FinNo matter what I do or say or how many times I try to smile...
I will always go back to feeling miserable...
Maybe I was always meant to suffer...
Maybe I will always cry and feel empty...
I have nothing left to smile about...
I lost everything...
My art skills...
My will to be happy...
Say goodbye to my happy self...
Truth We FaceI am not afraid to admit everything I have been through.
Yes, I do still feel some of the pain.
That is life and experience.
It means I am growing up.
We do not stay young forever.
We have to face the harsh truths in life...
Regardless of how painful.
Note To EveryoneIt may be at times hard to forget...
But sometimes some people are just not meant to be in your life.
Thus they leave you.
But do not fret because one day you will find the right people who love and care for you.
They will have your back and support you.
They will not leave you or be jealous of you.
Sometimes we have to face being treated badly in order to understand who is truly there for us.
One day we will find those people.
The ones meant for us.
You will overcome the pain and heartache of the betray that took place.
Your hearts will mend and heal.
We will be complete.
We will find the true treasure in life.
Our true friends and companions...
xxxxxI care to much up everything.
I care to much about everyone.
I am way too nice and generous.
Maybe I should just stop.
Become a cold heartless person.
All I ever do is get betrayed and let down anyway.
Sensitive Fragile DelicateMy emotions are as sensitive as a baby's skin.
My feelings as fragile as a butterfliy's wings.
My heart as delicate as a pearl in a clam.
Maybe I Just Get In Everyone's WayFeels like no one can handle me anymore.
I feel like being locked away.
Hidden from everyone's sight.
I'm just the obstacle the stands in the way of others.
Maybe I just get in everyone's way...
I make others miserable when I do not realize it.
I feel down without even knowing why.
I feel like I have no purpose.
So why I wonder...
Why do I even bother...
FallingFalling through the ice.
Drifting in the cold.
Looking up with hopeful eyes.
At the distant light.
No one comes.
No one hears me.
Close my eyes.
Imagine the peace I never had.
Forget about it all.
Just fall to the floor of the lake.
No one will find me.
No one will ever hear me.
No one will remember me...
I am finally free of it all...
Blue PillI've only ever followed
the path already sketched
out for me, but the blueprints
print blues to my forehead;
to my forearms. Cracking smiles
is as taboo to me as crack rocks.
I've tried crossing the River Styx
on my own, but I always
find myself getting drowned
by the Ferryman, as he tells me
that it's not the right time
that it's over for me yet.
So I take the blue pill
and a handful of advil
to ease into reality.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
PhoenixI won't be your phoenix,
your death wish
of maudlin words
stretched across this failing light.
I will not wear
new wings for you
that crimson you
were born with -
a mother's final wish
to keep out the winter
But I will wait,
the flaw and beauty
of your youth
painted across your palms
as you hold up
the moon to meet me.
Authorshipyou’re the author
of this story - and yet
insist on playing
the role of a foil
when you could
rewrite the pages
as you wish.
RidaYou said your name
was Rita with a "d"
and let me blunder
my way through you.
You said I had charm
(and finesse was for amateurs)
I liked how you were a ladder,
how you could speak
in any accent you wanted;
you liked when I
did not change the sheets
or tie my hair back,
You had dropped
out of art school
where your father
still thought you were a virgin,
and I was bussing tables
on St. Charles.
We lived all that summer
in one room
and a kitchen.
You would fry plantains
and we would wash them down
with purple haze,
watching the musicians
silhouette their souls
against the sky.
you would tell fortunes
in Jackson Square
and men would pay
just to watch your copper hair
spill out their future
across the cards.
The city had never
seemed so clean
so fragrant with rain
and the daze of hibiscus
rioting in the courtyard
followed us in our sleep.
But autumn came too soon,
hooded in chill -
its mood ugly and resentful.
I watched you deadhead someone's roses
in the yard -
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
Solemn TimbreMy heart is the rotten,
of an ark;
that once protected,
but now is a mere
of when there was hope
of things getting
after the explosion
are these suns,
a faint projection
from an unreachable darkness,
And then everything is simultaneous;
the entangled mess,
And maybe it's all about editing and being edited-
The pilot painted across a desert,
A desert painted across the pilot.
Or the holographic drift, a surface reflection-
The expanse outside echoed inward,
Jagged orange treelines over the firefly black like someone holding onto a woman
(or the memory of a woman).
Or maybe just the T.V. relay
as I struggle to sleep,
from both dimensions
glowing and whispering:
The horses of your apocalypse/the apocalypse of your horses.