A letter to my future selfDear me,
Hello my dear I hope you’re well, but I suppose that’s for time to tell.
I hope you’ve aged with a beautiful grace, with no wrinkles on your face.
I hope your smiling as you read this, I hope you’ve took your time and succeeded.
Are you still writing? In your therapeutic way? For I know it keeps your demons at bay.
How’s your family, I hope it’s grew, changed a lot from just being you?
I know you’ll be more confident than you what you where before, I hope those common things don’t seem such a chore.
How’s the view from your window, I bet it’s of the sea. Or somewhere very beautiful where I know you’ll feel so free.
I know things are better than they ever were before, I know you’ll be strong through all the things that make you sore.
I bet you seen all the sights and more than you ever dreamed, I know things will be so beautiful than they ever seemed.
I suppose you’re busy, with you’re happy lif
My dear friendMy dear friend, I know it's been so long.
Please forgive me, I was wrong.
But I want you back, can we start again?
When we're together I forget the pain.
I'll let you lead and then I'll follow,
I need you back, I feel so hollow.
I miss the memories we used to create,
Our relationship was truly fate.
I hope my dear that you feel the same,
Will you be the spark to my flame?
I'm sorry that I went away,
I miss you more, day by day.
But as I write it's clear to see,
My dear friend poetry you've came back to me!
One of those nightsIt's one of those nights were my eyes won't close,
were tears keep dripping down my nose.
It's one of those nights were everything's wrong but I can't explain why,
When the light burns out all I'm left to do is cry.
It's one of those nights were I panic at the slightest sound,
Were under the air I feel like I'm drowned.
It's one of those nights were I can't seem to breathe,
Were I choke and I heave, I just want to leave.
It's one of those nights were I can't stop thinking,
I'm slowly falling, I'm drowning, I'm sinking.
It's one of those nights were there are no lights in the sky,
Were I feel grounded when I just want to fly.
It's one of those nights were everything comes back,
All the dark thoughts that shroud your mind in black.
It's one of those nights were I'm too scared to dream,
For once it's ends, I'll wake up, and scream.
The fame gameShy and quiet, is what you are,
Yet is see you dreaming to be a star.
Basking under that radiant spotlight,
Smiling as your lips gently dust the mic.
I see you glow as your passion flares,
You melt all fears, you have no cares.
But tell me now as your growing strong,
Never missing a note in each and every song.
Was it really necessary to change your name,
Will it really gain you fame?
They told you that your own wasn't cool or acquit
But your stage name doesn't really seem to fit.
The wig and make up are a good gimmick
But for you I don't really think your with it
I'll admit I'm happy for you,
But as far as personalities go I think you have two.
The fame monster seems to be growing inside
You can run but you can't hide.
And the fact that your acting like you're hot shit
You're getting there, but you're not quite it.
Watch this space.
To late I've seen enough.
Can't be savedBound by pain, torn inside
Worrying feelings are coming alive.
A storm is forming inside my heart
I can't breathe, I'm falling apart.
"Come help me" I scream as I fall from the sky
You reach out to catch me, then wave goodbye.
I can hear your laughter ringing in my ears
I can hear the demons whispering my fears.
I try to call out, in a desperate plea
But I know you can't save me.
I want to go back, to change it all
It's all to late I've started to fall.
I never even said farewell,
As I fall to the gates of hell.
I cursed myself, for that is true
There's so much more I wish you knew.
The song of the Magpie One for sorrow, two for joy.
What once was joyful, is now just sorrow.
The bitter taste of today, is stale for tomorrow.
A heavy drowse of a now distant past,
Faded memories, of passings so fast.
Three for a girl, four for a boy.
There once was a girl who fell in love,
Who had a heart as pure as a soaring dove.
She met a boy with a heart of gold,
Hard, metallic and awfully cold.
Five for silver, six for gold.
She was promised silver, diamonds and stones,
Yet all she received was brass, ash and bones.
She found the gold, in the best of others.
Giving love and strength to her sisters and brothers.
Seven for a secret never to be told.
Lies were formed and secrets kept
Serpents whispered while she slept.
She let nothing bother her, had struggles a few.
Though legend says for joy, you must see two.
I began to writeI began to write a verse filled with spite, filled with anger and utter betrayal.
I began to write how I was truly hurt and all the wrongs that had been done to me.
I began to write to protest on everything you had done, to shame you, to blame you.
But as I began to write I seen that nothing worked, that I had filled the page with a vile and hateful verse.
I had seen that what I had began to write was the beginning of a fight, a beginning of a war that would only hurt both sides.
So instead if fighting fire with fire, I extinguished the flame, and made a white flag for my soul.
I took a step back from my fiery attack.
And I began to write this.
Take a walk with me.To the end we shall go, were ever it may be,
Take me down the path less travelled, walk me through the sea.
The broken glass of crackled hearts, were bare feet may tread,
Along side the river of the dammed, the water coloured red.
Hollow bones and bullet holes litter the sandy plain,
Dried blood is the mark that only death may reign.
Yet here we stand in fire and smoke,
Drowning in it's gentle choke.
and off I'll sail.
To a valley of eternal bliss.
A SparkSometimes you forget who you are. It’s not quite an identity crisis; you do not panic within your skin, ready to separate into meaningless fragments. You remember your name just fine. In fact, just to be sure, you wrote it in the palm of your hand that morning with a faded pen often used to scribble out last-minute grocery lists. Then you whispered it under your breath as you made breakfast until you became breathless.
No, it’s more like an identity misplacement.
Consider the day you lost your glasses. You could see the world just fine, at least on the surface, but the distance tantalized you--the neighbor’s house warped into a blur of drowsy attic light, the calendar on the fridge an amorphous measure of time characterized by a June bug lounging on a wet flower. Still, you could read faces when people approached you. A smile looked like a smile, a grimace like a grimace. When you at last found your glasses that afternoon, you put them on and realized that all day you
My DearI know, I know, my dear.
And I will howl for it. Because the
moon might listen. I'll ask it why.
Why? Why I cannot decide my
faith and fortune.
And it will tell me, that I can. That
I am deciding it. But it is
impossible to know which actions
cause which reactions.
And which words will break which
So I will howl. And I will sing my
song only the birds can hear. The
only song I can sing with tears
running down my face. The only
song I do not need words for.
I will howl for it, my dear. I will cry
for us. Because we might never be
more than we are now.
yes, there is that chance we will
be. But it is a chance I cannot
take. Just for this selfish reason,
I do not want my heart
broken by you.
I know. I know, my dear.
I will howl. I will sing, my dear.
But it will not change a thing.
I think, therefore I am.The truth is, I'm a bit introverted. In fact, if it were up to me I'd just be a hermit. Well not completely.
I love seeing people, I love being with people, I love people.
But not too close.
Just a stroll down a city street, watching the couples walk by, peeking into the dark windows of cars waiting in traffic, watching girls try to manage their shopping bags.
I love this, watching the world from the comfort of my own mind. It's like I am my own world, watching a different world. My world is much bigger and more expansive. The world around me is small, like a pretty picture in a a glass globe.
that's because the world around you is only the vision in your eyes. The world only exists in your mind.
The only thing that really truly exists is you.
I think, therefore I am.
The real reality is the reality behind these eyes.
The imaginary world is the one in front of them. It only exists from a couple of nerves in my cornea. My brain shambles them together to paint a picture. It wouldn't exis
BelieveIf you believe in yourself, anything is possible. You can do anything you desire. Forget what other people say; it will only hold you back. Keep your head held high and trust your instincts. You are better than they say. Just because you are an outcast, doesn't mean you are different. It means you are special. Be yourself and not who other people want you to be. Simply believe and you can do anything.
Beauty From WithinBeauty is in the eye of the beholder. Everyone says it, and most believe it. But who dares look at an outcast to see her inner beauty? Do people always assume that what is on the outside is also on the inside? Everything in life is not based on how we look to others, but how we look to ourselves. Only we can truly see what is inside us. We must be the best we can be. For if we do not believe in ourselves, who will truly believe in us?
FearFear is fever bright and hazy. It’s in every jitter of their movements and betraying glance around the corner. She was just as scared as they were in a way. Bent on trampling it all in the fear that she’d never get out. Scars and broken windows, cracked doors and bruises. No one wanted to let her out and the broken windows, too high to escape from, were self made taunts. Out there a world existed that no amount of inner space could make up for.
She looked out and saw gardens that tangled and tumbled, free of pruning or carefully plotted human control. There were no cobbled paths there to suit a lady’s heeled shoe. No benches to rest upon and admire. Water rushed and pushed and raged, it poured from the sky, not faucets or fountains wrought into fantastic curls and angles which never truly struck her as beautiful.
Water as it was in the unmade garden was her idol of freedom. Even from the little snatches of it that she could see from the great stone cage, she knew that