Conversations

The amity,
           silence leaking into cells
exhilarating my flesh,
        refreshing my scars
--carefully
         my sighs trickle down my chin,
content in the darkness,
           they roll off my body
softening my bed into
            sand;
I sink deeper into utopia
        as the night takes over
and you drip into my dreams

UNTITLED

I fell in love with the pain behind the mesh of clinical gaze,
hypnotized by the eager smile, and dauntless obscurity
your dispostion manipulated me closer
I saw the heart beneath the coal,
the child inside, reaching arms grasping onto air--
until I came, determined to fill abysmal dispare
I see the wonder behind the man
the uncertainty feigning candor
let me complete you,
let me disturb everything you have possesed
Detachment is not strength
--love is not weakness
You know what you don't
and the ideals you recieved
do not stick around forever,
But one thing remains true--
I love you, because you don't want me to.

We are who we wish to see

Who are you?
The image reflected back, in the mirror
staring into feral eyes, hungry for --

can you answer?
can you see?
    That we are absorbed,
adrift in our own masks,
deformed,
handicapped by our own reins,
controlling ourselves to see only what we wish
to see
and nothing more.

The weight of alone

The thoughts that sting,
are raw marks on her mind
the whipping reminders that she is 
/never/
good enough
burned into loathing retinas
the horrid reflection she faces,
and shatters
silver shavings surround her as if to say
"you can not escape yourself"
settling into her curls,
the hatred sparkles in the morning light,
        it was only one of those times,
where the silence became laden 
and alone dropped like cinder blocks from the sky
undoubtedly crushing her every dream,
Had I not left her,
            had what was said not been said,
then she would be here, 
        not a bloody mess,
and the silver shavings would reflect us both 
                                 and the beauty would illuminate  

Once I was to blame

You have reclused,
      slowly closed for years,
retreated into your own chimeric world,
                      You've blocked out
all the love you felt
  abandoned everyone who cared-
(or so they said)
you cut your strings,
and became your own puppet master,
    Then silently, you began
 to take revenge, worked to mold me
        into your own little marionette,
the greed tainting your tongue as you became the
 controller,
         tugging and pulling,
shaping me into what you wanted to see,
you bolted shut the mouth that once
      uttered in syllabals defiant
of all control,
          used your malicious hands
to rip apart my walls
placed sweet smiles on your lips,
         spit venom in pretty little packages
wrapping around every thought subduing
                     me into acceptance
and once I gave in, all the beauty gave way
      every blemish you found, you cut out
contorting me to cover the holes,
     The venom began to seep through the paper,
acid burning
            the harsh truth into every pore
by then it was to late,
      who I once was, lost,
buried under
the layers of lies you placed upon me,
yet, I never blamed you
never hated who I became,
      It was not until I was abandoned,
left cut-loose and limp,
       a puppet pile in the ruins of your love
               did I begin to see,
that it was me who was not enough.

The mind reflects extrinsic features.

Foregin is the pink tinted tissue reflected,
strange the hair draping in front of
lost eyes wandering over each explicitly horrendous detail
Cautious as her hands reach up to touch
Gliding them over each obsucrity
clutching at the edges she prys,
but can not will her fingers to grasp
hard enough, claw deep enough
The eyes become incredulous
connecting the blame to each imperfection,
each pour thats not perfect is the reason why she
is forgotten, lost to everyone but herself
each barren abandonment
the hours of tears dripping over fallicious cheeks
running over lips twisted in disgust,
even the tears taste acidic,
burning each taste bud as a reminder
that each horror you beheld, belongs to you
and every inch you despise will never leave you.

And this is all we are.

.......I have this,

awful aching sensation in my chest,

         as your words wrap around my heart

ceasing the beating

    and the restless thoughts that pour in

how can I love you this much,

        when I am disposable?

As I cling to every word you speak,

after you lose mine in the wind,

every question I ask,

answered but not discussed,

the worst phantom seeps in, 

our love is transient to you,

fading in, pouring out 

wind ruffling our willow leaves

Illusions painted by number in your head

        and I’ve never been one for depth-less lies, 

you are not a thought easily shaken 

and you are not a habit I intend on breaking,

because the pain all seems worth it when we
 have those fleeting moments

brief flickers of light in the darkness,

that reignite the truth behind your eyes.

Goodbye Panic

I am worn,
     weary of the thoughts,
the pounding heart,
the irrational sensation that no matter
how  good I am, I am not worth enough
until I become laden with the fear
of abandonment
silently picking myself to shreds
but then I stop,
Why doubt my abilities
what have I done, to make me less than you?
so I forget and leave my
fears buried in the past,
and say goodbye at last.

Untitled, unrevised. sept. 26, 2011

We live in short bursts,
         weekend visits,
THRIVE on hard goodbyes,
      you are lost to me
for now
        as we are the receding tides,
stroking back and fourth,
 licking the shore
          we lack permanence
     the bone dry affection
                               constricting
as I open up then retract
        retreating back to what I know
              the taste of alone on the back of my tongue,
but I refuse to swallow.
        

Masquerade

It masks the sadness,

stuffing it into crevices

but it is always there dancing with intracate masks

and as the happiness is retreating,

it feels like our time is fleeting and it attacks

revealing that it dosen't go away

it is hidden, forgotten in fumbling hands

no matter how strong we stand we are torn

seperated by miles, minutes, and hours

trying to stretch our love to cover the inches

but the distance is thinning and

the misery is winning

without the constant supervision

that can't be provided

I need a map,

to guide me through the masquerade

or a way to permanently

cloak the pain.

as I am lost.

What you can't seem to remember,

is that I

remember

everything,

I cling to every barren string of hope

and ask with wide-eyed

innocence

if you hate me

I disect each word

written, spoken, hidden,

I walk between the lines

collecting the crumbs left behind

piecing together the puzzles I make with my own mind

but they're not as pretty as the words you speak,

the pictures rip me to shreds

as I'm forgotten, hour after hour

left unmentioned

and only in convience am I beckoned.

I dislike this one, but here you go,

The gift of your voice

rolls off your tongue,

with each bitter syllable biting,

chewing,

and spitting out

unfathomable insults

laced in pretty little boxes

coaxing me through sand paper wrapping

closer,

unsteady feet fumbling towards the edge

Jump your insults persist

Jump, and it all will be over

no longer spend your days

wasted on hopless prayers

fruitless wishes,

jump and the bitter pill of solitude

no longer has to be swallowed

jump and no longer bear the burden of broken wings

jump because everyone loves a dead girl,

each word and explosion of peace,

poking exactly where I needed it

I inched closer,

the rush of winds mixed with the roaring waters,

If I jump,

when I jump,

the roars respond tickiling me

all my senses alive with the whisper

jump

I fall only to be caught in midair,

it must have been a sight

to just see the body dangling there

pulled back to ground by ungrateful hands

but even they whisper

you should have jumped

thinning smoke (is probably really cliche)

       We stood there,

as I watched your smoke drift into thin air

beneath glowing light,
                  reminisant to the night

as your venom poured sweetly,
                   biting the words you spoke

you hid abondoned mines,
                unexplored crevises of your mind

but I poked and pried,

ingored the danger signs

I infected you

invading your every move

I protected you, when the skeletons piled high,

                I buried them in my chest

locking them away in places you'll never see

I let you put your misery
                in me

I hoped the happiness would fill the barren space,

yet all that seemed to fill was waste,

more to hide in my own shafts

as your conciense hobbled down narrow paths,

I pulled at your blinders

set free your reigns,

and expected once your free you would return to me again

and even through the nights, when my own flame was fickle

I kept you, as you forgot me I never left you

your abandoned cries echo through ears,

but what I regret is, I'm always here.

Choked

She whispers I love you,

        as if the vehement declaration

would burn her tongue

        so,

she lets the mumble

               trickle

through her vocal chords,

As her mind cries out that

she is not RELUCTANT,

she believes,

 the things she leaves constricted

             inside,

the ardor she dosen't want to hide.

        but her verve is choked,

restricted to mildly flicker in her eyes,

Marionette

I am
         a shell,
                   a sheep,
         a girl,
lost in the pursuit of self discovery
           I am fluid thread,
strung along barbed wire fences
      I am a person tied to a needle
woven into quilts of docility,
            predicted rain
              falling ever so gently,
           familiar and replacable
forgotten in the aspects of a whole
       stuffed quietly into shadows
a whispered hush when inflections raise
                and I do
  I silence when you tell me to
and dance on command
        your little marionette girl,
    notes of a recorder sliding through your fingers
                    I drop
trickiling off the ends
       the beads of sweat after
exertion, expected, you expect me
        I am expectedly unstable

The prose of Christa (From the fingers of a friend)

               Haunting,
                 digging deep
into the center of my gravity,
        through my thoughts they
           taunt me,
spreading from the tip of my tounge
   down my throat,
 they infect
every inch of imagination
  lingering pleasant after tastes
they harass, punching deep into
   matriculating
                      lines
the typed prose abusive words strung together,
           drugging me.
the only kind of abuse I like.

I need help revising please?

Sunlight quenches pale flesh
the golden rays reflecting every imperfection
so long hidden by the darkness
the blinding light of hope
erradicates that of solitude
coaxing into effervesent arms
feeble shadows animated by the
drive, tiny voices screaming
with such forced to push ahead
hoisting hope over barren walls
hanging on frail tree branches
trusted not to snap.

Restricted

I leave it mute
pleading with my eyes for you to hear the silent
I love you's.
and the words my broken articulation
can't choke out,
I sit in silence
thinking everything I could say
but afraid
the shaking hands too hard to place
I clasp yours uncertain, if I should
believe
that in which I, before, so strongly opposed
listening to your words
feeling the meaning through pronounced syllabals
restricted to return the adoration.

If a Feather

　
If a feather could break our string, we should have used a rope
       because, it may have been me.
and the injustices my fault,
but I am not alone to share the blame
             should I,
Should I be ashamed of what lies beneath flesh
residing in unfathmable corners,
should my forgivness be fleeting
skin deep- in thin layers of cells
lost beneath the scarred tissue?

But the pictures can't replace the past
and I can't seem to mimic the laugh
the empty attempts left to my hand
and even if I do all I can
will we still be broken strings
the entangled convictions fighting
to regain merely a shadow of what used to be.

He talks with eloquence

Quiet
      dripping
            midnights
shaken anxiety laced
      into muffled smiles long has he waited,
lost in bruised shadows
       to taste golden sun-rays
                               on his parched skin
he talks with eloquence 
    hidden in his paper thin cacoon
 carmine stained through his chest
bearing his heart
          for collective eyes
weary of faking
          happy countanance
he allows the wieght of pain
       to splinter his intracate mask

Transient

Our words are fleeting,
 as we are the receding tides of
   polite and strange,
       strung along on high hopes
               of better futures,
       still lingering on the horizon
but how much longer will it take
  for your mind to make a shadow of my memory?
      my place with you is transient
I leave you untainted and
        able to wash your hands clean
 I'm still hung like your laundry
          on dirty back alley lines

And I apologize this sucks but I don't know what I'm doing any more

My image, is a sham
 each shadow I cast is hollowed
    and barren of sensible form
my heart beats numb
       notes through my veins
for I have lost
       authenticity
I have lost acumen
 and the reason I picked up my pen
my broken lines
are lost to rivers filled
    with the hungry mouths of pirranah poets
ravoneous for publication
  I have Primed and pampered my words
into pretty little
      lies ment for you
Spouting out hollowed meanings
     that I never was attached to

Dear readers,

I know there are not a plethura of you however I feel compelled to share my smal victory with you (well rather large) I have become a semi-finalist in the National Ameture Poetry Contest, I also will be PUBLISHED in "From A Window" I am so excited and I thank everyone whos ever talked me out of quitting poetry you know who you are !

And this reminds me,

This reminds me,
      of the days where you stomped upon my heart
during countless midnight absences
          when I was left to ponder
just what it was that made me so unwanted
  As your pride stood above mine a tree
ripping me until I was nothing but pieces
    lain at unrelenting feet.
my unavailing form left decaying into
       bitter hearth,
and then your gentle wind comes sweeping me back
      up into arms holding each shard together.

Disgusting

Hollowed shell, trying to fill itself
 with countless carbs stuffed into wordless mouths
angered for some grasp of context trying to mutter something
          tangible
but only finding gaping cries of I'm too much
                       I need to be less
so I stop
         and the trembles began,
Weakness poured through my veins but I was still too much
          so I became less, and even then I was followed
by grimacing demeanors
     and countless floating leaf words
                 and it seemed that
no matter how much I wasn't
            it was still too much

Glass Ceilings

She crawls on glass ceilings,
balances on paper ropes,
translucent skin blanketing corroded bones
she is lost inside paper bags
Stuffed in crevices no one can see
until he comes along
peeling her from the glass
catching her as the rope
breaks picking her out of crevices
making her skin opaque he rips apart her bag cocoon
and carries her away
and then drops her in volcanoes because
to him, it was only a game

abandonment

Abandonment is a dancing drop
spinning jumps, over hurtled rocks
communication lingers weaved through fingers
lace veils in black drops grabbing them with
every last ounce of strength you have
because once someone is gone
it does not matter if they are dead
pain in a bombshell
explodes upon the pang
you get with the realization
to them, your voice is lost.

Acrobats

Whispering acrobats falling from high-strung tight ropes,
and I am the saftey net below,
Tattered and torn
many holes worn, but they don't see that
the crowd is stunned, stones silent in their gravel seats
am I just as at fault,
as the spilt tightrope above
the stumbling feet
the collapsing corpses hurling down so neat
blood splattering the porcelin hearts
of Love scorn tumblers
Figures of white carried out like royalty
and only their stains are left
amended by death
-the cruel mistress
bares witness

Alone is a taste familiar to my tongue,
  when the sun of humanity depleats leaving
                       darknesses depth in its wake
the effervessent tears
pour from my eyes
as if they are gyzers set to explode on comand
             It only come after I'm threadbare and torn , after
I'm buried.... but not mourned
and you are the hate that cracks parched lips
     choking back the curses of adolecence
 lost in rabbit holes

Tricks

Sapphire and white
carpet my eyes
with flocks of interruption's
soaring shadows across my abyss
inside I am dark,
with running carmine springs --
my thoughts are barb wired around your absence
         you are lost to me
in "Dear John" letters.
your hand writing
vines itself around me
          constricting
-as if to hold you inside my memories;
to imitate your warmth and embrace
and in their wake-
I become ice.

Spring

Warmth melts the ice
 coveting barren lands
desolate and waiting for poking emeralds
     to disrupt planes of white;
for the sounds of
running streams washing away whats left of frozen tundra
the musk of trees
(other than Evergreens)
blooms with the budding tulips

Transleucent

I will dance-
    around truth hidden behind
steel walls placed to protect disapointment
I see through it
        as if it were transleucent
your stature gives youa way
   Silent brown eyes pleading, bleeding into mine- as if
asking for a peice of my sanity, of which, I have none to give

Empty Promise

Acid washed hopes
  stuffed inside threadbare dreams
no matter how battered-
 or torn they may seem,
I cling onto every last vine
and swing from promise to empty promise
grappling for memories lost in the chasms gape

Truth

I'll never be worth it.

Addiction

It is an addiction we fulfill
Because as trees, we can't
stop reaching for the sky
as children we can't
give up on getting older
as dreamers we do not
let go of hope,
we cling to every last bit of barren string
fruitless demeanor's pouring onto our face and still
we run on
like sentences unpunctuated ,
always striving into the
inevitably
wrecking,
blinding lights of solitude
for hours bubbling our lives over our edges
and onto the blank sheets of innocence
waiting to be defiled with our words
filled with our intricacies
-our elusive tendencies
Because as a writer you caress your anger
with pens
and paper

Glass Ceilings

She crawls on glass ceilings,
balances on paper ropes,
translucent skin blanketing corroded bones
she is lost inside paper bags
Stuffed in crevices no one can see
until he comes along
peeling her from the glass
catching her as the rope
breaks picking her out of crevices
making her skin opaque he rips apart her bag cocoon
and carries her away
and then drops her in volcanoes because
to him, it was only a game


*(note to readers, I don't know if I'll keep this one up. To me it seems kind of cliche teenage rubbish, then again I never like my work so what do you think? please and thank you)

The paper-mâché girl

stories soaked in mixtures
meshing her into some unfathomable shape
concrete now, frozen in place
hardened by all the world gave her to taste
Alone is  familiar to her tongue
and silence cracked her already parched lips
Carmine coils began to paint her crust
staining her with misfortunate lusts
of all the world wanted her to be
but when she refused to be their puppet girl
tugged by the strings of incompetent composers
cutting the binds with sharp edged scissors
they dropped her into to paper-mâché fixtures
forever cocooning her as a craft

Metrophobia

Guided lines of schemes carefully
stifle worried words of prose
singing from my past
these poems laugh
 at tortured childhoods
when finally freed at last
only to be followed,
      impaled and
bound by restricting arms of imagery
assailing my mask with bitter spittle
hatred spat through enjambmented lines
concrete, abstract, you name it - he used it
a sick twisted poet
couplets and quatrains woven with fists
punching the syllabals
into my tattered flesh
corroded from acid ballads darkness
falls ever so gently
like rusted sonnets barbed wired around scarred
and oozing hearts bleeding each letter
of your haikus
digits pinching the tip of my tounge
the dripping crimson leaking iambic pentameter
       the unstressed, stressed, unstressed
ripping my heart-strung violin .

Just A Sheep 2-1-2011 (possibly my slam poem if its not as awful as I think it is)

She is a sheep, woven with
 white wool coats of docility
She is a carbon copy
 carefully stuffed into corners
she is reflections
 in bathroom mirrors
 as her limp limbs
wrap around her sides
cacooning her into conformity
  she bleeds gray from her
demure posture
 and lays her sodden sorrows in a box
then buries them in the sand
 she walks away
  dressing and caressing,
mussing her appearance
but her muted brown eyes
are tattle tale signs of
 laminated pictures
in dollar store frames.

Looking up to you

tilting my head I look up at you,
     drowning brown eyes
If only you knew
 awkward posture
a stone held stance
mind sky-high
 I don't have a chance

Water

Pulsate against the shore with your stained carmine coil
the mark of another kill.
Twist and torque about drowned bodies limp,
water logged,
and swollen from absortion

All I'll ever be

I'll Never be
           good at anything
I'll never become that poet in your textbook
                                       Or the girl singing that hit song
I won't be the president,
            at least
not before I'm gone
I'll never be that model
                or the one that you desire,
I'll never be a buisness woman, climbing higher through the ranks
       ANYTHING and EVERYTHING is not
      who I will be
   and in the end, I won't even be me.
I am a shadow
                                  a shell
            a mold
Something empty, but solid
                       Whole, Half, and a third
Is all I'll ever be

Italian sonnet death

Racing, Pacing, chasing apparitions
Of yesterday silently concerned
the deficiency of your pulse burned
I have nothing left but volition 
hope explodes upon ignition
the bitter Hatred inside me churned 
for the warmth of you smile I yearned
gasps feigning the predispositions 
Of life being drained away from you
Death eminent on your cold lips
touching your face with my finger tips
To my surprise, you opened your eyes
and your hand hungrily clasped mine
Bringing me to note we still had time

English sonnet: Zombie (unintentional I know it sucks badly stupid writers block)

 Winter snow blankets the ground, Freezing hope.
 With a shroud to warm me, I wait for spring.
 Six feet under ground I can only mope
 Waiting for the sounds of birds to ring
 Dead, and waiting is the life around me 
 Come the spring we will rise, Like a flower
 And the dead corpse I pretend to be 
Will walk the earth and watch you cower
 The apocalypse is near, ill-fated
You have much to fear, your end is now here
 We the dead have coerced, and baited
 You to think you are our puppeteer
 We will soon strive in the sun
our spring awakening has begun

Logic VS. abstract

Can you teach an illogical person .....logic ?
          Do they care about the square root of pi
Or the shape of an eye and what degree angle it forms?
         or are they more concerned with
the way words flow
  Abstract thoughts that come from below, their heart and take over their bodies encompasing it in warmth
DO THEY GIVE ANY REGUARDS what so ever to a relation between a POUND of feathers
to a POUND of lead.
Or would they rather spend their thoughts in the beauty of the heathers thinking they could just float away on a cloud

Can you teach them how to think in a way that can be proven to always be effective ? Because some of the greatest
pleasures and thought begin from

~abstract~ perspective.