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Excelsior?It's fading so quickly, now
faint in the distance
feigning to listen
dying to be heard
A muddied flag in my muddled eyes
with a stain, a tear, in the
lower left-hand corner
It's rather pointless to mention
the brazen streak across the middle
we all have it somewhere,
our last hurrah.
It sings with such finality but the tone
the tone wavers on
to last note,
a mumbled scream in a dense forest.
This nature does not beckon,
She does not
But I will
crouch in Her canopy
reaching for the silken tatters
reaching for the last note
before it's all burned by the Sun:
crisp and unyielding,
fertile dirt turned to stone.
Teen Angstthe air is a thick swarm
though it is lazy as well
a lethargic dawdling attempt
to be cavalier amidst
this heavy onslaught
day in day out
the edge of a
storm yet to pass
an opaque cloak
hiding our horizon
this too shall obliterate
the sacrament of our youth
turning overI float face up
in the murk, the abyss
and consider turning over.
I am splashed with these
anxious droplets, thousands
I am quaking from this
chill, my organs in shock
You are not seeing these
hefty worries, millions
I am trying to remember
I still float
on the edge of these infinite horizons
When I wake
if i wake
will I embrace the comfort of clouds?
will I gaze across barren skies?
An IntermissionYour gaze lies heavy as a weight
firm and unforgiving
upon my mind.
I wilt under its wait, Calm
Cool, Collected, and perfectly nonchalant
Your gaze burns as the surface of the sun
oil and lava
upon my eyes
I wonder if I should look away, Frenzied
Hot, Scattered, and incredibly obvious
My gaze falls quick as a baby bird
too young to fly
upon your heart
RegressionWho is knocking? pitter patter
Outside my door
On a particularly loud day
I will see her drift by:
words on the wind,
a maze swimming
over a sea of images.
She will never stop
she can't stop
until she finds her
Breeze through the trees
catches on the leaves
and I wonder why
I don't see her
than a barest glimpse--
a lens flare on a sunny day--
just enough of the big picture
to paint a stroke of doubt,
forever a scar on the back of my mind.
Happy Fucking Fourth of JulySeeing red
White hot anger a coiled spring in my chest.
Age always forgets…
maturity remains with memories
while actions go forth blind.
Bind my dreams.
Lash my hopes.
Assault my heart.
Is it that hard to apologize?
Shame on Age:
it should fucking know better.
An older brother for a father
instead of butterfly kisses
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.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
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
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
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
These Faded KeysOf all the keys I click
As we speak each day,
It's the back arrow
That's faded most
These white letters
Would surely tell you,
I reply to everything -
But the key reading "enter"
Will be the one to explain
Why it still looks new
I want you to know
Just how much I care,
But I don't want to be close
Out of the fear of losing you
But please remember:
I dedicate these words to you,
Sharing them to the world
Rather than clicking away
At the faded key ~
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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