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 acquitBut your stage name doesn't really seem to fit.The wig and make up are a good gimmickBut for you I don't really think your with itI'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 insideYou can run but you can't hide.And the fact that your acting like you're hot shitYou'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 insideWorrying feelings are coming alive.A storm is forming inside my heartI can't breathe, I'm falling apart."Come help me" I scream as I fall from the skyYou reach out to catch me, then wave goodbye.I can hear your laughter ringing in my earsI can hear the demons whispering my fears.I try to call out, in a desperate pleaBut I know you can't save me.I want to go back, to change it allIt'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 trueThere'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 keptSerpents 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.One inhale,and off I'll sail.To a valley of eternal bliss.
My WingsMoving on to better things, I'm so happy I found my wingsNo need for tears, no sinking fears.A burning passion comes in roaring fashion.A smile I bear, free without a care.No broken hearts, or scaring marks.I'm moving on to better things, no more rocks upon my wings.
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
AnythingI am an overwhelming urge to flow into something. To become something bigger, something more, something exalted, something eternal. I need to flow into something. Unspoken truths burning my throat I am flowing into my own abyss. My abyss is flowing into me. All the walls have been broken. I have broken all the walls. I don't know where to land my fist. Still, I will not battle against my abyss. I shall let it in. Like an immense wave in a raging sea my void is, again, coming out of my depths to crush me against the rocks I've raised behind me. There's no turning back, there's no avoidance. The choice was made long ago. I now stand tall and face the familiar waters.Through the ocean I shall swim, through the rocks I shall break.Anything. I can handle. We all will perish. I long to perish. What is worth being perished by?I see the waves.I can handle this. I can handle this. I can handle this. I can handle this. I can handle this. I can handle thi
Birds And Wolves, My DearI know, I know, my dear.And I will howl for it. Because themoon might listen. I'll ask it why.Why? Why I cannot decide myfaith and fortune.And it will tell me, that I can. ThatI am deciding it. But it isimpossible to know which actionscause which reactions.And which words will break whichhearts.So I will howl. And I will sing mysong only the birds can hear. Theonly song I can sing with tearsrunning down my face. The onlysong I do not need words for.I will howl for it, my dear. I will cryfor us. Because we might never bemore than we are now.Yes, there is that chance we willbe. But it is a chance I cannottake. Just for this selfish reason,I do not want my heartbroken by you.I know. I know, my dear.I will howl. I will sing, my dear.But it will not change a thing.
Todos los Santos :Despojo:Lo miraba con curiosidad; había leído su historial, cada pequeño detalle había sido revisado con cuidado y ahora le desconcertaba encontrarlo así.Un callejón, un destino digno –pensó con ironía- para una persona como él. No llevaba mucho tiempo haciendo esto, pero lo que aprendía era que tendría que encariñarse con la trágica ironía de la muerte. El cabello, otrora dorado, ahora lucía sucio al igual que la ropa de suave tela que cubría su cuerpo.Con cuidado se había acercado a él, no sentía lástima tampoco, pero era interesante verlo. ¿Cómo alguien cae de la riqueza y el poder al fango de una callejuela olvidada de la sociedad? Era demasiado curioso a sus ojos, el opuesto perfecto.Sin embargo, él sabía de ambas cosas. Sólo que en su caso había conocido primero el fango.Mientras observaba los ojos azules sin brillo se preguntaba si de haber vivido m
DepartureA cold wind was blowing in the city, restlessly tossing dried leaves on the narrow streets between the buildings. The windows reflected a lone figure wandering the streets aimlessly.She had let the hard concrete change the soft contours of her eyes and the power lines leave shadows on her face. But the strong women walking by the railway station still ignored her.Even the pigeons sitting upon the streetlights did not notice she was there. They shook dust from their wings that spun around her melancholy.In front of the white-painted church, she tore off the pages of her poetry book. Tourists took photos of her with their digital cameras.The colorless clouds at the pale wake of day were too weak to cry. The name of the capital printed on the cover of the newspaper dispersed into sounds.She could not drink again that first steaming cup of hope. She painted the streetsigns white to mourn the blocks of flats she was to leave behind.People on TV kept calling the city by its name, perha
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?
Todos los Santos :Sinfonia:Respiró profundamente, tratando de calmarse, no funcionaba; estaba demasiado nerviosa: el auditorio estaba lleno, las luces listas, la audiencia esperando.Respiró de nuevo.No podía, no quería, sentía un hueco en el estómago, necesitaba a alguien que la reconfortara en ése momento, ¿por qué su hermano no estaba ahí con ella? Lo necesitaba ahí, él siempre sabía que decir…Pero no estaba. Albergaba aún la esperanza de verlo sentado en medio de la audiencia, pero mientras descubría si su esperanza se volvería real, moría de nervios. Las manos le temblaban y de repente sentía escalofríos ¿y si lo arruinaba todo? No quería hacerlo, no se sentía capaz y pese a ello al momento en que le dieron la entrada caminó firmemente hacia el teatro.No, su hermano no estaba ahí. Sintió una punzada de dolor en el pecho, se sentía al borde de las lágrimas, pero no i
The irony of the colour redI find it strange how the colour red can symbolise;Hurt HatedSufferingBloodPainAngerLiving hellBut it's can also symbolise love.