some of these make me laugh [the drama]
what’s wild to me is that my current writing is reflective of much of the same issues and questions. there is much learning left.
ADOLESCENT POETRY {14-19}
broken lies
the glass breaks
the liquid spreads
seeping through their minds
the water carries words
filling holes
and drowning lies.
what is society’s influence over you disappeared..what if every lie you’ve ever been told about yourself no longer existed…
our future
its the question of which pain is more engulfing. smelling the sweet rot of flowers aging or ripping innocent, silky petals from stem. its the fear of the knowlege that it must end.
for once you pulck a blossom from its roots
the era of its allure cannot be extended. its the salty tears and harrowing sobs of love soon lost. soon the pure white rose becomes carlet with the blood ravaged by the malignant thorn.
why must something so beautiful and pure be so infalliably aching
we knew this was coming.
perfection
she held a paintbrush in her hand
the people gave her a command
“paint our faces in hues & colors”
“make us prettier than the others”
she had no choice but to abide
for to their power she was tied
rosy cheeks and pink smoiles
sharper she made their profiles
tears ran down her face
as she made them fit for a showcase
soon her brush was soaked
from the tears of the lies of her strokes
away she wiped her paints
no longer were the peoople saints
sharp white fears blood-red tears
ocean deep blue pain
shackled to their own steel chain
gone in their youth
for the artists name is truth
the apple of his eye
they scrape against her skin,
she is not ready for this again.
the toxic wrods sink painfully into her soul,
further deepening the clandestine hole,
underneath her skin they linger,
like a viscious wasp & his stinger.
he could have made her a monster
but the pain only made her stronger
he has taught her
the apple of his eye
for she is his daughter.
sticks & stones…
he chose her
the boy looks out across a field of flowers
the scent and sight of only one
overwhelming him with its powers
the one he loved was the one that was thorned
that is why he should have been forewarned
he went ot hpick the flower that he chose
the one that made him bleed was the rose
the blood dropped from his hands
setting fire to all his plans
all around him the weeds stood tal
ready to catch him if the pain should cause him to fall
his sweat, blood, and tears were caught in the weeds
they became weighed down by all of his pleads
but the boy did not care
for their beauty did not compare
they let out not a single cruy
even when his weight caused them to die
and it was only then that the boy did see
that the rose was truly the weed
ashes to ashes
a box of matches on the table
she is holding onto hope like a cable
all of the people surriond her
shoving unlit candles forward in a blur
match after match she lights
slowly giving up her fliht
she sits in a room full of flame
all are oblivious to her pain
burns blister her fingers
a trail of smoke still lingers
still two candles remain unlit
but a match into two she cannot split
but a match into two she cannot split
so to the boy who does not acre
she holds out the last flare
ashes to ashes
into pieces she collapses
i only know how to exist when im wanted
Make it
It was nothing like jumping off a cliff
there was never a sensation of falling
it was more like becoming
it was when we lied to one another in a car
in the grey dawn of a summer morning
when we gave eachother ourselves without even knowing
it was when we both walked away
and pretended it was over
it was when my smile slowly became real
it was when I glanced over, months later, in the same car
and watched him mouth the words to the music
i never fell in love. instead i just slowly became us
Mirror, Mirror
you flip on the lights and you brace yourself
slowly you glance into the glassy refelction
thats you.
but why does the sight of your own beauty cause so much anxiety
you see the bumps, the scars
the red, the marks
but a mirror can only show whats skin deep
the glass doesnt reveal the late night
thoughts and early monring talks
the glass cant show you the beauty of your soul and the sweetness in your smile
the glass cant possibly capture the way you love and the way youre loved
so next time the sight of your own soul
makes you feel any less
I encrougegage you to break the glass
and then mayve you will comprehend how something so easily shattered
can never measure the entirety of you
drowning
you cant make a river flow against its current
you cant make an ocean take up less space
so how dare
you expect me to forget the way your blue eyes see me
the way you hold onto me like a life-vest
the way you kiss me as if im a new breath
your love is what taught me to swim
but youve asked me to forget
so every salty tear
slides down my cheek
and fills my soul
and then, for you, my dear,
I forget
& I drown.
what did you expect.
sense of self
one’s self has always been a riveting mystery. each human is a map of thousands of threads, created and influences by the world and people around them. each individual is woven, fabricated by what words and actions they allow to inhibit them. but imagine that a match is lit, and the flammable structure that we’ve allowed ourselves to become is built into bursts into oblivion. imagine the cooling and calming waters of self-love and self-actualization washing away all the lies, the negativity that has tunneled its way into our very souls. this is not to say that as humans we must not be moved by the words or actions of others; but at the root of happiness is the reality that who are you is a beautiful and wholly unique human. it is my belief, that once you wash away all the society & take a look at who you are, the raw genes and malleable soul, true happiness can be attained through the realization that you can be you with zero interdependence on the opinions and influence of others.