat
How she searchedShe searched ,with bandaged handsand burned armsfor the warmth of a soulin the caked facesof false men.She searched ,with filthy handsand blind eyesfor joys of lifein the gravesof those who knew only its tragedies.She searched ,with livid handsand false smilesfor the beauty of realityin the shadowssmeared upon her wallsand in the moonlightglaring down upon her. She searchedwith manicured handsand lyrical wordsfor godsin the approvaland recognition of men.She searched until she finally foundbut the very things for which she searchedsearched in her and foundnothing,but two hands with blind eyesburned armsfalse smilesand lyrical words.
.you break freefrom the grip ofthe oceanjust to die inthe arms of the shorefrom exhaustion
Wall of glassThrough my lifeI've built a wallA wall that surrounds meAnd keeps me awayFrom the worldIt looks solidBut it's fragileIt's made of glassAnd I wonderHow long it'll lastAnd who will be the oneTo shatter itAnd reach the real meThat lurks inside
To the days where books couldn't heal Usually it's easy to live without you. I wake up with my baby nephew shaking and hugging and poking me because he wants to play with me and I have to comply because he's too adorable. Mum's bacon sandwich always makes me happy because come on, it's bacon. But not today. Today feels like asphalt dust just blows up on my face when I speed to town. Today feels like the gears on clocks stop working and my eyes are thunderstorms and lightnings. I couldn't see or feel, but they are overflowing with the madness of static movement. I think I'm going to crash, and I'm terrified because I don't think I mind it so much. Maybe I'm not someone to be noticed. I don't know why my spine is curved into the shape of a wilted rose, or why my books seem to trigger me into another parallel
.i'll measure my lifein coffee grounds, in summerfreckles and you
I saw thatI saw that.The way the wordsstuck in the back of your throat like glue.The way you held your tonguefor fear of ridicule if you spoke up for yourself.The way the syllables gushed from their mouths,a torrent of excuses,when they did you wrongbecause you didn't make your own caseand you should have been more forceful.I saw that.And I've been there, I've lived it.I know it's hard to let their criticismroll off your back whenthey've already knocked youflat on your face.But I saw that.And I won't let you fight it alone.
Cement HeartI built a wallaround my heart,and sworeI'd never let you inbut the more time thatI spend with you,allows the beatsto crackthe cement.