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From A to BRelease from prison like a phoenix risen,
Focusing on what is and not what isn't,
Plant a new flag and grow a new nation,
An arsonists dream, crippled foundation,
The moon ignites what remains of my brain,
Still lost in the cosmos, fly on paper planes,
Son and a brother, three names and a friend,
Just like a rough gem, I am not less than,
I hold inside my heart the very essence of
every hard earned lesson, it’s a blessing,
Letter after letter, used to predict riots,
Lost my pad and pen, time to stay quiet,
Sun burnt faces, time inspired embraces,
All soul, these words remain faceless.
Can you taste the ghosts?I want to know your plans,
Feel your heart, your hands.
Can you see the birds?
Soft wings flap unheard.
We just spin around the sun,
Light feet that weigh a ton.
Can you taste the ghosts?
Secret lives, sacred oaths.
Making castles in the sand,
Smooth, no concrete plans.
And can you feel the sky?
The blue will help us fly.
The PrairiesOur golden star blazes through the heavens,
Wearing scattering rays like the crown of a king.
The wind inhales the contents of the vast sky,
Then exhales as the clouds fashion their latest design.
The seemingly never ending rows of burnt wheat invite
a type of silence, but there is none to be found here.
The gliding moths and flies buzz like loose electricity,
Stalking coyotes cry and yelp through moon lit darkness.
The water of the meadow lakes run through my veins,
My heart will always beat through wild grass jungles.
Those EyesI love the mischief in those eyes,
a puzzle I will never understand.
Each playful laugh gets me going,
something like love keeps flowing.
That sly smile is just so tempting,
your warm skin keeps me sane.
You and me, the perfect crime,
our paradise just so sublime.
I get lost in your somber whispers,
your sad stories have me hooked.
Our souls became tangled into one,
I never thought this day would come.
DreamsThe silver moon wakes
from its shadowy cradle.
Sleep kidnaps my brain
and casts a strange spell.
Atoms swirl and spin as
they set my mind ablaze.
Colours bleed into shapes,
a secret story is written.
Ocean SkiesI watch ocean skies
drown each sailing bird.
Swimming clouds kiss
the stretched blueness.
The wind flies lost;
her soft breath flows
as live shadows sway
to the beat of the earth.
The patterns of energy
lavishly flood my eyes.
flawed in her beauty.
TigerYour little paws can
climb carpet mountains.
You stalk invisible mice,
then jump on my face.
You are not a tiger, kitty,
but you sure play the part.
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
dealer.ive committed the perfect crime but this perfect is inherently defected,
the cost to me is nothing absolute but coinscience shattering to most,
im a living exception only because ive been on the other side of the scandal,
poison to the masses,producing riches almost too effortlessly,
unfairly tipping the scales and altering the balance to create a edge,a dominance,
it is still a trade with seemingly set expenses but thats a myth created from pure denial,
dealer,trafficker quickly becomes owner,master.
what is yours is mine and no,this is not vice versa.
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