Melancholy thoughtsI tastethe sweetnessin your words,only to wonderhow many othershave tastedthem too.
Candle WaxYou meltmy heartlike candle wax,but I'm afraidover timeI'll getburnt.
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
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."
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
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.
Lonely:When you'reso unwantedthat evenyour thoughtschooseto exityour company.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moonhas craterstoo,and lookhow brightit shines,even inthe darkestof times.
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.
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
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.”
Barb WireYour barb-wired brainwon't let me in,and I'm getting cuttrying to jumpthe fence.
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
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
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
Starlight kisses and bed sheet hugsMy teeth arecoffee-stained,and my eyeshold dark pocketsof graphitebecause of allthe late nightsI let the starlightkiss me,and my bed sheetsembrace me,because I realizedyou never had,and now-you never would.
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."
I will let you inPlease… be careful with my heartI don't understand what it meansBecause of all the painI want to let you inBut as you can see there is nothingBecause I have nothing to giveAll I have is this broken heartIts not the right timeI'm sorry please… be carefulI want to healI know this is not mePlease… be carefulI don't want to hurt youSo its better that you keep your distanceBut you don'tBecause you knowThat I'm really just coldAnd I need to be thawed out with your warmthBut not too much or I'll break just like the icePlease… be careful with my heartI don't understand what it meansBecause of all the painI want to let you inand I will let you inand I will… let you in…
In needTake my hand. I won't let go.
SchoolIt’s like I’m trapped within a cageThe synchronized turning of every pageBeing forced to stand on a stageThese people all fill me with rage“I could easily destroy this placeTo find me they would have to chaseI could turn the walls into rubble-”OH SH-! They heard me! Now I’m in trouble!The class writing about a book we readAs another part of my soul drops deadBut I’m too distracted by the clocks tick“Mum I can’t go today, I’m sick…Cough, cough.”
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
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
jillianshe's eight.the girl never stops moving,climbing the tarnished metalof the jungle gym wildly, limbs swinging,eyes alightwith a childhood joyI shed when I passedthe port of twelve,thirteen.she is knotted curls,long silken hairwith infant-blond ends.her fingers grabher doll with the frizzy hairand painted face,and she's eager to winhide-and-seek,checkers,Mario Cart.I am old enoughto recognizethat she will not last this way,that she will grow,as all children do.every time I see her,she grows a little taller.she no longer likes Dora,I've learned,and I guess she thinksblowing bubblesis too babyish now.one dayshe will abandon her dollsfor makeup,leave her coloring booksfor boyfriends and college andlife,but right now,her world is simple:days in school, coloring pictures,nights at home,nibbling dinners and playing with her toys.right now,she's eight.
And he saw the moon.Hidden away from his heart and homeand after his tears had been stolen away ,he looked up to skyand saw the moon.He wondered what this radiancethat still shined upon himwas, for even the sun had forsaken him and he blessed it and deemed it his savior.Hidden away from love and lightand after his hopehad been stolen away,he looked up and saw the moon.And each night he prayed to its light's benevolenceand would place a chair beneath it and reachbelievinghe was closer to its kindness.Hidden away from his wonder and worryand after his carehad been stolen away ,he looked up to skyand saw the moon.And he began to believeand his belief cemented tilhe began to knowthere was no light<
BannedMy mind is a libraryLined with banned books.I've been copying them downIn fear that someoneWill Burn them down.
The Sounds Of A DayThere is a manwho wakes every morningto the sound of ticking,tick tock tick tockas he risescombined with the steady creakof truly worn bones.He continues ondrowning the perpetual noisewith his monotony,twenty brushesboth hair and teeththree splashestwelve buttonsone zipand two laceswith little bunnies of top.He walks the empty hallwayto the rhythm of children's laughterand closes the doorjust as it turns to tears.He arrives at workbrazenly ignoring the serenade of clicksby a chorus of staples,click clickclickcli-click click click.He is hard to seducebut soon succumbs to itwielding his own instrumentjust in time for his solo,rasping upon the staplerlong and hard tillhe's finally released.He runs to the elevator<
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.