New Beginnings

I'm not going to paste my entire short story on here because the format always gets screwed up but here is the link to this story i wrote the other day.
It might not seem like it at first but it's about being brave enough to accept the things you cannot change and to change the things you can.

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Destinee/487309/

also, the writing style is a lot "braver" i suppose you could say with the words i use.

keep in mind please, that i was writing this for a school assignment and was supposed to keep it to 6 pages at the maximum. That proved to be impossible so i splurged for 9 (oh, the bravery!)
it's still not how i imagined it because i had to cut it so short but oh well. one day i will return to it.

Elsewhere

Don’t worry your pretty little head, little one

Daddy’s gone elsewhere tonight

You don’t have to worry about the

Look he gets in his eyes

When he’s had too much to drink

And when the liquor just wasn’t enough

To declaw the demon in his mind.

Don’t lose any sleep, little one,

Daddy’s gone elsewhere again tonight

And he’s taken his brown bottle with him

To the place where we wish he wouldn’t leave.

When he’s elsewhere we are safe

And when he’s elsewhere we’re okay

That is why we must leave.

Don’t be scared, little one.

We’re going elsewhere tonight.

So pack your bags and get dressed.

We’re leaving for the next train leaving town.

Don’t waste your time looking over your shoulder

He’s not here, he doesn’t know,

He’s gone elsewhere.

Where is elsewhere you ask?

Elsewhere is anywhere but here.

Elsewhere can be our safe haven

Elsewhere can be our hell on earth.

Elsewhere…

Elsewhere…

Safe Haven…

Hell.

We’ll find out when we get there.

I'll Sing (Sestina)

When you left, you took my breath with you

The longest hour and a lifetime away from home.

And now my lungs are tired and as dry as stone.

So I sit silent and alone, rocking the ruins of my heart to sleep.

From their shining diamond mouths like tears they sing,

And it is the most heart wrenching song you’ll ever hear.

If by chance the melody followed the air so you could hear

You wouldn’t care; the sound of death wouldn’t even phase you.

Apathy has sewn your mouth closed, never again will you sing

Never again will you’re heart allow yourself to call another home.

All you’ll know is loneliness, when you wake, when you sleep

You’ll be alone, you and your heart of stone.

Do you remember, when I would wake to the tapping of a stone

On my bedroom window? That was before you refused to hear

The world out; that was before you’d crawl in bed and sleep

Blocking out the cries and laughs that make up the world around you.

When the moon was stretching over the sky you’d find me at home

And together, in perfect harmony with the earth, we would sing.

But now you refuse to listen, you refuse to sing.

The world is too much for you; you think it’s only as cold as stone.

You don’t understand the precious balance upon which we find our home.

Negative, ugly things, that made your heart hurt was all you could hear.

So you gave up, shut yourself up, and refused to let anyone near you.

That is why your dreams are painted in pain and anguish when you sleep.

I tried to calm your dreams, to let you breathe easy in sleep

But you denied my deepest attempts, refused to listen to me sing.

And that is why when you left, even though my heart broke, I let you.

You became unreachable in your self-imposed silence, as stubborn as stone.

That is when my heart began to cry out the song you wouldn’t hear

The song that begged you to find yourself back in my arms, at home.

For the sake of my heart I wish you would come home

No matter how long I rock the broken pieces it can’t— it won’t sleep

In time I’ll learn another way to reason with it so it will hear

I’ll tell it you’re not the only reason to live, there are many other songs to sing.

Already my lungs are learning to breathe again, resurrecting from stone.

So, one day my heart will be whole, my lungs alive, and they will forget you.

I’ll find myself at home, and I’ll sing.

And while you sleep on your bed of stone,

You will weep as you hear me breathe without you.

Siren's Sonnet

There is a song that the siren sings

That dulls the pain and clouds the mind

Young sailors don’t yet know what evil it brings

Or that they’re about to leave their entire life behind.

The melody crawls along the waves to their waiting ship

To catch any unlucky man on deck alone

They don’t realize its claws seizing their heart in its cold grip,

Pulling them into the fog, into the dark unknown.

When their body washes up onto the sandy shore

She’ll fall to her knees and wail to the sea’s ebb and flow

They’re not the one she was calling to, the one she sung for

They’re not her lover lost to the dark waters so long ago

Their cold, colorless corpse mocks her suffering, her every sigh

And once again her soul tears open and begins the deadly cry.

-------

A different version of Siren Song.

Someone Knows

Have you ever had a secret?

The kind of secret you’re always thinking about?

The kind that keep you up at night as it

Gnaws on your cerebrum like some disgruntled lapdog?

The kind that keep you from staring too long into people’s eyes

Cause you’re afraid they’ll see it deep down in your corneas?

If you say no, we’ll know you’re lying.

Everyone has had a secret and

Everyone’s scared that someone knows.

I know, it's a bit different from what i usually write...

Me?

I’m not perfect, you’ll soon figure that out

I’m human, a potential pillar of salt, like Lot’s wife

I worry about what might happen next

And wonder “what if” as I get older

My mind must think it’s training for a marathon

Because in all my years it’s never stopped running

Paranoia slips in and out of my thoughts

And Melancholy has found itself a home

When you talk to me and I don’t answer

My eyes are focused on something else

And my thoughts are too.

Some call it being spacey- a regular astronaut

Some call it being ditzy- your dumb blonde stereotype.

I call it being lost in your own thoughts

Having so much to think about

That each train of thought fights for your attention

Until it’s like a battlefield, bloody brain waves strewn about.

So like I said, I’m not perfect,

A galaxy or two away perhaps,

If I’m lucky.

we were supposed to write something about "personal identity", only, everything i wrote was waaaay too personal. So this is what i turned in. I'm not happy with it. At all.

Fire Dancers

Deep in the jungle

In a dance as old as time—

They soar over fires.

Sound of Silence

Sound

Faint, Thunderous

Buzzing, Singing, Speaking

Wail, Shriek, Peace, Tranquility

Muting, Smothering, Deafening

Stony, Soft

Silence

Silver Screens

Silver screens and technological spawn

Hundreds of choices but good nothing on

And yet you’re all up watching until dawn.

Eyes glued to that damned lighted square

Pants stitched to your favorite chair

Lost in a trance, a half-crazed stare.

It’s more addictive than crack cocaine.

It’s rotting what is left of your brain,

But do I here any of you complain?

The Perfect Weapon

It looks sharp and exact,

A snow-white dagger

The perfect weapon.

Press your finger to the edge

You’ll expect a rivulet of blood

To ruin the stark perfection

But it bends under the pressure,

Caresses your skin like a dream.

Satin slivers held together tightly

By an unseen thread of whispers.

You can feel the murmurs course

Under your skin, leaving a little piece

Of the unimaginable places it’s been.

It hums of the oceans, and sings of the tides

It pulls you through deserts of white-silver sand

Scorches you with the fire of the sun

And soothes you with the brush of twilight.

If it softly kisses your sleeping eyelids

Then you’ve felt a piece of heaven

An angel’s feather fallen from the skies

Anxiety is My Song and Dance

The room is a carousel

Spinning round and round in my mind

Air rushes into my lungs— too much too fast

And I’m lost in the familiar song and dance.

The voices are raging in a thunderous backbeat,

Culminating into one ominous roar.

It’s deafening it’s unbearable

It reverberates into my veins as

Blood rushes through the body

And darkens the mind, inflaming my sight.

The room is a violent shade of suffocating red

And my breath is quickening

My body is convulsing

My mind is racing

But not one sideways glance notices

The ferocious spirit taking me over

Everyone is lost in their own song and dance.

A Fated Darkness

It’s a war of worlds between the heavens and earth

As wind rips at the trees ruthlessly tearing them apart

Up from the roots they fly through the angry blue-black sky

And land in a gnarled defeated mess on the quaking ground

Rain falls in never-ending torrents, sheet music for a soulless dirge

Lightning shoots across the vast expanse, a warning from Zeus

Today is the day we call to the deep azure raging above us

To hear our cries and ready promises of reform

But each desperate plea is to no avail;

They have decided our fate.

Darkness.

Write On It A Tune

I’ll make you a paper airplane
To lift you from the depths of pain,
To wrench your soul from the frozen grips
Of the tundra that frosted your heart and lips.

I’ll sing you songs to calm your dreams
To lay you down next to rippling streams,
To banish the shadows that lie in your mind
And fill them with a love bright and undefined.

I’ll carve you a sea’s shell of stone
To carry the sea’s secrets to you alone
To make you see that you’re not the only one
Whose seams of life are coming undone

I’ll paint you a second moon in the sky
To reflect every child’s laugh and broken cry
To remind you that you need the dark to value light
And guide you through your most wearisome plight

I will take that paper and write on it the tune
To teach the shell to sing and serenade the moon
That moon controls the tides of effervescent blue
That I trust to bring me across this sea and back to you

Sequoias (2)

Remember when you took me to see the Sequoias,
And when you told me you could tell how old it was
By counting the myriad of spirals twining through its heart,
You said our love would live that long—never would we part.
You said our love would put the ancient Sequoias to shame
Like the mighty redwood it would grow wild and never tame.
We stood at opposite ends and stretched our arms around
Until our hands clasped and we were once again love bound.

Time has passed; the Sequoias continue to grow tall and free.
But all I can think of is how we might as well plant our own tree
In the space growing between us, isolating you from me.


Had to turn it into a couplet for LOGOS.

Flame and Dreams

Leaves the color of flame and dreams
Mimic the carefree laughter of our children
But when our backs are turned and the sun fades
Their impersonations turn to incantations
That whisper through our minds
As we walk the streets as dark as sin.

As we walk the streets as dark as sin
Wayward spirits wander over our graves.
As they trail their razor sharp nails as cold as ice
Down the valleys of our stiff spines they beseech us
Hurry home darlings and whatever you do pay no heed
To the leaves the color of flame and dreams

Blame It On the Rain

I blame it on the rain
It makes my skin come alive
It makes my tongue loose
And my eyes wander

You blame it on the rain
It makes your mind go blank
It makes your anger flair
And your fists hunger

We blame it on the rain
These things we’ve done
Because it’s the only way
We can love one another

Why Do You Wear A Mask?

We wear masks of onyx and sapphire
To hide the shadowed moons under our eyes
But they can’t hide the bruises marring our skin
Over arms and legs emaciated by time and lies

They judge us even as their masks slip to reveal
What they truly are— something much more vindictive
Voices of satin weave the sweetest symphony of death and destruction
Hearts of ice cover their lies make them all the more addictive

Behind our veils of impervious truth our blackened gaze
Springs forth tears of diamonds for all those caught
In their snare of fixation and deceit that refuses to release
Their souls of lead and sand that are forever more good for naught

And so we wear the masks of onyx and sapphires
That hide the shadowed moons under our eyes
To protect us from this world that turns our wings
To dust and ignores our soul shattering cries

Belly of the Beast

I am
Sick of this pain
And of this cyclical sorrow.

I am
Sick of the unfamiliar voices with no faces.
And of this hospital room, stark and lifeless.

But most of all I am sick of this beeping machine
rising and falling like a monster's
razor sharp teeth, chewing my soul to pieces.

As I watch the bright strand rise and fall
I wonder what will happen when the teeth still,
When they transpire to nothing but a thin line.

Would I fall from the mouth
into the belly of the beast?

The Siren's Song

Do you hear the lover’s cries
from rose petals parted and trembling?
The bittersweet tears as they run into the ocean,
Become a heart-wrenching melody that crawls
Along the waves to where your ship lies,
Waiting for nothing, yet waiting nonetheless.
It calls to you.
It entrances you.
It’s claws sink into your chest,
Seizing your heart in its cold grip,
Pulling you into the fog,
Into the unknown.

And as your body washes up onto the shore,
She screams in outrage; wails in despair.
You are not the one she sung for,
You are not her lover lost to the waters so long ago.
Your cold colorless body mocks her anguish.
Sinking to her knees, her hands graze the pristine sand.
And once again
Her soul tears open.
The deadly melody, pale and soft,
Whispers of death and a love lost
Against her blue lips, as cold as the corpse.
The Siren’s song.

Necessary Lies (A Memoir)

Three long, lonely years had passed from the time my mother had stowed my brother and me away into our old minivan and trekked through six states to separate us from the destructive life my father had chosen to live. Three years for a young girl to pine for her absent father. Three years for hopes rise so high that the slightest hitch might plummet those hopes 20,000 leagues under the sea.

It was three years before my mother finally allowed my brother and me to visit our family in North Carolina. From the moment we moved we had begged her to let us see our father but every time we did she would turn our cries down and refuse to explain why.

I had to pinch myself. Was I dreaming? I was to spend three blessed weeks of summer at the home where I grew up; nothing could possibly be any more perfect.

And yet, now as I look back, out of the three weeks only a single day has been imprinted in my mind.

I had been home for only a few days when I found myself searching innocently for my father; we were supposed to be digging for bait worms in the ditch behind our house for fishing the next day but my father had suddenly disappeared. I looked everywhere outside for him but to no avail. Inside I went, hoping to find him quickly so that I could continue on with my competition for who could find the most worms with my brother. As I stood in the kitchen wondering where to look I noticed that the bedroom door to my father’s room was open slightly, so I walked right in.
Immediately, the sweet, familiar scent that would fill the hallways of our apartment back in Minnesota floated up to my nose making me catch my breath.

Upon hearing my gasp, my father whirled around from his perch on the side of his bed. In my peripheral vision I watched as something small and white rolled onto the floor a foot away from him.

I felt my father’s eyes on me as I stepped further into the room, closer to him. When he perceived that my gaze wasn’t directed at him but at the small neatly rolled joint lying on the carpet he bent to grab it. Only, I was quicker.
With a mixture of revulsion and anger, I held out the tiny forbidden object. Having a drug counselor as a mother assured the repeated horror stories of drug abuse.

“Hey, baby,” my father finally greeted me, “why don’t you hand me that and go back outside. I’ll be right there in a moment.”

“Dad,” my eyes seemed to show something of what I was feeling even though I couldn’t form the words in my mouth. My hand burned to crush the fragile smoke.

“Alright, I see that my girl is a lot smarter than I took her for.” He sighed and patted the quilt next to him, “Have a seat and we can talk.”

He was quiet for a minute. After I sat down, his lips pursed as if preparing himself for what he was about to say.

“You are definitely your mother’s daughter. You know that isn’t a regular cigarette, don’t you?” I was the silent one now as I simply nodded, preparing myself for what I already knew he was going to say. I listened whole-heartedly as he told me calmly that he was smoking pot and he had been smoking pot since he was a young teenager. I wasn’t interested in that. I was only interested in why. I wanted to hear why he was doing something I knew of as wrong. When that didn’t come, my emotions grew even more tumultuous.

However, years of hiding my broken emotions resulting from the ugly divorce my parents went through kept my face dutifully tranquil even though my raging emotions threatened to drown me.

He smiled at me as he took the joint from my tiny fist, told me to go look after my brother and that he would be right out. I was making my way to the door when this man who I had idolized just minutes ago said something so unsuspecting I nearly lost my composure.

“Destinee, you know you can’t tell your mamma about this, right? If you did you know she wouldn’t let you come see me anymore, right?”

I turned around slowly, my gaze on the floor as I nodded wordlessly.
He wanted me to keep something like this from my mother.
He wanted me to lie if necessary.

Anger pushed at what little reserve I had left. I tried to tell myself as I wandered back to my brother that he was only saying that because it was true. My mother would definitely not let us come back down to visit if she knew my father was smoking pot, which I found out later was a definite deal breaker in their agreement for any kind of visitation. Of course he didn’t want me to tell my mother, he wanted to be able to see us. It had nothing to do with the fact that he might get in even more trouble by being exposed. No, I told myself, it wasn’t that.

I was never good at telling lies. When I was younger, I was never good at keeping secrets that were so monumental (not that I had many). The guilt began to wash over me in livid waves as I sat at the ditch and attempted to distract myself from thoughts of the ugly truth by digging furiously into the ground to find as many squirming worms as I could.

That night my brother and I ambled into the house caring three small buckets of soil and the slimy insects, my brother happily claiming that we would be able to catch all of the fish in the river with all the bait we had. I, on the other hand, was emotionally and physically exhausted and couldn’t bring myself to act so ecstatic.

“What’s wrong bud?” My father asked after noticing my indifference.

“I think I’m getting sick,” I said truthfully; my stomach was beginning to reel.

“Oh no, you better get to bed then, so you feel well enough to go fishing tomorrow.” I didn’t wait for him to tell me twice before hugging him once and going off to my room. Sleep refused to come though. All I could think of was the mysterious reasons my mother had for leaving my father and wonder how deeply they were rooted in what I found out hours ago.

I didn’t go fishing with my father the next morning or the next time they went.
I held on to the secret, though.

In the short years following my brother and I would go back to visit him twice, and still I gripped that secret so close to myself it was a part of me. I held onto it longer than I had any idea that I could. However, I did end up telling my mother years later after my brother had been given the same speech by my father and spilled his guts. We didn’t visit him again after that, although, he did come to Minnesota once afterwards.

Just a few weeks ago—nearly 11 years after my family’s departure from all that I believed was stable in my life; 8 years after the miserly reunion with my father—he called me on my birthday to tell me that he was planning on quitting smoking both pot and cigarettes on my birthday and that he would work on quitting drinking alcohol later. He set his quit date on my birthday to remind him of what was “important” in life, he said.

I should feel elation or perhaps pride, and yet all I can find in the cauldron of fitting emotions in pure cynicism. Don’t get me wrong; I want nothing more than for my father to get clean and work for a more stable future. However, I can’t help but ask myself where was this commitment when he lost our house, his car, and countless jobs? Where was this reformation when my mother gave him the ultimatum: quit or lose her and the kids? Where was this when it truly mattered, when what he wanted was still within his reach?

It was that first trip back that marked the turning point of my adulation to my resentment—neither of the emotions healthy—and yet in writing the event down, expressing my emotions of the time, I feel as if I have also marked a new turning point. This one, I hope, will result in the transition from resentment to acceptance and perhaps one day, healing.

Arachnophobia

A true story for LOGOS class.

Night had descended over the city and as my family retired to their rooms, I was doing just the opposite. Shutting my bedroom door, I headed for the living room couch, a safe haven when the little monsters weren’t around. As I flipped on the TV, the bright shining light danced across the floor. Just as I propped my feet up on the coffee table I watched, in a trance, as my worst nightmare came to life in front of me. Eight hairy legs supporting an enormous body sped into the mirrored light of the TV. I opened my mouth in a scream, jumping up from my seat. I ran around searching madly for a weapon—or any shoe that wasn’t my own. Grabbing my mother’s boot, I crept into the living room, my heart beating wildly, to find that the repulsive creature hadn’t moved. Not wanting to get any closer, I stopped a couple of feet away and launched the shoe at the monster, only to miss by a dismal three inches.
Once again I tossed the boot, this time gaining contact but not killing it. By now, the massive arachnid began attempting to escape. My nerves were doing an Irish jig under my skin at the thought of having to actually get close to the creature but I forced myself to take hold of the shoe once more.
This time, I settled for a much more practical approach. So, I hacked at the eight-legged freak with my makeshift bludgeon.
When I decided the thing was dead enough I stood up, pride exuding from my stance. I had defeated the beast.
Then, as I realized one crucial detail, my face fell. I was now left with the question of what to do with what was left of the killing.
If only my cat had a craving for spider guts.

He Won't Leave Me

Another short story for LOGOS class,


“What do you mean?” I breathed; my voice was raspy from withheld tears and desperation. We’ve been through this time after heart wrenching time and the words I know he will utter are imprinted forever in my mind.
“I never want to see you again.” The cold words struck immediately, hitting just as hard as the first time, a bolt of lightning shooting through my flesh and bone to my soul. I watched as he turned and walked past as if he hadn’t just incinerated my very being. The flood raging behind the dam of my eyelids threatened to run over and I found that I had neither the strength nor the desire to hold it back any longer. I felt the bitter, salty tears slide down my face, slowly extinguishing the inferno in my chest.
Innumerable sobs wracked my body and when I finally opened my eyes I found that I was staring at a black screen, credits rolling by quickly.
“What are you doing?” I jumped at the sudden question, blinking furiously when the blinding lights snapped on.
I rushed to wipe away all traces of dampness from my cheeks, which were burning a bright crimson now that I had been caught.
“I don’t understand why you even watch that movie; all it does is make you cry.” My mother walked into the room, her tone a mixture of amusement and mild curiosity.
“I don’t know, I guess I keep hoping that just once he won’t leave her.” My voice cracks, a lit match striking the tinder of my heart, “A happy ending.”
She looks at me and sees through the façade, hears the words that I truly mean, the words I cannot bring myself to give life to. Without hesitating, she wraps her arms around my huddled form and readies herself to wait out the long storm ahead.
Because, she knows, as any woman knows, tears may not heal a broken heart, but they ease the soul.

"Scents" Of Appreciation

A descriptive language thing for LOGOS class.

“I had a great time, Jane,” John whispered as he slowly took a step closer to me.
It was then that it hit me. That putrid odor I had dismissed in the car was coming from him, or more precisely, his mouth, which, I nearly gagged as I noted, was moving closer to me at an alarming rate. Hot breath washed over my face, crawling over my skin and tickling my nose. The stench seemed to cloud around my face, an invisible villain attacking my senses. It took all the strength and determination not to faint from the noxious gas that would make a decomposing corpse smell like roses.
My mind raced. What should I do? What should I say?
What the heck did he eat? On second thought, I didn’t want to know the answer to that last question.
Thankfully, just as I was about to be smothered to death by his horrid breath, the swinging open of a door and a gruff voice broke through the malodorous haze fogging my mind.
“Jane, it’s past curfew. You should be inside by now.”
Oh, how heavenly that sounded at the moment-- not that I would ever tell my father that.
“Hey, Dad," tension elongated every syllable. I quickly stepped as far away from John as possible, taking in a deep breath of wonderfully untainted oxygen in the process.
"I had a great time, John.” I awkwardly dodged his attempts at a hug and made my way to the door, sending my father a beatific grin as I past him in the doorway. My smile had nothing to do with the supposedly “great” time I had and everything to do with my new sense of appreciation for fresh air.

Lonely Hands

Come, love, see my hands,
See how lonely they look
Without yours intertwined.

I tried filling the gaps with
Flowers, baubles and things,
But they couldn’t survive the
Snowstorms of my mind.

The Funniest Joke

I’ve got the world on my shoulders
But your eyes are my two moons holding me steady.
My poor mortal soul couldn’t hold all of my love for you
So, I threw it out to the skies.

This way, if you ever doubt the words I say
You can look to the stars, which not only burn for you,
But burn because of you.
And I know sometimes I may feel like I’m light years away

Or seem preoccupied with the inner workings of secret galaxies
Just remember my love for you is always shining,
Shining so brightly you may never be able to imagine.
And even when daylight hides the night sky for hours

Or a wayward cloud obscures my testimonial for you,
Just know that in some part of the world,
However insignificant that part may seem,
My love is a muse for many.

Someday when I’m old, when my shoulders are quivering
From the long seized weight of the world,
I’ll be known as the man who loved so greatly
He had to create something otherworldly to contain it.

And one day, thousands of years from that someday,
I’ll run across a young man whose back is straight and unhindered.
He’ll look at me and he’ll say, “Hey man, aren’t you the guy
who crowded outer space with millions of burning balls of gas?”

And I may laugh—albeit, a bit hysterically—because, of course
This world where a fiction written of a one-time lovers’ suicide
Can live forever in the hearts of many but a story as true
and as complete as ours would be reduced to balls of gas.

I’ll tell him, in all seriousness,
“No man, it was burning balls of love.”
And he’ll walk away chuckling as if I had told him the funniest joke.
But one day, he might look into some girl’s eyes to find two moons.

And, if he's lucky, maybe he’ll feel a thousandth of what I feel for you.

It's interesting what comes to you in the dead of night.

Heart of stone
Soul of sand
Sinking to my stomach
Slipping through your hand

Times of the Sun

The clock’s delicate melody
Seems to be at odds with the
Heavy hammering of my heart
How can something so mechanical
Aim to control our lives so entirely?
But I suppose it is us who give it power.
It is our pure mortal aim for control
For restrictions, for organization,
That gives it purpose.
If I had the choice
If my life wasn’t in it’s death grip already
I would toss that ticking damnation
Out of the window. Good riddance.
And plunge myself into the world
When life’s only timer was the
Rising and setting of the Great Sun.

Survivor (acrostic)

Surprising strength in one so small, you were
Unwilling to give up on life
Refusing to succumb to another’s will
Vying for one more chance to live and
I will always remember the
Vibrancy of your smile even to that last moment.
Oh, my love, I will never forget what you told me that final day,
Remember to live and love, and you will truly survive.

Dying Candle image by Harshad Sharma on Flickr

Vacation (acrostic)

Vacant playgrounds with nothing but
April showers and weeping flowers
Carry a sense of suspense.
And in May when it rains diamonds
The earth knows what every child knows.
It’s the subliminal message felt in the very marrow
Of your bones, and albeit temporary, this sense of freedom
Never tasted so sweet.

photo titled "Summer Skin" by red_head_shan on Flickr

Fadeaway

Fading away into the night
An unknown emotion pulses
Dark and beautiful in your soul
Even though you hide it I know you’re just
Another lonely star in search of the one
Worth shining for, and
Although you were meant for someone else
You will never fade from my heart


Sky image by *Peace-of-Art

A Vision

A vision in the final cadences of moonlight
You stand there, eyes closed to the world around you
Ears unhearing of the words dancing through the air
Mouth locked shut for fear of the imprisoned scream's release
Scars left bare adorn treacherously beautiful skin

A vision in the caress of amorous sunlight
Your eyes open slowly ready to meet the world around you
Ears tentatively willing to listen to the laughter as well as cries
Mouth unlocked to sing a song of sorrow reincarnated as love
And from these scars, new wings shall grow

picture: rhogrock on Photobucket

Beauty

For a moment I believed in myself
I believed that I was beautiful
And, for some unknown reason,
The world believed it too.
Then I woke up.

When beauty is but a dream the nightmare is in waking up.

Silence Is the Loudest Scream

There is a strange magic
To the words you whisper in the dark.
And your contented sighs in the dead of night
Are becoming the lullaby I can’t get to sleep without.
But now, your side of the bed is growing cold
And the silence is absolutely deafening.

This picture is from .Stellar. of Flickr

Those Long Gone

What do flowers cry about?
For whom do those petals weep?
They cry for the lost life feeding their beauty.
They weep because such magnificence
Can come from such pain, immeasurable.
But if you are silent and tread with gentle stride
They will sing a song for you, a song of grief and love.
They will whisper, in voices both fragile and strong,
The names of those long gone.

Marionette

Your lips pull at my heartstrings
And it’s killing me that to you
I’m just a marionette on your shelf
Yours to control at a flick of the wrist.

I trusted you to gently handle these strings
I trusted you to wield these threads with love
But power corrupts and the power you had
Over me corrupted you much too completely.

Ever so slyly I sever these heartstrings
Simultaneously severing my ties to you
Left arm down, right arm down
Head relaxes, body collapses.


A beautiful picture by Rosie Hardy

And I Used to Wonder Why They Stared...

I don’t keep a journal
I don’t bother with diaries
But if you were to look at me
Just once you might see
Such things are of no use
When every traitorous thought
Is printed on my face.
Every second guess,
Dances across closed eyelids.
Every word I refuse speak
cruelly decorates these lips.
And every belittling name
I call myself finds a home
For all to see.


This breathtaking picture is by Flickr's Hecate-moon.

Soul Mates... sooner or later

Maybe in our next lifetime,
I'll find you before she does,
Because I feel it in my bones
And deep down in my veins.
We're meant to be more.
We're meant to be.

Thank You, Stranger

The night’s sky screamed suicide.
And I was its seemingly willing victim.
Two thousand feet up above the city lights
And I finally see why no one wanted to sleep.
It’s a shame I never noticed the beauty until now.
For a moment I raised my hands in protest.
I didn’t want to leave, not when life can be beautiful.
But the wind pushed me closer to the edge.
It whispered in my ear words I always longed for
And I folded into its ghostly caress.
Everything happened so quickly.
Loss of balance. Loss of breath.
Your voice overcame the shrieking wind.
Quick, grab my hand.
Let me save you.
And when your warm hand encompassed mine
I sighed— in relief and also in sadness.
See, you enraged the night.
It wanted me and it wouldn’t let you get in the way.
And it would have me, even if it had to take you too.
So I let you go, even though every fiber of my body
Wanted nothing more than to hold onto you forever.


So, thank you, Stranger,
For showing me that life can be beautiful
Even at the brink of death.

Lay Me Down

Lay me down, Lover,
Lay me down
In the middle of the road.

And I’ll pray for someone to be in a hurry.


ps. this picture was created by the amazingRosie Hardy of Flickr. You should definitely check out her other pictures they are absolutely stunning.

Common Sense

It tastes the bitterness in sugar
It hears an insult in a complement
It sees weeds in a bouquet of flowers
It consumes your every sense

You may pop those pretty pills
You may don those dark glasses
You may turn that music up
You may try to disguise the depression

But it won’t cover up the taste of
Acid when you’re choking on apathy