Vannah

United States of America

Y'know, I really hope I can pull off the cool mysterious deep writer persona. That'd be sick.

Message from Writer

When I write, I can shake off all my cares. - Anne Frank

Published Work

I Cannot Have Love

Why is it that whenever I think about a dear friend, a kind face, an old soul, or a person I can always rely on,
It is always, always you?

My long list of compliments are so buttery a sweet, 
flattering I know.

But I also know, you let them roll off. 
Like rain drops sliding down an umbrella, rather than soaking through. 

When I create, I think of you.
I think of your advice, of your encouragement,
and I get excited to show you and ask you for help.

But I also get so lonely. 
You're so far away, yet not. 

I can never find the right words in my dumb cheesy letters,
I feel unallowed to connect with the friends I love so dearly. 
As if I am a stranger in my own shoes. 

The guilt is weighing because I have no answers.
We haven't had a falling out, yet I feel the need to apologize so badly. ...

Itty Bitty Words

Looking over my writing and cringy sentences, what I see is not enough.
Not good enough for eyes to read.

And this is how I know.
I know whatever I create will never, ever be good. 

I see myself slipping. 

I slip away from my writing, what I love, what I do, and I sit and wait patiently, for the day to end.
I am a gaping hole. 

I've become lost. 

My works aren't eloquent or pieced together, they go from beauty to corrupted halfway because my mind has decided to reject it. 

This doesn't feel like writers block but
something. 

Keyboard

Blip, blip, blip goes my cursor. 
I wait for words to come for me, silently hoping I'll have something, anything to say, 
to the girl next to me in Chemistry class. 
My brain goes, blip, blip, blip, my interior cursor not moving, waiting for words to come. 

I think I'm soulless.
I watch my cursor delete words I want to say but don't. 
They aren't good enough.

My words aren't interesting enough, smart enough, relatable, pretty. My words are not enough.
So I bit my tongue and let the cursor erase and I don't say a word to the girl next to me. 
The minutes tick by until I can leave. 

I feel sorry, but I'm not sure who I feel sorry to. 

False Advertisement

Fake chicken noodle soup. 
That's all you are.

An advertisement for something delicious and healing,
but you're just filled with weird seeds and the broth is all wrong. 
Unfulfilling. 

I hate you more than butternut squash soup. 
Your inability to express your thickheaded thoughts, and buttery hands
Disgusting. 

You're worse that carbonated water. 
Full of fun names, sweetly flavored promises,
but when I taste you, all I get is a mouth full of angry water.
I burp up the bubbles, gagging. 

You are all the snacks and foods I hate. 
Because,
I hate you.

It's so simple, we once were what poets write about.
This profound art and beauty within love,
but now we're just as dead as Edgar Alan Poe. 

Our love not buried, but left above ground to rot and stink.

I pour you down my garbage disposal and grind you to bits for far longer than need be. 
Being rid of you is like like tossing out...

Writers Block

Disillusionment and a fiery passion for expanding your vocabulary. 
My fingers wont click the right keys. 

I want to feel my feeling but think they're sleeping. 
Maybe I'm being given a break.
Do I deserve one? 

Lost in my persons and tenses. 
I can't do what I love. 
I'm the empty cookie jar that sits on the counter watching over the kitchen as everyone rushes past, caught up.
 
Up, up, and away... 
Past the ceiling, beyond the clouds, over the moon.
Gone, beyond my sight. 

I wonder where they are, now that they've left me. 

So I play my songs louder than I can think, to stop myself from doing just that. 
Pretending my thoughts and sentences are poetic, just to get this one out. 

What even is poetic?
Profound?
Pretty?
Deep?
Meaningful?

I don't think I contain any of those qualities. 

My mind is a scribble with number and colors and words I like stringed along, sometimes falling...

Rabbit Holes

Hand me your daggers of frustration,
I'll slice myself open and let my guts spill upon the page, just for you.
You can dive in like wolves and gorge yourselves, numbing your minds upon the words splattered upon the page. 

I am nothing.
I am an outlet for you, an escape. 
Your blood lust subsides, and your humanity returns. 

I only wish I was enough,
Truly up to standard. 

Could I ever truly be a master, enough to be there for a reader?
I find myself lost in question pondering my own ability. 

I talk great talk, but that's all it is. 
An attempt to talk my daydreams into reality, to add color to the beige page. 
All I sound is arrogant. 
*Sigh* 

Let's try again...

You are like sweet peaches and melodies.
You let my nonsensical rambling wash over you like a wave lapping at the beaches sandy shores. 
Your ears never grow tired of my scratchy voice jumping...

Everywhere at Once

To take a complex and intricate ideas and to turn them into an art- a song, a painting, a poem- it's inexplicably pleasing. 

An avenue to feel alive. 
Isn't that what we're all after?

Because no one can decide on the purpose of life.

Because we all have to have the same purpose, for some reason. 
We're all left grasping for avenues to feel alive.

Go to school, get a job, get a spouse, have kids, find hobbies, work some more, die. 
We search around inside the crevices for little sparks to kindle our insides. 

But what if we must create our own purpose? 
Give the world a reason to keep us around, before killing us off for proving ourselves contribution less.

What if? 

All of the best questions start with "what if".
"What if" is the best way to jump down another rabbit hole of conversation, thoughts, concepts, ideas, synonyms. 

It's a phrase that sparks the kindling inside me,...

Angry Kids

Back and forth ear to ear,
Like it bounces back and forth inside your head between you ears. 

One thought after another. 
So dEeP.
Your brain formulates a million different questions, answers, accusations and none of it makes any coherent sense.

Your brain spins, dizzy. 

This is you. 
This is me. 
Because we're one in the same. 
I live in you. 

You live in me.

Stronger than your muscles is your brains. 
That mushy goop. 
Inside your heat is a fire
a melting pot. 

I understand you, but I will never let you know it.

I will let you wallow in your anxieties, you're alone. No one gets you, you're lost in your heads.
If you can find your own way out of the cliche maze then you've earned it. 

You wanna be angry? Choke on it, 
I thrive in your misery. 

Your teen angst smells like a laughing stock. 

Fix your shirt and pants
I don't care about your...

Monsters Don't Exist, But You Do

Fingers digging, into your eyes like a monster. 
There are no claws, but grubby human hands. 
In this case you finally realize, there are no such thing as monsters, but the personification of humanities darkest personas. 
Robed in flesh. 

We take on a million masks, and some take shape
Slowly worm their way under your skin.
Locked beneath your flesh it eats away until there's no more you left, just your face.
You are the beast, it doesn't exist anywhere except in our heads and within our actions.

Nails cut barely too short, fingers red at the ends,
Pressing so harshly to your face that even the nubby nails start to cut at your soft skin. 
All too soon it's burning. 

Clawing from the outside in, trying to strip away your flesh, the symbol of your imperfect humanity. 

Is it an ally or a foe?
Freeing, or murderous?
Sometimes we confuse our heroes for our enemies. 

Screams drowned out by...

Angry Kids

Back and forth ear to ear,
Like it bounces back and forth inside your head between you ears. 

One thought after another. 
So dEeP.
Your brain formulates a million different questions, answers, accusations and none of it makes any coherent sense.

Your brain spins, dizzy. 

This is you. 
This is me. 
Because we're one in the same. 
I live in you. 

You live in me.

Stronger than you muscles is your brains. 
That mushy goop. 
Inside your heat is a fire
a melting pot. 

I understand you, but I will never let you know it.

I will let you wallow in your anxieties, you're alone. No one gets you, you're lost in your heads.
If you can find your own way out of the cliche maze then you've earned it. 

You wanna be angry? Choke on it, 
I thrive in your misery. 

Your teen angst smells like a laughing stock. 

Fix your shirt and pants
I don't care about your...

I can't make up my mind

The idea of adventure and self expression claws inside.
Simple substitutes sit in place. 

The exciting idea of rebellion,
but you have too much common sense to play those games. 
Stuck sitting on the fence, but never sneaking across to the other side. 
Adventure lights up in your eyes but your body doesn't move.

It's for the better.
But there's always a "but"
Inescapable.
Like a leash or bungee cord that only lets you go so far,
before ruthlessly wanking you back into place. 

I wish I could escape into the night, creeping over my fence. 
One last hoorah before coming back and putting away those thoughts. 
They keep me idle.

But sitting here I've come to realize that life is too bring without the illusion of breaking the rules. 
Perhaps I'll break the fence and come and go as I please. 
I make up all these ideas in my head, but no one can ever, truly, stop me. 


 

Under the kitchen sink

My brain is like mold.
Rotted out inside, and festering.
Thoughts leech out into the water and poison those who drink. 

Like under your kitchen sink,
It's spreading. 
The inner walls of my head are ready to cave
Add a little pressure and it all falls down. 

The mold sponge's up all my blood and leaves me dry inside. 
It's whispers paralyze me,
my brain consumed like an afternoon snack. 
And it's still hungry. 

Someone call the plumber, because this is no easy fix. 
I fell for so many damned tricks, 
Some mistakes don't have a happy ending, or an easy way out. 
Sometimes you become the bad example, to frighten the children into line. 
The short stick's mine. 

That was a terrible rhyme... 

I can't make up my mind

angst.

Teen angst? Makes you gag. 
Common sense is a gift and a curse.
The adventure and self expression claws inside.
Simple substitutes sit in place. 

The exciting idea of rebellion, but you have too much common sense to play those games. 
Stuck sitting on the fence, but never sneaking across to the other side. 
Adventure lights up in your eyes but your body doesn't move.

It's for the better.
But there's always a "but"
Inescapable.



 

The Earth Spins Really Fast

So long as I focus on you,
this book,
these words I write,
the song,
my pillow,
the movie,
I won't notice the room spinning around me.

Constantly moving. 
Not just the people, 
or the sounds,
or the chores.
But it all.
The room spins and spins and spins.

At least I don't get dizzy. 
Sometimes the walls collapse, but before I know it, everything's repaired. 
If I just close my eyes, I won't notice.
I won't remember,
But the stupid voice inside,
my brain,
my thoughts,
they're unconnected from the rest of it all.

Like a protected enemy, locked up inside of my head.
"remember this"
"remember what he said"
"remember how they treated you"
"remember what you did"
We all have one.
Does anyone know if it comes with a volume remote? 

The monster surrounds my head so tight I can't breath, soon enough it's not the world that's spinning, but me instead. 
Like falling down a tunnel ...

Midnight Annoyance

You suffocate me with every insufferable move you make. 
You wrap yourself around my lungs and squeeze like a boa constrictor. 

Never have I ever been enough. 
My hair not long enough,
my back not straight enough.

My voice is never feminine enough,
I'm not healthy enough,
I'm not pretty enough,
I'm not smart enough.

I never understand.

No A+ put a smile on your face. 
My skirt length concerns you more. 

You told me everything you do is for me. To better me.
That's a lie. 
You aren't making me better.
Do you see any improvement in me?
I have to strive to better myself, to be okay, for me.
I don't consider you. 

I'm sick
But that's "Not real" 
When have you been there?
Your own son had to step up in your place. 

One door away from me, 
yet it feels like millions of miles. 

I wanted you more than anything. 
But you stepped on my 9...

Under the kitchen sink

My brain is like mold.
Rotted out inside, and festering.
Thoughts leech out into the water and poison those who drink. 

Like under your kitchen sink,
It's spreading. 
The inner walls of my head are ready to cave
Add a little pressure and it all falls down. 

The mold sponge's up all my blood and leaves me dry inside. 
It's whispers paralyze me,
my brain consumed like an afternoon snack. 
And it's still hungry. 

Someone call the plumber, because this is no easy fix. 
I fell for so many damned tricks, 
Some mistakes don't have a happy ending, or an easy way out. 
Sometimes you become the bad example, to frighten the children into line. 
The short stick's mine. 

Midnight Annoyance

You suffocate me with every insufferable move you make. 
You wrap yourself around my lungs and squeeze like a boa constrictor. 

Never have I ever been enough. 
My hair not long enough,
my back not straight enough.

My voice is never feminine enough,
I'm not healthy enough,
I'm not pretty enough,
I'm not smart enough.

I never understand.

No A+ put a smile on your face. 
My skirt length concerns you more. 

You told me everything you do is for me. To better me.
That's a lie. 
You aren't making me better.
Do you see any improvement in me?
I have to strive to better myself, to be okay,
I don't consider you. 

I'm sick
But that's "Not real" 
When have you been there?
Your own son had to step up in your place. 

One door away from me, 
yet it feels like millions of miles. 

I wanted you more than anything. 
But you stepped on my 9 year old...

Your Illusion

Drown in your illusion of grandeur.

Choke on your boastful words,
full of high hopes and dreams.
How beautiful...

Sink into the mountains of gold.
That's where you'll be buried. 
All alone.

You created this stage, full of mystical wonders, but where is it in reality?
You can play and play all day,
 but there is work to be done.
You shrug off all your cares, and where has that gotten you?

Life vests aren't forever,
Someday you won't have one,
How will you stay afloat? 

I see you cough and choke in the water as the waves crash down. 
I'm too far away to rescue you.
You're a big boy now.

Drown in your illusion of grandeur.
We all applaud as the curtains draw a close.
Life vests don't last forever. 

Your Illusion

Drown in your illusion of grandeur.

Choke on your boastful words,
full of high hopes and dreams.
How beautiful...

Sink into the mountains of gold.
That's where you'll be buried. 
All alone.

You created this stage, full of mystical wonders, but where is it in reality?
You can play and play all day,
 but there is work to be done.
You shrug off all your cares, and where has that gotten you?

Life vests aren't forever,
Someday you won't have one,
How will you stay afloat? 

I see you cough and choke in as the waves crash down. 
I'm too far away to rescue you.
You're a big boy now.

Drown in your illusion of grandeur.
We all applaud as the curtains draw a close.
Life vests don't last forever. 

The Earth Spins Really Fast

So long as I focus on you,
this book,
these words I write,
the song,
my pillow,
the movie,
I won't notice the room spinning around me.

Constantly moving. 
Not just the people, 
or the sounds,
or the chores.
But it all.
The room spins and spins and spins.

At least I don't get dizzy. 
Sometimes the walls collapse, but before I know it, everything's repaired. 
If I just close my eyes, I won't notice.
I won't remember,
But the stupid voice inside,
my brain,
my thoughts,
they're unconnected from the rest of it all.

Like a protected enemy, locked up inside of my head.
The demon I can't get rid of.
"remember this"
"remember what he said"
"remember how they treated you"
"remember what you did"
We all have one.
Does anyone know if it comes with a volume remote? 

The monster surrounds my head so tight I can't breath, soon enough it's not the world that's spinning, but...

-you

I am you and you are me
And you are them an they are you an they are me and I am them. 

Our brains lie and lie all day long. 
There is no, isolation, or being the only one. 
There's no room in this world, we're overcrowded.
Maybe a new plague would fix that. 

We try so hard and trick ourselves that we're the "only me" so that we can feel whatever emotion we want so badly to feel.
Maybe to feel like a victim, that option is so sparkly these days... 
Load of BS.
 

Under the kitchen sink

My brain is like mold.
Rotted out inside, and festering.
Thoughts leech out into the water and poison those who drink. 

Like under your kitchen sink,
It's spreading. 
The inner walls of my head are ready to cave
Add a little pressure and it all falls down. 

The mold sponge's up all my blood and leaves me dry inside. 
It's whispers paralyze me,
my brain consumed like an afternoon snack. 
And it's still hungry. 

Someone call the plumber, because this is no easy fix. 
I fell for so many damned tricks, 
Some mistakes don't have a happy ending, or an easy way out. 
Sometimes you become the bad example, to frighten the children into line. 
The short stick is mine. 

Your Mold

Be The Change You Want To See

There is no need for permission
I will step out and make the changes I want.

If I don't want it anymore, I will give it away,
Because the things that hurt me can't keep me
If I don't keep it. 

The cutting actions, burning words.
They churned my stomach up into fits. 
Sick in the head, and crazy to my core. 

Be The Change You Want To See

Again and again it struck me.
Sitting impatiently waiting for a savior that would never come. 

I don't need any hero. 
I am my own hero. 
The change I want to see. 
Reality is mine for the sculpting. 

The day I opened up my ears and tried was when I realized, 
You don't need permission
To Revolutionize your reality. 

Like the great artists who sculpted the ancient Greek statues, 
you take the clay into your hands and create.
Sculpt,
Change. 

Be The Change You...

The Summer Romance That Never Was

Fingers curling around yours. 
We're together.

Me and you, 
you and me. 
Like all the perfect summer romance movies.
The smiles, ice cream, laughter, and beach montage of us happy.
Happy.

Happy was a goal before, 
A reward for my hard work. 
But when we're together it comes so naturally. 

Just out of grasp, hands wave in the air, failing to reach yours. 
We're just too far apart. 

You and you,
me and me.
Like all the perfect summer romances, as summer draws its end,
So do we.
The smiles turned to tired disinterest, you aren't hungry and I have other plans.
The beach montage is over. 
Not sad, not happy,
Finished

No angry, but we know that what lasted has drawn to a close. 

Happy has stayed with us, but we've bunched it up in our pockets and taken it with us,
our own ways.

Thank you,
See you next summer.

I'm Bored

With the jazz music dancing in the background,
and the rest of my mind invest within the story,
I can let myself delve into the idea of romance.

Nothing nitty gritty and gross.
But sweet and soft, like sun dresses and flower bouquets. 

Reality and duties are overbearing and endless.
But when you let yourself wander into something such as this, 
It doesn't last forever
But the time spent was worth it. 

So I'll swing to the song and get away for a little while.
Probably until my bluetooth speaker dies. 

My Gems

Rubies​
They have silver tongues and spin golden lies,
I can't stop staring into their serpent eyes.
I will not fall for this trap.
But I will listen until the canary cries.
Although, I cannot help but love the song they sing.

Tell me something that will make me not so afraid of the dark.
They will choke on their gold and silver,
and I will keep all my rubies.
It will be the perfect happily ever after.  
A dazed daydream. ​​​​


Reality​
I can sugar coat things as much as I like, but nothing is as my mother taught it to be.
I fade away so easily, dissolved into the wall.
Beige paint.  

Sleeping with my eyes wide open.
Lead feet.
It's almost like the day never ends.
One big loop.

The sun melts my brain like a popsicle.
I dissolve yet again, under the running water from the shower.
Washed down the drain.

My...

My Gems

Rubies​
They have silver tongues and spin golden lies,
I can't stop staring into their serpent eyes.
I will not fall for this trap.
But I will listen until the canary cries.
I cannot help but love the song they sing.

Tell me something that will make me not so afraid of the dark.
They will choke on their gold and silver,
and I will keep all my rubies.
It will be the perfect happily ever after.  
A dazed daydream. ​​​​


Reality​
I can sugar coat things as much as I like, but nothing is as my mother taught it to be.
I fade away so easily, dissolved into the wall.
Beige paint.  

Sleeping with my eyes wide open.
Lead feet.
It's almost like the day never ends.
One big loop.

The sun melts my brain like a popsicle.
I dissolve yet again, under the running water from the shower.
Washed down the drain.

My exhaustion...

My Gems

Rubies​
They have silver tongues and spin golden lies,
I can't stop staring into their serpent eyes.
I will not fall for this trap.
But I will listen until the canary cries.
I cannot help but love the song they sing.
Tell me something that will make me not so afraid of the dark.
They will choke on their gold and silver,
and I will keep all my rubies.
It will be the perfect happily ever after.  
A dazed daydream. ​​​​


Reality​
I can sugar coat things as much as I like, but nothing is as my mother taught it to be.
I fade away so easily, dissolved into the wall.
Beige paint.  

Sleeping with my eyes wide open.
Lead feet.
It's almost like the day never ends.
One big loop.

The sun melts my brain like a popsicle.
I dissolve yet again, under the running water from the shower.
Washed down the drain.

My exhaustion...

Open Hands

Art is like rain.
We let it splash all over the canvas,
the keyboard,
the page.
We are thunderous, cloudy storms, pouring out our overabundance of emotion.
Poetic.

We curl into blankets, soft and safe.
We curl our toes to the eerie whispers in our ears, that try to taint our art.
Nothing could stop me,
Not even my own self sabotage.
Maybe...

I am not the strongest, but my creativity gives me power.
Like a sort of magic.
Unexplainable, because our emotions don't make sense.
That's how they make sense.

So I curl in my blanket, with my curled toes and sing until the whispers flee, and my mind is cleaned.
My doubt and insecurities gone.
I let my storm strike up again.
Hear my thunder storm cries!
I yell to be heard!

But my shouts are not throat ripping,
or gut wrenching.
I sing in a soft melody, or a bright symphony.
Whichever I choose,
My art is...

Rad

That's rad.

Talk hard and
loud.
Force your voice to be heard,
Because everyone's ears are stopped up with earbuds, 
And somethings need to be heard, but are missed. 

I will blast your voice so loud my earbuds explode, if that's what it takes for you to feel heard.
I know how it feels to have no voice, 
To be screaming everything out in your head but you mouth is shut. 
I will listen to you,
you will be heard.

Everybody knows the same stories
And emotions,
And ideologies,
but sometimes, you're the one who can phrase it in a way that's just right.
So open up and speak. 
I want to hear it. 

I love to listen.
Your voice was meant to be heard. 
So here I am encouraging you,
jump on it. 



 

Bored

Everything is cliche and used. 
Our youth is depressed and bored because there is nothing new.
Everything we try to create has already been done. 
What's the point? 

So we waste ourselves on pointless pains and distractions.
Our youth laid to waste and bodily destruction.
We hurt ourselves, because that's what's new. 

Why are there new fads and trends every summer?
Because at least that's new. 
What I have a passion for, what you have a passion for, it's all been done and said before.
Why must I waste my time writing and relaying something someone else has already said a thousand times before me.
Is my interpretation that valuable?
It will become lost and forgotten before it was ever found. 

Even this poem is a negative thing, because I'm not really making a positive change. 
I'm just relaying the sad tune of our bored and devastate generation. 
If I can't be original with my expression, I'll just become a...

Bystander

Splashing and floundering with nothing to grab a hold of
Drowning.

You're drowning.
I see you, I watch you from the outside.

Outside of your bubble,
your social circle.

No one will be your buoy, your lifeguard. 
All of your friends are downing too, it's like a bunch of kids in swim lessons just got abandoned by the instructors. 

Who will rush in and save you?
I sit, avidly waiting.
Soon you will settle upon the bottom, and then it will be up to you to get out of those waters. 

Perhaps I sound cruel, just sitting, waiting, watching. 
But you see, that's what we all do.
We look from the outside in. 
We watch it all happen as innocent bystanders, because we can't change others actions.

I must sit and watch. 
I watch you change, grow and recede. 

It's called character development. 
We witness it in high school, college, work. Everywhere, because people constantly change. 
When we stop changing,...

Summer Nostalgia

Spring time is slowly drifting.
Pretty much gone.
My allergies won't stop. 

But one thing that makes it all so nice, is the long summer nights, with warm breezes,
I can look out upon sweet green fields and watch the wind blow the grass blades, the flowers, and watch bees buzz by. 
It's like a dream.
Jam packed with nostalgia. 

I plant my gardens with the hot sun beating on my back.
Hours role by and the flowers begin to set in place. 
It's a completely different kind of life to watch and gaze upon with affection for its beauty. 

So peaceful and sweet,
I almost forget all the other things around me, because here I am, right now in this moment.
I am fully submerged, just like the roots of my plants. 
I am alive within it all. 
I don't need to worry about anything else, just my moment by moment summer evening. 

Rubies

They have silver tongues and golden lies,
I can't stop staring into their serpent eyes.
I know that they feed me untruths, that I am a pawn in this dirty game.
But...
I cannot help but love the song they sing.
I will not fall for this trap.
But I will listen, and listen, until the canary cries. 


Tell me something that will make me not so afraid of the dark. 
Something that will spark 
Within me
The courage to stop all of this.
To stop the serpents from approaching me and trying to use and manipulate me.
I no longer wish to be a person of interest.

I want the reputation.
I want to be revered. 
The serpents will know to never bother me again.
They will choke on their gold and silver,
and I will keep all my rubies. 

I will be the singing canary and spread my wings.
I will fly far away
And it will be...

The Death of a Poet

I feel as if I might die soon.
Like I must keep writing and writing and pushing out this poetry.
My voice has to be heard, because I've been screaming and screaming and my throat is starting to get raw.

I look in the mirror and see this hideous creature, hell bent on hurting me.
Cruel.

One minute I fight against the worlds view on who I should be and how I should look, the next I gaze into the mirror lost it he reflection I see.
I see nothing.
I am void.
Empty. 
This media induced bipolar disorder is exhausting.

I feel as if I might die soon. 
My fingers pour out as much as I can as fast as I can, but it's not enough.
Nothing is ever enough.
I am not enough.

I have given up trying to fit the media's mold.
It's impossible.
But my own mold feels unattainable.
This battle within myself.
One half pushes...

To Be

Sometimes I just have this strong urge to just go out and Be.
But I'm restricted and confined;
By my thought, my homes walls, rules, my schools boundaries.
Stuck.

So I pour out my life into books and writing silly poems that 3 people end up reading.
But I want more than this.
I want this.
I want all of it.
Is that so bad?
Because if it is, then screw it.
I want to be out at night exploring getting into trouble.

Not to be a rebel, or to break laws. But to see and feel.
To be alone with the stars.
To be alone with whomever I choose.

I am far from a bad kid, or edgy, or whatever it is nowadays.
I stay in my lane, head down, rule book in hand.
But it's tiring.
I am far from malicious, that's not my desire.
But I want,
I want so badly,
to go out and Be.
...

A Great Friend

Do these thoughts belong to me or not?
Am I the torturer, or the tortured? 
My mind is the bully, and the bullied.

All these self inflicted jabs, doubts, fears. 
It suffocates me and cuts off everyone else. 

I am a surface level person.
Friend.
I float at the top because if I sink any further I will become trapped below. 

All my promises have been broken.
I let myself and those around me down.
When I reached rock bottom, I told myself the only place left to go was up.
It doesn't quite feel that way. 
I just ended up handing myself a shovel.

I've explored the deep dark depths.
Adventure is out there,
but it's long and treacherous.
How am I still standing?
I should still be lost, wandering around my self made labyrinth. 

I feel like a weak, pathetic coward.
But I tell others fighting this same fight that they're strong because they keep going.
Does that...

A Great Friend

Do these thoughts belong to me or not?
Am I the torturer, or the tortured? 

All these self inflicted jabs, doubts, fears. 
It suffocates me and cuts off everyone else. 

I am a surface level person.
Friend.
I float at the top because if I sink any further I will trapped below. 

All my promises have been broken.
I let myself and those around me down.
When I reached rock bottom, I told myself the only place left to go was up.
It doesn't quite feel that way. 

I've explored the deep dark depths.
Adventure is out there,
but it's long and treacherous.
How am I still standing?

I feel like a weak, pathetic coward.
But I tell others fighting this same fight that they're strong because they keep going.
Does that make me a liar, or just hypocritical? 

 

Bestfriendwhatacliche

Dearest beloved,
I will listen to the song that makes sense to no one but us. 
I will hold you close and let nothing hurt you.
I cannot shield you from all the pain in the world, but I promise to take on the damage with you. 
You will not be alone. 

We have gone through times of drifting apart. 
Getting bad. 
Crying and alone, not there for you.
Not there for me.

Maybe it's sorting ourselves out.
But I hope you know:
I will never drift too far,
because sisters are a lifetime thing. 

I never want to weigh on you too heavy.
My brain is getting worse. 
I think you feel the same.
I promise to let down my walls to you.
I know it's hard for you to do the same, but try.

I know the weight gets heavy for you. 
Maybe you can't let me take it from you, but I will hold your hand and...

Bestfriendwhatacliche

Dearest beloved,
I will listen to the song that makes sense to no one but us. 
I will hold you close and let nothing hurt you.
I cannot shield you from all the pain in the world, but I promise to take on the damage with you. 
You will not be alone. 

We have gone through times of drifting apart. 
Getting bad. 
Crying and alone, not there for you.
Not there for me.

Maybe it's sorting ourselves out.
But I hope you know:
I will never drift too far,
because sisters are a lifetime thing. 

I never want to weigh on you too heavy.
My brain is getting worse. 
I think you feel the same.
I promise to let down my walls to you.
I know it's hard for you to do the same, but try.

I know the weight gets heavy for you. 
Maybe you can't let me take it from you, but I will hold your hand and...

Bestfriendwhatacliche

Dearest beloved,
I will listen to the song that makes sense to no one but us. 
I will hold you close and let nothing hurt you.
I cannot shield you from all the pain in the world, but I promise to take on the damage with you. 
You will not be alone. 

We have gone through times of drifting apart. 
Getting bad. 
Crying and alone, not there for you.
Not there for me.

Maybe it's sorting ourselves out.
But I hope you know:
I will never drift too far,
because sisters are a lifetime thing. 

I never want to weigh on you too heavy.
My brain is getting worse. 
I think you feel the same.
I promise to let down my walls to you.
I know it's hard for you to do the same, but try.

I know the weight gets heavy for you. 
Maybe you can't let me take it from you, but I will hold your hand and...

Legendary

I think this romantic idea that the truly most talented and brilliant among us are tortured souls is unfair. 


Because their talent and irregularity they must have a setback. Some sort of balance. 

Take writers for instance. 
They write and write until their fingers bleed, but their blood is ink flowing into words. 

They can't speak up and out to share their thoughts. They contain tortured souls. So they write and write and write because they have a lot to say, and the page will always listen. 

No one will ever hear what they have to say though, because no one reads anymore. And when reading becomes the new trend in twenty years people will say, "this person is a genius." And the authors name will live on forever as a legend. 

But legends don't have ears, or eyes, or souls. Not like the author did. And when the people look back on the authors life they will see they...

It Goes Squish

I can sugar coat things as much as I like, but nothing is as my mother taught it to be. 
I fade away so easily, dissolved into the wall.
Beige paint.  

My consciousness eaten away, my brain is raw and tired. 
Lead feet. 
It's almost like the day never ends, it's all one big loop. 
One foot in front of the other.

My head feel so bad.
I feel sick, but not nauseous. 
No headache.

I'm drowning inside my brain, it's become so melted from the sun I sit under at school. 
My breathing quickens and I dissolve yet again, under the running water from the shower that hides the leaking from my eyes and I suffocate from the humidity, and my own self induced panic. 

So lost in my delirium I speak gibberish.
My exhaustion reaches over everything like a weighted blanket.
This
Thing
Sickness.
I hope it kills me. 

The Mirror

Do you ever...
Do you ever just look at you reflection and wonder who the girl you're staring at is?
She moves like you, smiles like you, laughs like you.
She is you.
But when you look at her face, into her eyes...
She feels so far away. 
Disconnected. 

It's almost like this girl you're watching is from an alternate universe, and when you look in the mirror you are checking up on how the other is fairing. 

But that's dumb. 
It couldn't be...
It's like my head is full of clouds and I must fight to keep from sinking into them and forgetting everyone.
Everything.

Getting lost would be so easy,
so quiet. 
But there are things to do!
Goals to make.
Does all that really matter?
No...
I can just put my head down,
stare at the sky
and get lost. 
For hours, days, maybe even years.
Time always slides by so slow.
No one will notice.

If...

Behind the Mirror

Suffocation. 
My lungs are on fire, my body burns, my vision is black and my sweat is cold.
I reach out for what I cannot grab. There's nothing but air, but my lungs suck it in and quickly reject it. 
Shaking, jittery, flailing in a much too open space that feels as if it's squeezing me lifeless. 

Laying on the floor I let my sobs and gasps or breath roll over me, I submerge myself into it. 
The more I fight the longer it takes.
Cheeks wet with salt from my leaky eyes I embrace the panic and fear that racks my body, down to my bones. 
I think I might die.
My mind runs and runs and runs because my body isn't.

Air seeps in slowly, like a blow up mattress slowly filling. 
Or perhaps deflating via tear. 
The panic seeps out, and air returns.

Chest empty. 
Red and splotchy I sigh. 
This never ending spiral down down down. ...

Healing

This constant call for you to listen.
I need to shut my mouth and listen. Hear the wind rustle leaves, birds call, cars pass, human chatter, laughter, advice. 
So lost in my stubborn belief. How can I accept my mistakes and wrongs if I believe in things so strongly? 
Learn to let go.

Let go.

Let go of the abuse, hurts, lies, bruising.
Forgive him, her, you, them, mom, dad, brother. 
Forgive. 

Stop screaming for everyone else to listen and open your own ears. 
Learn. 
Take notes if you must. 

holding on feels safe, because it's all you know, but letting go releases you.
What you hold onto so tightly has become a blade and it's cutting deeper, causing pain. 
Letting go releases you from the pain, the risk. 
Staying is riskier than leaving.

Learn to let go.
Learn to listen. 
You're only hurt as long as you choose to be. 
Decide. 
 

Feel What I Speak

Feel each and every single stoke of my pen - or, word from my keyboard.
I spill out my heartbreak, like the spilling of wine. The floor is now stained blood red. Maybe it is blood, you never know with me. I don't even trust myself at this point. 

These fresh thoughts, but old feelings. 
New tears, but same issues. 

Where's the growth? 

Feel the magnitude of my words. They aren't simple scribbles. 
Listen to my screams, I shout my deepest secrets. Listen to my stories and let them soak in, like rain. 
The pitter-patter changes from a soft drizzle to thunderous pounding. 

Listen, feel, embrace. 
Grow my writings, change them, apply them, enjoy them.
Feel what I want you to feel as I write  these stories, be the tool in which the passion flows. 

Feel my words and listen to them.
Take into account the passion poured in and know,
it is for you,
it is you. 

We're all...

Behind the Mirror

Suffocation. 
My lungs burn, my body burns, my vision is black and my sweat is cold.
I reach out for what I cannot grab. There's nothing but air, but my lungs suck it in and quickly reject it. 
Shaking, jittery, flailing in a much too open space that feels as if it's squeezing me lifeless. 

Laying on the floor I let my sobs and gasps or breath roll over me, I submerge into it. 
The more I fight the longer it takes.
Cheeks wet with salt from my leaky eyes I embrace the panic and fear that racks my body, down to my bones. 
I think I might die.
My mind runs and runs and runs because my body isn't.

Air seeps in slowly, like a blow up mattress slowly filling. 
Or perhaps deflating via tear. 
The panic seeks out, and air returns.

Chest empty. 
Red and splotchy I sigh. 
This never ending spiral down down down.
I sink further...

Bystander

Splashing and floundering with nothing to grab a hold of
Drowning.

You're drowning.
I see you, I watch you from the outside.

Outside of your bubble,
your social circle.

No one will be your buoy, your lifeguard. 
All of your friends are downing too, it's like a bunch of kids in swim lessons just got abandoned by the instructors. 

Who will rush in and save you?
I wait avidly waiting. Soon you will settle upon the bottom, and then it will be up to you to get out of those waters. 

Perhaps I sound cruel, just sitting, waiting, watching. 
But you see, that's what we all do.
We look from the outside in. 
We watch it all happen as innocent bystanders, because we can't change others actions.

I must sit and watch. 
I watch you change, grow and recede. 

It's called character development. 
We witness it in high school, college, work. Everywhere, because people constantly change. 
When we stop changing,...

It all Began With a Breeze~

Sweet breezes are like soft whispers against your skin.
So smooth and soothing, nostalgia and a memory all waiting to happen,
All in one simple package.
A breeze.

So many different types of breezes there seem to be.
The kind that sends a shiver down your spine, it's icy breathe feeling so stiff and lifeless.
Sweet cozy kisses of warmth from the breeze in fall, reviving the feeling in your fingers.
And my most favorite of all, the little twinkle and laughter from the kiss of summer,
relieving me of my endless exhaustion form the heat.
Summer breezes are a break.
A moment to step back from the sun and just breath.
Breath in fresh, cool air. 

Time to revive, renew, refresh.
Like a tall glass of water.
It's refreshment in the purest form, no frills attached, simply 
Renewal. 

All of this,
So many thoughts,
so much inspiration,
so much cleansing and refreshment,
from a breeze.

It's a miracle what...

This is our Education

I sit in school and watch these kids have a contest.
Every day it feels like.
Whoever can shout what the people want to hear the loudest receives the highest praise.
But when you speak an original thought,
a different opinion,
then you are the outcast.
The hated one.

Not good enough to receive the high score.
If it doesn't fit the mold, or isn't cliche, is it even worth the trouble?
Probably not.

But droning on and on is such a drab.
It makes me want to scream me head off,
gouge out my eyes,
and stuff pencils in my ears.

Is it not enough that I must do it for a grade,
but I also have to do it to receive the respect from my peers?
It feels as if the whole world is against me at times.
I'm so dramatic.

The fake personality I must hold up, so that I do not get hurt is making me...

Spilling the two Souls of a Daughter and Father

The constant love and adoration you receive is what makes it all feel worth it. 
But sometimes, even that sucks. 

The beginning...

I wanted to make you happy; 
But now I just feel angry.

I don't mean to be bitter, or hold a grudge,
But...
Everything thing I've done, I've done for you.
You never seem to notice...

Stories like this never have a good guy or a bad guy, just two souls that cannot align correctly.
Passing by one another time and time again. 
And it hurts more and more each time.
This kind of stabbing pain that hurts my heart and stings my eyes.

I tell myself that it's my fault and feel guilty,
I tell myself it's your fault and feel disheartened and bitter. 
Whose job is it to bridge the gap?
I asked myself for years. I blamed you.
Again and again and again.
But I think it was my fault too.

I gave up achieving...

This is our Education

I sit in school and watch these kids have a contest
every day it feels like.
Whoever can shout what the people want to hear the loudest receives the highest praise.
But when you speak an original thought,
a different opinion,
then you are the outcast.
The hated one.

Not good enough to receive the high score.
If it doesn't fit the mold, or isn't cliche, is it even worth the trouble?
Probably not.

But droning on and on is such a drab.
It makes me want to scream me head off,
gouge out my eyes,
and stuff pencils in my ears.

Is it not enough that i must do it for a grade,
but I also have to do it to receive the respect from my peers?
It feels as if the whole world is against me at times.
I'm so dramatic.

The fake personality I must hold up, so that I do not get hurt is making me...

Growing Within Yourself

Do you ever write something, trying to change other people's lives, but you end up changing your own.
Changing your own self, your own ideas, and outlook.
You preach and teach and guide yourself unintentionally.
Your own thoughts and emotions mixture on the page and when it’s all finished you look it over and you change.
Writing it out was the changing process and now,
You’re here.
Renewed and transformed.

It feels strange to become this person, but writing grows your mind and you twist and change within it.
It’s almost as if when your writing style changes and grows, so do you.
This is personal growth.

And this writing is a reflection.
Looking into a mirror of my mind
And I’m happy with how it looks.

Spilling the two Souls of a Daughter and Father

The constant love and adoration you receive is what makes it all feel worth it. 
But sometimes, even that sucks. 

The beginning...

I wanted to make you happy; 
But now I just feel angry.

I don't mean to be bitter, or hold a grudge,
But...
Everything thing I've done, I've done for you.
You never seem to notice...

Stories like this never have a god guy or a bad guy, just two souls that cannot align correctly.
Passing by one another time and time again. 
And it hurts more and more each time.
This kind of stabbing pain that hurts my heart and stings my eyes.

I tell myself that it's my fault and feel guilty,
I tell myself it's your fault and feel disheartened and bitter. 
Whose job is it to bridge the gap?
I asked myself for years. I blamed you.
Again and again and again.
But I think it was my fault too.

I gave up achieving...

I am an artist and so are you

Art is like rain.
We let it splash all over the canvas,
the keyboard,
the page.
We are thunderous cloudy storms, pouring out our overabundance of emotion.
Poetic.

We curl into blankets, soft and safe.
We curl our toes to the eerie whispers in our ears, that try to taint our art.
Nothing could stop me
except for myself,
or what I make myself susceptible to.

I am not the strongest, but my creativity gives me power.
Like a sort of magic.
Unexplainable, because our emotions don't make sense.
That's how they make sense. 

So I curl in my blanket, with my curled toes and sing until the whispers flee, and my mind is cleared.
My doubt and insecurities gone.
I let my storm strike up again.
Hear my thunderous cries!
I scream to you!
But my shouts are not throat ripping,
or gut wrenching.
I sing in a soft melody, or a bright symphony.
Whichever I choose,
And my...

Four Feet

Leaky eyes,
A condition I suffer from severely. 
My heart taking control of my body and expressing itself on the outside.
I mourn the one I've lost. 
I tell a story.
A story about a girl and all her sorrows.
Such a typical, unoriginal, "oh here we go again" story.
But it's mine, and that's why others value it.
Individuality is what makes us interesting. 
But those weighed down by their heavy weights, wrapped around them like chains
Hide in the shadows, sorting through their stuffy minds.
Like looking for a hairpin in a mothers purse. 

Each tear drop tells a little part of the story. 
Sobs full of worry, regret, doubt, and anxiety.
But all I want is to find my answers.
Find my lost soul.
Tired of looking.
Tired of waiting.
Ready to take action.
My leaky eyes blur my vision, I need to wipe away the water and look at a clear picture.
My future, the path...

I am an artist and so are you

Art is like rain.
We let it splash all over the canvas,
the keyboard,
the page.
We are thunderous cloudy storms, pouring out our overabundance of emotion.
Poetic.

We curl into blankets, soft and safe.
We curl our toes to the eerie whispers in our ears, that try to taint our art.
Nothing could stop me
except for myself,
or what I make myself susceptible to.

I am not the strongest, but my creativity gives me power.
Like a sort of magic.
Unexplainable, because our emotions don't make sense.

So I curl in my blanket, with my curled toes and sing until the whispers flee, and my mind is cleared.
My doubt and insecurities gone.
I let my storm strike up again.
Hear my thunderous cries!
I scream to you!
But my shouts are not throat ripping,
or gut wrenching.
I sing in a soft melody, or a bright symphony.
And my art is released. 
From pent up inside- about...

Curiosity

I want to know what you think
What you feel. 
What you wonder.

I want to know.
My curiosity for others is an unquenchable journey of questions.
Why?
Why?
How? 
Why do you feel that way?
Why do you think like that?
Who made you what you have become?

Why?
Why?
How?
When you read my words, what do you think?
Does is make you roll your eyes?
spark your curiosity?

Why?
Why?
How? 
What do you wonder?
What do you worry about?
My never ending curiosity is a living breathing beast of its own. 
Untrainable,
unquenchable,
unstoppable.
 

I Didn't Realize-

I didn't realize what I did until I did it. 
I drew my own blood.
My snotty nose ran.
I don't feel pretty, or beautiful.
I'm disgusting. 
You call a girl sitting on the edge of her bed crying and doing- God it's to horrid to say.
You call that. That. Beautiful?
God please.
It's not.
It's sad.
It's disgusting. 
Perhaps not repulsive, but it makes you feel a way in the pit of your gut. 
A special, unforgivable way that only happens when you see it. When you do it. 


I didn't realize what I did until I did it.
I just crossed a line I could ever return.
I wanted to try anything once,
be daring and exciting,
loosen up,
chill out,
I felt so called out by every one and their mother for being so "stiff" and "plain" and "boring"
I was scared of missing out on something in my youth.
But I missed out on nothing,...

The Mirror

Do you ever...
Do you ever just look at you reflection and wonder who the girl you're staring at is?
She moves like you, smiles like you, laughs like you.
She is you.
But when you look at her face, into her eyes...
She feels so far away. 
Disconnected. 

It's almost like this girl you're watching is from an alternate universe, and when you look in the mirror you are checking up on how the other is fairing. 

But that's silly!
It couldn't be...
It's like my head is full of clouds and I must fight to keep from sinking into them and forgetting everyone.
Everything.

Getting lost would be so easy,
so quiet. 
But there are things to do!
Goals to make.
Does all the really matter?
No...
I can just put my head down,
stare at the sky
and get lost. 
For hours, days, maybe even years.
Time always slides by so slow.
No one will notice.

If...

Words

Words are a trap.
You speak and you can't take it back.
You cry and you can't take it back.
You lie, 
you tell the truth,
you spill a secret.
You cannot take it back.

Words are a trap.
You don't speak and you can't go back and speak up.
You don't cry and you can't go back and share.
You do lie,
you don't lie,
you keep the secret to yourself.
You cannot go back.

Back and forth, no you cannot win. 
Words are a trap. 

Shut Up

Shut up.
If you open your lips and breath the sentence,
The idea, into existence, then you can't go back.

You can't expose me,
doing that would be to expose yourself.
You'll preserve yourself before you hurt me.
You're like a scared animal.

So sad, all cornered by the wall.
I won't touch you,
but I'll make you dance to whatever song I choose.

You're body is like a puppet,
easy to manipulate,
there for my amusement,
flimsy and raggedy.
Ugly. 

Your tears are nothing but drinking water.
Too edgy?
Okay, water for my fish tank. 

Blow the whistle, I dare you.
Do you think you could ever stop me?
No, no, no.
I'm like the big green monster, 
you fed me once, you fed me twice.
You've built me up to the point of invincibility. 
I am bigger than you.

You're done with me now?
That's laughable.
I never came to amuse you, I came because I saw an...

I Thought I was a Princess

After having many dreams of a prince rescuing me and galavanting off into the night,
Kissing far to many frogs,
and tossing all my pennies into wishing wells. 
No prince has come to rescue me.

No, I'm not mad.
No, I'm not sad. 
I am definitely not happy.
You see, every book I've ever read has had the prince come save the princess.
I thought for sure mine would come.
So here I sit,
raw disappointment.
I am not a princess like I thought.

Everyone says a princesses has pretty hair;
Mine is long and healthy.
Everyone says princesses can sing beautifully;
I sing every chance I get.
But as I compare myself and compare myself,
I just don't think I'm up to par.

So here I am.
Now that my prince is not coming and I am not a princess...
What do I do? 

I suppose now I don't have to worry about dragons or goblins attacking my castle. ...

Shut Up

Shut up.
If you open your lips and breath the sentence,
The idea, into existence, then you can't go back.

You can't expose me,
doing that would be to expose yourself.
You'll preserve yourself before you hurt me.
You're like a scared animal.

So sad, all cornered by the wall.
I won't touch you,
but I'll make you dance to whatever song I choose.

You're body is like a puppet,
easy to manipulate,
there for my amusement,
flimsy and raggedy.
Ugly. 

Your tears are nothing but drinking water.
Too edgy?
Okay, water for my fish tank. 

Blow the whistle, I dare you.
Do you think you could ever stop me?
No, no, no.
I'm like the big green monster, 
you fed me once, you fed me twice.
You've built me up to the point of invincibility. 
I am bigger than you.

You're done with me now?
That's laughable.
I never came to amuse you, I came because I saw and...

Words

Words are a trap.
You speak and you can't take it back.
You cry and you can't take it back.
You lie, 
you tell the truth,
you spill a secret.
You cannot take it back.

Words are a trap.
You don't speak and you can't go back and speak up.
You don't cry and you can't go back and share.
You don't lie,
you don't lie,
you keep the secret to yourself.
You cannot go back.

Back and forth, no you cannot win. 
Words are a trap. 

Cherry Blossom

High up in the branches,
swaying with the wind.
Soft summer breezes whisper their sweet secrets to you.
The buzz of little bee's remind you of a song that can only be hummed.
The earth's peaceful pulse pumping in your heart.

The branches keep you up, all day;
all night.
Your smooth petals absorbing the sun's warm light. 

Your beauty is incomparable to all of nature.
Your sweet blossoms filling orchard's air.  
Sweet and dainty to the eye,
but strong against the weather.

The rain cannot beat you down,
the wind will not blow you away. 
You fall when you choose.
When you're ready. 

You let go of all you know.
Falling from the tree's mighty branches.
Drifting down, down, down. 
To the earth, from hence you came. 


From dawn till dusk you make a journey,
leaving life behind to meet the warm soil.
You watched bee's buzz by, children play, animals hunt.
Today is your day,
to grow into...

Cherry Blossom

High up in the branches,
swaying with the wind.
Soft summer breezes whisper their sweet secrets to you.
The buzz of little bee's remind you of a song that can only be hummed.
The earth's peaceful pulse pumping in your heart.

The branches keep you up, all day;
all night.
Your smooth petals absorbing the sun's warm light. 

Your beauty is incomparable to all of nature.
Your sweet blossoms filling orchard's air.  
Sweet and dainty to the eye,
but strong against the weather.

The rain cannot beat you down,
the wind will not blow you away. 
You fall when you choose.
When you're ready. 

You let go of all you know.
Falling from the tree's mighty branches.
Drifting down, down, down. 
To the earth, from hence you came. 


From dawn till dusk you make a journey,
leaving life behind to meet the warm soil.
You watched bee's buzz by, children play, animals hunt.
Today is your day,
to grow into...

Cherry Blossom

High up in the branches,
swaying with the wind.
Soft summer breezes whisper their sweet secrets to you.
The buzz of little bee's remind you of a song that can only be hummed.
The earth's peaceful pulse pumping in your heart.

The branches keep you up, all day;
all night.
Your smooth petals absorbing the sun's warm light. 

Your beauty is incomparable to all of nature.
Your sweet blossoms filling orchard's air.  
Sweet and dainty to the eye,
but strong against the weather.

The rain cannot beat you down,
the wind will not blow you away. 
You fall when you choose.
When you're ready. 

You let go of all you know.
Falling from the tree's mighty branches.
Drifting down, down ,down. 
To the earth, from hence you came. 


From dawn till dusk you make a journey,
leaving life behind to meet the warm soil.
You watched bee's buzz by, children play, animals hunt.
Today is your day,
to grow into...

The Mirror

Do you ever...
Do you ever just look at you reflection and wonder who the girl you're staring at is?
She moves like you, smiles like you, laughs like you.
She is you.
But when you look at her face, into her eyes...
She feels so far away. 
Disconnected. 

It's almost like this girl you're watching is from an alternate universe, and when you look in the mirror you are checking up on how the other is fairing. 

But that's silly!
It couldn't be...
It's like my head is full of clouds and I must fight to keep from sinking into them and forgetting everyone.
Everything.

Getting lost would be so easy,
so quiet. 
But there are things to do!
Goals to make.
Does all the really matter?
No no no...
I can just put my head down,
stare at the sky
and get lost. 
For hours, days, maybe even years.
Time always slides by so slow.
No one will...

Romantic (spoken word)

Pain is probably one of the strongest driving forces.
It demands to expressed.
So often romanticized in writing, music and film.
But what about when it's expressed in the dark, nitty-gritty ways?
The scandalous occurrences that leave people gasping, whispering their gossip to one another.
The ways that leave you in pain so much worse than before because now you're still crying, dying and now you have blood on your hands.
Your own.
A strangers?
It doesn't feel romantic now.
Not like it was promised.
Advertised.
The momentary relief now gone, like a forgotten utterance of ones love.
It just, disappeared…
Where is the beauty in this?
Looking from the outside in felt so much better,
but in this dark room you don't feel so beautiful,
so mysteriously misunderstood.
You feel disgusting,
nasty,
decay.
Failure.
What did you do?
Shoulders shuddering, heart thudding, it's like you've committed a crime.
Caught red handed by your mirror you must hide.
Hide your...

Romantic

Pain is probably one of the strongest driving forces.
It demands to expressed.
So often romanticized in writing, music and film.
But what about when it's expressed in the dark, nitty-gritty ways?
The scandalous occurrences that leave people gasping, whispering their gossip to one another.
The ways that leave you in pain so much worse than before because now you're still crying, dying and now you have blood on your hands.
Your own.
A strangers?
It doesn't feel romantic now.
Not like it was promised.
The momentary relief now gone, like a forgotten utterance of ones love.
Gone.
Where is the beauty in this?
Looking from the outside in felt so much better,
but in this dark room you don't feel so beautiful,
so mysteriously misunderstood.
you feel disgusting,
nasty,
decay.
Failure.
What did you do?
Shoulders shuddering, heart thudding, it's like you've committed a crime.
Caught red handed by your mirror you must hide.
Hide your mistake,
wash away the...

Something Scary

I cut out my tongue to stop from spilling my secrets.
I hide in the dark to avoid prying eyes.
No longer am I a normal girl,
But a withered away soul.
The nashing of teeth and sobbing into the walls is a new normal.
The graphic stories is the new normal.
I love to be the new nightmare in my own head.
The monster under my bed sleeps with me,
in my head.
It's made a permanent residence within.
Madness rules and I have conceded.
What started out as an idea became a gruesome reality,
A daydream.
To my mothers burden,
my fathers embarrassment,
my brothers horror.
I am a creature of my own design.
Once a girl,
now the creature that lived under my bed. 
the gruesome sight before you is me, I rule this nightmare like a queen reigns her kingdom. 
I delight in the wicked games we play and sing to the hymns. 
This is my...

Something Scary

I cut out my tongue to stop from spilling my secrets.
I hide in the dark to avoid prying eyes.
No longer am I a normal girl,
But a withered away soul.
The nashing of teeth and sobbing into the walls is a new normal.
The graphic stories is the new normal.
I love to be the new nightmare in my own head.
The monster under my bed sleeps with me,
in my head.
It's made a permanent residence within.
Madness rules and I have conceded.
What started out as an idea became a gruesome reality,
A daydream to my mothers burden,
my fathers embarrassment,
my brothers horror.
I am a creature of my own design.
Once a girl,
now the creature that lived under my bed. 
the gruesome sight before you is me, I rule this nightmare like a queen reigns her kingdom. 
I delight in the wicked games we play and sing to the hymns. 
This is my...

Something Scary

I cut out my tongue to stop from spilling my secrets.
I hide in the dark to hide from prying eyes.
No longer am I a normal girl,
But a withered away soul.
The nashing of teeth and sobbing into the walls is a new normal.
The graphic stories is the new normal.
I love to be the new nightmare in my own head.
The monster under my bed sleeps with me,
in my head.
It's made a permanent residence within.
Madness rules and I have conceded.
What started out as an idea became a gruesome reality,
A daydream to my mothers burden,
my fathers embarrassment,
my brothers horror.
I am a creature of my own design.
Once a girl,
now the creature that lived under my bed. 
the gruesome sight before you is me, I rule this nightmare like a queen reigns her kingdom. 
I delight in the wicked games we play and sing to the hymns. 
This is...

Romantic

Pain is probably one of the strongest driving forces.
It demands to expressed.
So often romanticised in writing, music and film.
But what about when it's expressed in the dark, nitty gritty ways?
The scandalous occurrences that leave people gasping, whispering their gossip to one another.
The ways that leave you in pain so much worse than before because now you're still crying, dying and now you have blood on your hands.
Your own.
A strangers?
It doesn't feel romantic now.
Not like it was promised.
The momentary relief now gone, like a forgotten utterance of ones love.
Gone.
Where is the beauty in this?
Looking from the outside in felt so much better,
but in this dark room you don't feel so beautiful,
so mysteriously misunderstood.
you feel disgusting,
nasty,
decay.
Failure.
What did you do?
Shoulders shuddering, heart thudding, it's like you've committed a crime.
Caught red handed by your mirror you must hide.
Hide your mistake,
wash away...

Family

Dads eyes are tear filled again.  
Mom is giving him space, pretending it isn't happening.
Grandma's in the hospital.
My chest feels like I'm wearing a too tight life vest. 
The worries and empathy cloud my mind. 
Why is everyone hurting all the time? 
Why can't I fix everything? Where's my magic screw driver.
In all my years on the earth, no ones ever told me how to make this all better.
What will truly happen if grandma passes? 
The tears will finally spill out of dads eyes and I can't hug him and make him smile then.
I can't.
Not even if I tried. 
Anxiety squeezes my gut and I pace. 
Jesus please just let them be okay, and feel better. 
I plead to my walls and shed my own tears for the pain of my family. 
The only cure is time, and I have come to realize that time is no ones friend.
 

Curiosity

I want to know what you think
What you feel. 
What you wonder.
I want to know.
My curiosity for others is an unquenchable journey of questions.
Why?
Why?
How? 
Why do you feel that way?
Why do you think like that?
Who made you what you have become?
Why?
Why?
How?
When you read my words, what do you think?
Does is make you roll your eyes?
spark your curiosity?
Why?
Why?
How? 
What do you wonder?
What do you worry about?
My never ending curiosity is a living breathing beast of its own. 

Romantic

Pain is probably one of the strongest driving forces.
It demands to expressed.
So often romanticised in writing, music and film.
But what about when it's expressed in the dark, nitty gritty ways?
The scandalous occurrences that leave people gasping, whispering their gossip to one another.
The ways that leave you in pain so much worse than before because now you're still crying, dying and now you have blood on your hands.
Your own.
A strangers?
It doesn't feel romantic now.
Not like it was promised.
The momentary relief now gone, like a forgotten utterance of ones love.
Gone.
Where is the beauty in this?
Looking from the outside in felt so much better,
but in this dark room you don't feel so beautiful,
so mysteriously misunderstood.
you feel disgusting,
nasty,
decay.
Failure.
What did you do?
Shoulders shuddering, heart thudding, it's like you've committed a crime.
Caught red handed by your mirror you must hide.
Hide your mistake,
wash away...

How it Makes me Feel

The sway of the music moves me. 
The rhythm of the beat makes me tap, tap ,tap all over.
I am in love.
In love with this feeling inside.
The music fills my head with clouds, and my chest with daydreams.
I get so lost inside myself and the flow of it all that I am gone.
Not here anymore.
I'm there.
Inside the music.
In my own world. 

I Didn't Realize-

I didn't realize what I did until I did it. 
I drew my own blood.
My snotty nose ran.
I don't feel pretty, or beautiful.
I'm disgusting. 
You call a girl sitting on the edge of her bed crying and doing- God it's to horrid to say.
You call that. That. Beautiful?
God please.
It's not.
It's sad.
It's disgusting. 
Perhaps not repulsive, but it makes you feel a way in the pit of your gut. 
A special, unforgivable way that only happens when you see it. When you do it. 


I didn't realize what I did until I did it.
I just crossed a line I could ever return.
I wanted to try anything once,
be daring and exciting,
loosen up,
chill out,
I felt so called out by every one and their mother for being so "stiff" and "plain" and "boring"
I was scared of missing out on something in my youth.
But I missed out on nothing,...

The Music

 Rain makes a quiet song, filled with chatter.
Wind makes a smooth song, filled with whispers.
The flowers sing a song full of happiness and hope.
Animals crying out, in a song filled with rage.
Pain sings a song of mourning.
Happiness sings a song about the sun.
Jealousy sings a song about revenge.
Our world fills with noise, deafening the lost. 
Music fills our ears, some beautiful, some rotten. 
Music.
Music.
Music.
Music to our ears.
It can be wonderful,
it can be annoying. 
The songs shape our moods, and hearts.
Be careful about the song that you're listening to. 
Because they too, could soon be singing a song of sadness into your heart, deafening you to the tune of joy. 


 

Mistaken For a Song

 I screamed a thousand times.
I hit the walls,
I buried my face in my pillow,
I lost my voice,
I did so, so much.
I tried telling the truth.
I tried asking for help.
Screaming over, and over, and over, but no one listened.
My scream was mistaken for a song. 
Sorry that I didn't tell you sooner.
Sorry you found me covered in cobwebs. 
I'm sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Are my words perfectly crafted?
Do you hear me now?
Or am I still a song bird? 
Trapped in your cage.
Entering is so much easier than escaping.
Forgiving is harder than leaving.
Screaming is easier than talking.
Hiding is easier than facing the truth with my tear stained cheeks, and bloodshot eyes.
I didn't sleep for days afraid of the nightmares.
I hid for weeks, not wanting to face the sun. 
The sun abandoned me, why should I forgive it?
The shadows adopted me.
The spiders suffocated me.
I'm...

Making Change

Out of the dark, I open my eyes.
I once was lost, trapped deep inside my own mind.
Caged up inside. 
But one day I realized:
If I want freedom; If I want happiness, then I must change. I have to pursue it. 
So I fought myself, I fought all of my demons, and I stumbled over and over.
But then one day, I found myself laughing and smiling with those that I love, and realized, that I made it.
Out of the dazed, dreary darkness,
I had awoken from my slumber.
I had risen from my pre dug grave,
I was alive,
I did it. 
I found my own personal victory. 
My own cure.
I did it.

did 
it. 
I found a way to make myself whole.

Just, Trying

Some days I feel empty. 
Truly, empty 
As if I took out my heart, gave it away,
and it's been thrown out. 
gone. 
Others I feel full to the brim, overflowing.
Compassion for others,
personal duties,
and so much else fill my heart.
A constant state of action and go, go,go!
But at the end of it all
I boil down, back to the emptiness.
My life evaporated into thin air. 
Loss is a finicky thing.
It comes and goes as it pleases,
Mending the holes in your heart, then tearing new ones. 
You feel as if you just have to get whatever is in your chest out. Out. Out.
You sing,
You sob,
You write.
Nothing is beautiful.
Nothing it written nicely.
Not even this poem.
But you put it out anyways.
Just to get it out of your chest.
Because loss.
Loss....
It takes over and everything hurts.
And sometimes you just have to do whatever it takes,...

This Evening

Pit, pat, pit, pat
the rain goes splat.
The drizzly drops go on and on,
smacking the ground like a faucet that won't stop its tap.
A soft smile touches my lips and the warmth from the heater keeps me from freezing. 
It's a pleasant cold evening.
The outdoors have such a stark contrast to inside my home, I feel cozy and safe, in a haven far, far away from here.
Here.
A chaotic world of fast paced drama.
Stress.
Work.
But not here, not now.
Nah.
I'm cozy and content in my pillow fort.
Snuggled to my kitten.
I listen to the down fall of water.
The rain pour.
I believe that rain,
is a blessing for the soul.
The noise so soothing and peaceful.
It causes a "mess" and brings life. 

A Sad Poem

Despite my greatest efforts I have not been able to renew myself. 
I've simply had good months, and bad ones. 
Black and white. 
I've tried again and again to rush myself into happiness and healthiness without dealing with the forefront pains. 
Shoving my trauma into the back of my mind. 
Fear hiding behind the door. 
Slice and dicing and inhaling all my pain,
Abusing myself to make it all go away. 
That's the only way, I tell myself. 
What a lie.
A lie.
Really,
truly,
a lie. 
If I would just accept the truth.
Submit myself.
Give in.
Let go.
Into who I know will make it all better.
Who will make me happy.
Then I would be okay.
Yet rebellion and bad judgement plague me.
Idiocy.
Dear God, speak to me. 
I drown inside my mind.
The pools of my own blood fill the room, making it hard to keep my head a float.
I'm a twisted and foul,...

Making Change

Out of the dark, I open my eyes.
I once was lost, trapped deep inside my own mind.
Caged up inside. 
But one day I realized:
If I want freedom; If I want happiness, then I must change. I have to pursue it. 
So I fought myself, I fought all of my demons, and I stumbled over and over.
But then one day, I found myself laughing and smiling with those that I love, and realized, that I made it.
I had awoken from my slumber,
I had risen from my pre dug grave,
I was alive,
I did it. 

Just, Trying

Some days I feel empty. 
Truly, empty 
As if I took out my heart, gave it away,
and it's been thrown out. 
gone. 
Others I feel full to the brim, overflowing.
Compassion for others,
personal duties,
and so much else fill my heart.
A constant state of action and go, go,go!
But at the end of it all
I boil down, back to the emptiness.
My life evaporated into thin air. 
Loss is a finicky thing.
It comes and goes as it pleases,
Mending the holes in your heart, then tearing new ones. 
You feel as if you just have to get whatever is in your chest out. Out. Out.
You sing,
You sob,
Your write.
Nothing is beautiful.
Nothing it written nicely.
Not even this poem.
But you put it out anyways.
Just to get it out of your chest.
Because loss.
Loss....
It takes over and everything hurts.
And sometimes you just have to do whatever it takes,...

Just, Trying

Some days I feel empty. 
Truly, empty 
As if I took out my heart, gave it away,
and it's been thrown out. 
gone. 
Others I feel full to the brim, overflowing.
Compassion for others,
personal duties,
and so much else fill my heart.
A constant state of action and go, go,go!
But at the end of it all, I boil down, back to the emptiness.
My life evaporated into thin air. 
Loss is a finicky thing.
It comes and goes as it pleases,
Mending the holes in your heart, then tearing new ones. 
You feel as if you just have to get whatever is in your chest out. Out. Out.
You sing,
You sob,
Your write.
Nothing is beautiful.
Nothing it written nicely.
Not even this poem.
But you put it out anyways.
Just to get it out of your chest.
Because loss.
Loss....
It takes over and everything hurts.
And sometimes you just have to do whatever it takes,...

Missing

She's gone. 
lost.
I can't find her. 
No matter where I look, how hard I search.
She's gone. 
My heart wants her back so strongly,
I fear I may never know where she has gone.
I need her. 
I need her to be safe,
To be healthy,
To be alive. 
I need to know where she is.
I can't go on like this.
I hate the me without her.
I hate me.
The idea of her lost and alone scares me
The idea of her sick and dying, terrifies me.
The idea of her dead somewhere horrifies me.
Am I jumping the gun?
Will she be back soon?
I can't imagine her leaving.
I don't know how to make this better. 
 

Crying in the Shower

The rain of the water drowns out every other noise.
It pounds against the bottom of the tub viciously,
like wild emotions raging out and flinging at whatever they can reach. 
I let the water run over me and absorb me, rather than absorbing it. 
It soaks into my hair and wets my face.
My tears blending in.
My body aches with this heavy, thick, sadness.
Like a suffocating coat in a warm room. 
My mind spikes out into a billion incoherent thoughts.
My mind pleads for more air.
The tears have become to frequent. 
Writing about sadness is to regular.
It's all happening again.
My mind spikes again.
Incoherent muffled sobs.
Hot water fills the room with steam.
I am alone, but I don't completely feel like it.
I feel accompanied by my thoughts
Always there,
Always ready to barge in and ruin things.
Always. 
This is it.
This is me.
This is crying in the shower. 
 

Four Feet

Leaky eyes,
A condition I suffer from severely. 
My heart taking control of my body and expressing itself on the outside.
I mourn the one I've lost. 
I tell a story.
A story about a girl and all her sorrows.
Such a typical, unoriginal, "oh here we go again" story.
But it's mine, and that's why others value it.
Individuality is what makes us interesting. 
But those weighed down by their heavy weights, wrapped around them like chains
Hide in the shadows, sorting through their stuffy minds.
Like look for a hairpin in a mothers purse. 


Each tear drop tells a little part of the story. 
Sobs full of worry, regret, doubt, and anxiety.
But all I want is to find my answers.
Find my lost soul.
Tired of looking.
Tired of waiting.
Ready to take action.
My leaky eyes blur my vision, I need to wipe away the water and look at a clear picture.
My future, the path...

Lost Inside My Skull

The sound of the cooler fills the room. 
The freezing air blasts my legs. I feel numb. 
My head is stuffed tightly with clouds. 
I cannot focus.
I am here, but not here.
Elsewhere. Everywhere. Here. 
My mind feels as if it has been lost. 
I am so empty. 
Hollowness fills my chest. 
A students loud laughter snaps me back to reality. 
I am here. Here
I feel captive to schedules, where I once felt at home. 
I feel captive to my mind, where I once sought solitude. 
My mind repeats a motto heard in history class:
Live free or die.
Then afterwards,
"Why are you so dramatic?" 
Take me home, to where I can rest easily.
A place without hate. 
A place
Without
Me. 
Without me there to ruin it all with thinking.
Take me there.

Personal Narrative Competition 2018

Because Music Keeps my Heart Beating

Music has always been my passion. Ever since I was a child I would sing. Sing along to the radio, the movie, the CD, even make up my own silly songs. It was apparent from a young age that I was in love with music. Sadly, part of growing up is dealing with bullies and annoyed siblings, who find the constant singing annoying. They tear you down and laugh at you until you confine yourself to their standards and shut up. That was my reality. But not for long.



“Are you ready for tonight? This is going to be your first solo!” My mother says excitedly. Years of choir and an ensemble group have finally paid off. I get to perform a solo at my graduation. I feel more fear than excitement.
“I just wanna get this over with so that I don’t feel nervous anymore.” I reply honestly. Her bright expression turns into a light laugh. Folding clothes while...

Personal Narrative Competition 2018

Because Music Keeps my Heart Beating


    Music has always been a passion of mine. Ever since I was a child I would sing. Sing along to the radio, the movie, the CD, even make up my own silly songs. It was apparent from a young age that I was in love with music. Sadly, part of growing up is dealing with bullies and annoyed siblings, who find the constant singing annoying. They tear you down and laugh at you until you confine yourself to their standards and shut up. That was my reality. But not for long.



    “Are you ready for tonight? This is going to be your first solo!” My mother says excitedly. Years of choir and an ensemble group have finally paid off. I get to perform a solo at my graduation. I feel more fear than excitement.
“I just wanna get this over with so that I don’t feel nervous anymore.” I reply honestly. Her bright expression turns into a light laugh....

What Happens When Something is "Perfect"

Settling down next to you
Our bodies mold together,
In a sweet embrace.
Safety within you is all I know. 
All too soon, things change
I lose my mind, I panic, I fret.
You growl, you groan, but you never make a threat.
Too perfect,
Too handsome,
Too oblivious.
I had to leave, I had to go, no matter how many times I regretted it.
I said, "I love you" and meant it.
But sometimes, when you love someone,
You let them go. 

Making Change

Out of the dark, I open my eyes.
I once was lost, trapped deep inside my own mind.
Caged up inside. 
But one day I realized:
If I want freedom; If I want happiness, then I must change. I have to pursue it. 
So I fought myself, I fought all of my demons, and I stumbled over and over.
But then one day, I found myself laughing andsmiling with those that I love, and realized, that I made it.
I had awoken from my slumber,
I had risen from my pre dug grave,
I was alive,
I did it. 

Painting

We're all artists, you see.
Writers paint pictures with words.
musicians paint pictures with sound.
Painters just use the physical form of pictures.
Ours is mental. 
Ours in poetic.
Ours is silly.
Ours is freedom.
Write when you're angry,
write when you're sad,
write when you're happy.
Write when you have something to say,
write when you have nothing to say.
Write so that the world has more art.
Write because the world needs your art.
Write, because the world is art. 
Become an artist.
Write.

Move On

Poetry

Every single poem I see.
Every single poem I write.
It's all about the past.
No more! 
Move on.
Free yourselves.
You chain each other up with binding words of misery. 
Look up from your journal of distraught and see the light at the end of the tunnel.
The first step of moving on is changing yourself.
No more. 

The Heart That Stopped Beating




Tears gently made their way down, down, down.
He pushed her away, breaking her heart.
The girls pain was an overwhelming thing.
It came so suddenly, and swept her off her feet, just like the boy had.
Love is such a silly thing.
It lies to you, and tells you that the world is perfect,
it puts a blindfold over your eyes.
But, when everything turns to dust,
that's when you finally see it all.
The emptiness.
The hole where love once was.
Why did it leave you?
 Her pain was so deep, it consumed her whole, not taking a single bite.
She was just a pill. 
Every loving word he said to her felt so fake.
So stupid.
So, so, ridiculous. 
She wanted to laugh, scream, tear her hair out.
He was a liar. 
She was the poor fool who fell for it.
 The heart break overwhelmed her.
It banished her smiles, her colorful vibrant life.
Pain stole her...

The Clock Stops For No One

The smooth stones skip across the deep blue lake.
Mossy branches fall down in the forest.
A new flower, springs to life from the fertile earth.
As breath stops, time keeps ticking.
When the heart dies, the world keeps turning.
The end for some, is a new beginning for others. 
It may feel like your grave has been dug up, 
but you must always remember this:
Stop,
smile,
smell the flowers,
cry, 
keep marching. 

Spring

The soft little flowers bloom,
opening up to show such beauty.
The beauty they had hiding on the inside.
The beauty they owned all along.
Spring time shows the beauty in everything.
Nature blooms, and open up a whole new world of color.
People smile, wear their floral and chatter of their summer plans.
beauty in every shop window, tree, home, it's even on every face. 
One little smile.
One little flower.
One little day.
Spring time.

The Music

 Rain makes a quiet song, filled with chatter.
Wind makes a smooth song, filled with whispers.
The flowers sing a song full of happiness.
Animals crying out, in a song filled with rage.
Pain sings a song of mourning.
Happiness sings a song about the sun.
Jealousy sings a song about revenge.
Our world fills with noise, deafening the lost. 
Music fills our ears, some beautiful, some rotten. 
Music.
Music.
Music.
Music to our ears.
It can be wonderful,
it can be annoying. 
The songs shape our moods, and hearts.
Be careful about the song that you're listening to. 


 

I Remember

I Won't Forget

"My memory is a curse.
My memory is a curse.
My memory is a curse."
I would repeat to myself.
Even though it reminds me,
everyday,
of what I was, and what I must not become.
I remember tears,
shouting,
blood,
anger,
sadness.
The dark.
Time to forget.
Time to forgive.
Time to learn,
live,
love,
and go.
Go far away from everything, and nothing.
Time to hide from the cliches, and laugh at the originals.
Time to be free.
Free from the weight of memories, and use the lesson you learned.
Your memories do not define you. 

What Music Does

Sweet melodies bring vibrant life to my soul.
Dance fills my bones, and music awakens me.
Smiles, flowers, sunsets, happiness.
Life.
Life.
Life.
Music.
The tap, tap, tap of my foot to the beat.
The swish, swish, swish, of my skirt as I dance to the songs.
Smiles, flowers, sunsets, happiness.
Life.
Life.
Life.
Songs.
Flowers in my hair, smile on my face, happiness in my heart.
Music playing in my car.
Music playing in my mind.
Music. Playing.
Smile, wave, dance and sing.
I feel the joy in my soul, the music in my bones, the tap, tap, tap.
I feel the melodies in my heart, and hear the joyful tunes.
Music.
Music.
Music.
It brings life.
It brings joy.
It brings love.
Music.
Life.
music.
Life.
Song. 

WILD

Wanderlust

Smelling the fresh air in the forest,
hearing the roar of the oceans untamed waves,
tasting the sweet juices from wild trees. 
Fresh air,
sweet fruits,
gorgeous views,
beautifully crafted words.
Freedom.
Throwing your cares to the wind. 
The wild,
wild wind. 
Wanderlust takes control,
adventure rides passenger,
and my mind is lost in a wonderland of excitement.
Uniqueness all around,
companionship,
laughter,
joy.
True freedom fills me to the brim. 
My wild hair blows around as we speed down the coast.
Time for another adventure.
Where will the wind take me?

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2017

The Missing Sun

Ugly stories are told.
Pretty songs are sung.
Silly jokes are made.
Yet, I find myself in despair.
Every time I reach out to reach the finish line, it escapes me.
What did I do?
What do I do?
What am I doing?
 Can someone answer my questions?
Can someone hang the sun in the sky, I'm blinded by the darkness. 
When I'm gone, please send flowers to my grave.
Can I fight this?
I'll get out.
I can do it, right?
Not all alone.
You'll be there, won't you?
Don't leave me!
Hold my hand.
I won't drop you.
You have my word.
I know I'm no good, but we've been a team for a long time.
I want to be remembered. 
I want to feel the sun on my face again,
the feeling of flower petals on my hand,
rain in my hair.
No more tears,
shouting, and blood curdling cries.
Smiles,
smiles,
smiles.
Save me.
Save me. ...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition 2017

The Missing Sun

Ugly stories are told.
Pretty songs are sung.
Silly jokes are made.
Yet, I find myself in despair.
Every time I reach out to reach the finish line, it escapes me.
What did I do?
What do I do?
What am I doing?
 Can someone answer my questions?
Can someone hang the sun in the sky, I'm blinded by the darkness. 
When I'm gone, please send flowers to my grave.
Can I fight this?
I'll get out.
I can do it, right?
Not all alone.
You'll be there, won't you?
Don't leave me!
Hold my hand.
I won't drop you.
You have my word.
I know I"m no good, but we've been a team for a long time.
I want to be remembered. 
I wan to feel the sun on my face again,
the feeling of flower petals on my hand,
rain in my hair.
No more tears,
shouting, and blood curdling cries.
Smiles,
smiles,
smiles.
Save me.
Save me. ...

Mistaken For a Song

 I screamed a thousand times.
I hit the walls,
I buried my face in my pillow,
I lost my voice,
I did so, so much.
I tried telling the truth.
I tried asking for help.
Screaming over, and over, and over, but no one listened.
My scream was mistaken for a song. 
Sorry that I didn't tell you sooner.
Sorry you found me covered in cobwebs. 
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Are my words perfectly crafted?
Do you hear me now
Or am I still a song bird? 
Trapped in your cage.
Entering is so much easier than escaping.
Forgiving is harder than leaving.
Screaming is easier than talking.
Hiding is easier than facing the truth with my tear stained cheeks, and bloodshot eyes.
I didn't sleep for days afraid of the nightmares.
I hid for weeks, not wanting to face the sun. 
The sun abandoned me, why should I forgive it?
The shadows adopted me.
The spiders suffocated me.
I'm lost. ...

The Broken Man

Nothing but colors swirled through his heart.
Everything else was taken from him.
He was hated, 
hurt,
rejected.
He was all alone.
People bruised him till he was broken.
The man was left to go mad all on his own.
He painted his sorrows on a canvas,
so pretty,
delicate,
and marvelous,
just like his soul.
No one loved him, or his art.
He was cast out for being different.
He dared to be himself and was reject.
Nights spent alone, crying.
Wishing he was dead.
Born in the wrong era, many say. 
One tragedy after another.
His soul so broken.
His heart in so much pain.
His art, so, so, forgotten.
Unable to withstand it any longer,
he took his own life.
Without knowing, that he was so loved.
By his family, and many other people, years later.
He was a broken man.
Not in the beginning,
but from years,
and years,
and years,
of the same abuse. 
His...

You

Unique.
Different.
Unusual.
Peculiar.
One of a kind.
That's you.
You are your own person.
Stay true, to yourself. 

Man's Bestfriend

Dear Haze,
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
You are the most special kind of friend.
You made me laugh,
cry,
yell,
and learn.
We played games together,
I gave you baths, I gave you hugs,
I gave you treats, and I gave you love.
You kissed my cheeks, you climbed up into my playhouse.
We grew up side by side. 
You were my best friend,
I was your best friend. 
I hate to say goodbye, so I'll say hi. 
Hi.
Hi.
Hi.
 I want to say hi to the endings,
new beginnings,
and feelings.
I hate, hate, hate leaving you,
but now is the time.
I love you Haze. 
 

Awkward Adventure

    My name is Sam and today I have writing class. I am home schooled, but I take out of the house classes. Writing class takes place at a woman named Sally's house. Whenever the students arrive at her house, we just enter her house, no knocking. I'm always late, so I just enter, sit down, and join the class. But, today an unlucky breezes wafted through my neighborhood.

     I arrived early to my writing class, and was nervous when I excited the car. I was getting an odd feeling from that house. As I walked up her driveway, I imagined a scenario of me entering her house, no knocking, just walking in and class being cancelled. Just me, a stranger walking into my teachers house uninvited. I cringed at myself, then entered her home. When I step through the door, I hear faint noises from the kitchen, the place were class is held, and I assume that...

Awkward Adventure

    My name is Sam and today I have writing class. I am home schooled, but I take out of the house classes. Writing class takes place at a woman named Sally's house. Whenever the students arrive at her house, we just enter her house, no knocking. I'm always late, so I just enter, sit down, and join the class. But, today an unlucky breezes wafted through my neighborhood.

     I arrived early to my writing class, and was nervous when I excited the car. I was getting an odd feeling from that house. As I walked up her driveway, I imagined a scenario of me entering her house, no knocking, just walking in and class being cancelled. Just me, a stranger walking into my teachers house uninvited. I cringed at myself, then entered her home. When I step through the door, I hear faint noises from the kitchen, the place were class is held, and I assume that...

I Love You, But You Hate Me

He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me hard. 
Tears spilling down my cheeks, he broke me.
He broke my confidence,
pride,
heart,
reality.
Our love was a blindfold.
His embrace was a cage.
His smile was a leash.
His laugh was a warning.
I was in a prison, unaware of the bars that caged me in.
His words ripped me to shreds and left me in pieces.
Does he care?
Does he care that he hurts me,
breaks me,
lies to me.
Why couldn't he just let me down easily?
Why did he want to destroy me?
Why?
Why?
Why?
What did I do?
Do I really deserve this?
The humiliation of crying in front of him and every one else.
The lies.
I am a victim to the cruelest kind of torture.
Love.
I loved, but was not loved.
I was caring, but not cared for.
I was discarded.
I was thrashed.
I was killed.
Do I...

Underestimated

Crashing,
stomping,
pounding,
thudding.
Sobbing,
crying,
dying.
Lying,
loud noises,
quiet whispers,
confusion,
misunderstanding.
All the fighting,
all the forgiving,
all the endings.
None of them happy.
I gave up, but you didn't stop.
Silent screams,
secret thoughts.
You forgot.
You forgot.
You forgot.
You think I'm weak,
easy to beat,
obedient,
silent.
I'm bigger, 
better,
prettier,
smarter,
I will walk away from you.
You can't keep me down.
I am not yours.
I am my own.
Watch me crush you and your lying mouth.
You're just a sick animal,
I should put you out of your misery.
You cheat,
beat,
and steal.
You stole my heart, but I'm a better thief.
Watch me.
Watch me.
Watch me.
I'm done. 
You're beat. 
This fight has gone on for to long.
I'm ending it now. 
Today, I win.

Sweet Sounds

The cats paws pad across the old wooden floors, squeaking slightly.
Hard rain pounds on my rooftop, the wind howling. 
Soft laughter from my mother, it's like a warm summer breeze.
Harsh hissing from disgruntled cats.
Swift water running through the peaceful forest, calming my restless soul.
The annoying, and frightening buzzing from a bee.
Smooth waves crashing against the shoreline, inspiring you to be the best you there is.
The thud of a human heart. You hold the person in your embrace, and listen to their heart,
their life, their hear tells you a story.
A sweet little
bump,
bump,
bump,
Bringing tears to your eyes you feel their life, so close to your head.
Their heart,
their life,
their organ,
them.
So close,
so close,
so close,
not close enough.
 

Sunflowers

As the orange juice sun rose up into the sky,
a beautiful Sunflower stood tall.
It's soft, yellow petals open, warm, inviting.
A cool summer breeze wafts through the air,
drifting about. 
The flower, such a masterpiece that Van Gogh himself found it complex,
and worthy to paint. 
The flower full of beauty,
mystery,
complexity.
So unique, and bright. 
The Sunflower is like a warm smile. 
Bright and happy. 
The little flower brings summer into sight, 
and  warmth all around. 
What a mysterious little thing,
the Sunflower. 

Words Cause Wounds

The open wound stings,
the pain is unbearable,
and the blood gushes out.
Each word was like a cut from a knife, 
and it left me beaten and bruised.
Breathless,
hopeless,
helpless.
You use all your smarts to beat me, 
hurt me,
lie to me,
undermine me.
The wounds appear faster and faster as you gain momentum. 
Each word slices me open.
The blood stings, 
It's hot and sticky, like warm honey. 
My thoughts sicken me. 
Salty water dampens my cheeks, my eyes are the ocean, my face is the shore. 
The salt enters my wound, and burns like a raging flame.
Your words are the strongest against me, and you know it.
You know and you don't care.
My heart stops after that realization.
My stomach twists.
How do I go on?
Without you, there's nothing without you.
You're not only my lover, but my best friend.
My sun,
my smile,
my memories,
my diary,
my one and...

Two Pieces Of Glass

Hiding behind a wall all my life,
covering my face,
putting on my mask,
everyday,
everyday,
everyday.
I slip two small pieces of glass over my face.
For me, and everyone else it's just a normal thing,
but I keep a hidden meaning behind it all.
Covering my face, changing my looks,
I hide behind the glass, fixing my sight.
Each night, I slip the mask off,
breath,
breath,
breath,
reality catches up.
I have to face my face.
Hiding can only go on for so long.
 

The Word Love

When I say love, 
I think of a thousand things.
I think of family,
friends, lovers,
pets, food,
clothes, books,
shows, cloudy days,
rain, music,
and so much more. 
People throw that word around far to easily.
Love is so much more than a silly feeling.
It's more than romance.
Family.
Possessions.
Love is a kind of power. 
It's a kind of gift.
One you can keep, or give.
Some have a hard time not giving their love.
Others have a hard time giving their love. 
Love is so much more than a stupid word.
Love is an unexplainable phenomenon. 

Giants And Naps


    Early in the morning I leap from my bed, and scratch at my door. The stupid giant is laying on her big bed, sleeping. Who's going to let me out? I really have to pee. And sniff flowers, and hunts birds. I have a long list of things to do. My name is Empress, because I rule this fortress, but my people call me Cleo, and pat my head, because I am such a magnificent ruler. The stupid giants think they're in charge. Those idiots... I rule this fortress. It's me who does the hunting, scratching, hissing, and I investigate all the paper bags to make sure they're safe. Now, where was I, sometime's I get side tracked. Ah yes, I have to be let out, but my stupid giant is sleeping. Furiously I scratch at the door until another giant comes by and frees me from my chambers. I don't know why they put doors in, This...

How Our Weather Became So Orderly

  
    Autumn always wore a red scarf, and light brown boots. She hated the cold. Summer always wore a swimsuit, and sunglasses, chilling in the sun was all she lived for. Spring wore daisy's in her hair, and carried an umbrella with her every where she went. And Winter, she never took of her mittens, and earmuffs. Winter was paper white, with icey eyes, (don't get me started on her glare). Summer was always tan, she spent so much time outside it was impossible for her not to be. Spring had light brown skin, and warm eyes. Autumn had dark brown skin, and dark, dark, dark eyes. The girls were the best of friends, despite their differences. They weren't just different looks wise. All four girls were in charge of a season. I'm sure you can guess who is in charge of each season. Despite the fact that they were so close, they only met once a year,...

Wooden Floorboards

In memory of Anne Frank.

1943
 Dear Journal,

      The floorboards squeak beneath my feet. Hushed whispers flood this attic. There is no where to go up here. I'm never alone. I think I'm going mad! There's only one place for me to go to be alone. I go to my writing, and get lost inside each page. I forget I'm here, in this hell. I forget that Hitler is look for me, and every other Jew. I forget I'm in an attic, with my family, another family, and a strange man. The words pull me in, and hold me in their hands. I drown in them and leave this place, my soul entering the ink, as I write out everything about my life. There is a boy in this attic. He is kind, we often talk with one another in a small room that no one ever goes in, aside from Peter and I. I go up there the most....

Wooden Floorboards

In memory of Anne Frank.

1943
 Dear Journal,

      The floorboards squeak beneath my feet. Hushed whispers flood this attic. There is no where to go up here. I'm never alone. I think I'm going mad! There's only one place for me to go to be alone. I go to my writing, and get lost inside each page. I forget I'm here, in this hell. I forget that Hitler is look for me, and every other Jew. I forget I'm in an attic, with my family, another family, and a strange man. The words pull me in, and hold me in their hands. I drown in them and leave this place, my soul entering the ink, as I write out everything about my life. There is a boy in this attic. He is kind, we often talk with one another in a small room that no one ever goes in, aside from Peter and I. I go up there the most....

Wooden Floorboards

In memory of Anne Frank.

1943
 Dear Journal,

      The floorboards squeak beneath my feet. Hushed whispers flood this attic. There is no where to go up here. I'm never alone. I think I'm going mad! There's only one place for me to go to be alone. I go to my writing, and get lost inside each page. I forget I'm here, in this hell. I forget that Hitler is look for me, and every other Jew. I forget I'm in an attic, with my family, another family, and a strange man. The words pull me in, and hold me in their hands. I drown in them and leave this place, my soul entering the ink, as I write out everything about my life. There is a boy in this attic. He is kind, we often talk with one another in a small room that no one ever goes in, aside from Peter and I. I go up there the most....

Giants And Naps


    Early in the morning I leap from my bed, and scratch at my door. The stupid giant is laying on her big bed, sleeping. Who's going to let me out? I really have to pee. And sniff flowers, and hunts birds. I have a long list of things to do. My name is Empress, because I rule this fortress, but my people call me Cleo, and pat my head, because I am such a magnificent ruler. The stupid giants think they're in charge. Those idiots... I rule this fortress. It's me who does the hunting, scratching, hissing, and I investigate all the paper bags to make sure they're safe. Now, where was I, sometime's I get side tracked. Ah yes, I have to be let out, but my stupid giant is sleeping. Furiously I scratch at the door until another giant comes by and frees me from my chambers. I don't know why they put doors in, This...

How Our Weather Became So Orderly

  
    Autumn always wore a red scarf, and light brown boots. She hated the cold. Summer always wore a swimsuit, and sunglasses, chilling in the sun was all she lived for. Spring wore daisy's ion her hair, and carried an umbrella with her every where she went. And Winter, she never took of her mittens, and earmuffs. Winter was paper white, with icey eyes, (don't get me started on her glare). Summer was always tan, she spent so much time outside it was impossible for her not to be. Spring had light brown skin, and warm eyes. Autumn had dark brown skin, and dark, dark, dark eyes. The girls were the best of friends, despite their differences. They weren't just different looks wise. All four girls were in charge of a season. I'm sure you can guess who is in charge of each season. Despite the fact that they were so close, they only met once a year,...

The Heart That Stopped Beating

A poem, by Savannah


Tears gently made their way down, down, down.
He pushed her away, breaking her heart.
The girls pain was an overwhelming thing.
It came so suddenly, and swept her off her feet, just like the boy had.
Love is such a silly thing.
It lies to you, and tells you that the world is perfect,
it puts a blindfold over your eyes.
But, when everything turns to dust,
that's when you finally see it all.
The emptiness.
The hole where love once was.
Why did it leave you?
 Her pain was so deep, it consumed her whole, not taking a single bite.
She was just a pill. 
Every loving word he said to her felt so fake.
So stupid.
So, so, ridiculous. 
She wanted to laugh, scream, tear her hair out.
He was a liar. 
She was the poor fool who fell for it.
 The heart break overwhelmed her.
It banished her smiles, her colorful vibrant...