The ground of celestial perfection is infinity away from the tallest tower.
The VoicesSpeak to me
Call me names
Tell me to do things
I don't want to do
For some reason
I listen to them
And I hate it
I want to do what I want to do
How often do these voices speak to you?
And how does that make you feel?
You did not just ask me that question
I makes me feel like I'm not in control of my life
What do they say to you?
(Please be an easy case)
(Don't already be a criminal)
"Think about the consequences"
"Don't cut yourself"
"Don't eat that last cookie"
It doesn't seem like you have a problem
But I do
It's these damn voices
But they're good voices
You're lying to me
Why are you lying to me?
I'm not I just think you don't need and medicine for your "problem"
You are supposed to help me
But you don't have a problem
Now I have another problem then
What would a story be?
If there was no one there to read it.
What would dreams be?
If there was no one there to conceive it.
What would a picture be?
If there was no one there to see it.
What would a secret be?
If there was no one there to keep it.
What would love be?
If there was no one there to feel it.
What would a song be?
If there was no one there to sing it.
What would the truth be?
If there was no one there to admit it.
What would advice be?
If there was no one there to give it.
What would life be?
If there was no one there to live it.
Love is a PhoenixI have seen nothing more tragic,
Than watching love die.
Enduring it’s painfully fade,
As it stubbornly clings to life
The slow death of a love,
That’s filled with years of life.
Or the sudden snap,
As it blinks away in a lover’s eye.
It doesn’t go easy,
And it doesn’t go fast.
It goes out fighting,
Because love was made to last.
It is a brilliant flame,
Drowned in water.
It clings to the air,
With all its dying embers.
Yes, I have seen no sadder sight,
Than watching love as it dies.
But I have been blessed to gazed upon no otherworldly scene,
Than watching love be born again, anew and free.
queen of nothing.what I've learned:
I still remember singing in my room when I was six, and having my mother come down the hall and slam the door so hard that the windows shook.
Her nails hurt when she scraped the tears off my face. "It doesn't matter what you want," she'd always tell me.
Like, when that drunk driver swerved and hit her car I didn't want her to leave me, and it didn't matter.
Once on vacation I bought a pair of fuzzy leather heels for two hundred dollars, and when I wore them to dinner, I found out that
1. "Suede" is a fancy word for "fuzzy leather."
And 2. Good things don't last: That night my cousin told me that she thought 135 pounds was a little too big for five foot eight. So I tore my tights up to the thigh and threw those new suede heels in the garbage.
It felt good later, to know that they couldn't hate me more than I hate myself.
My six-word story from ninth grade reads, "If I don't laugh, I'll cry."
When I read that treating people like trash to gets them to nee
HubrisThe world is not a skeleton. It does not ache bone-deep with our atrocities, nor is it fragile and ready for the breaking. It knows nothing so human, except perhaps to forgive our pride. Let me explain:
Young, I am a bright star with small, pudgy hands for guiltless flower-crushing. Before even that, I am a wispy squall for food, unused to knowing anything but myself, and warmth, and hunger.
The concept of a hero is a natural progression from understanding speech. I am Me. I am the one all the stories talk about, born special, to whom both innocence and wisdom are possible. I am so great a part of my own self that I do not know it can be detached.
I am eleven, narrow-boned and alone in the red earth, when I first feel it.
A seagull slews out of the bright sky and pegs its beak to the stones, draws it up wriggling. I watch its gullet bob. My hand floats up to mirror the lines of its head against the air. There is a cry, and its eye is a pond of yellow fire staring at me, the air a storm
A Flowerwould I, I would
walk in Hiroshima, a flower
cannot say much
underneath cypress trees
we can believe
pyramid builders used stars
to map something there
sand in my hand, sand
back to where I gathered it
the cypress branches at
night canvas us like a pyramid
as it should be, with light
coming down in shafts
I'd have a flower for every
thing we ever did that needs one
that is an uncountable amount
of flowers and we
cannot count the stars
in a universe we do not understand
Love LetterYou are re-creating the word love for me
I have never felt anything in my heart so deep
I'm so in love that I'll never be the same
I just want to be with you every single day
You have touched my heart in many different ways
And now from my heart you'll never go away
I feel so warm every time you're here,
I feel so cold whenever you disappear
Though it feels like you are already mine
Who knows if that's real, who know if it's a lie?
I just think about you every single time
Every time I write, and when I close my eyes
But I'm just waiting for that special day
For when you finally say, yes
Dear GodDear God,
Let me just start out by saying that
I know I don't believe in you
- I don't think I ever did.
I know church was just an obligation to me,
Filled with psalms and flickering candles.
I know I've "sinned",
And I'm sorry
- that's what you say
When you're in confession,
Right? I'm sorry?
(more than I've told the truth),
I've committed blasphemy
Godhow I've used your name in vain).
You could even say that
I'm not happy with what I have
(is this body really something to be proud of?).
But worst of all those sins,
I've committed murder.
I've killed the person
You used to know.
That innocent little girl
Who used to balance your book
In her tiny hands
And caress its weight to her chest;
Those papyrus-thin words
Rustling as they impacted
Her still developing morals.
The little girl
Who created ripples in
Your bowl of holy water
- watching as they rebounded
And slowly stilled into
magic doesn't die.I've lived where the ghosts sleep.
The streetlights are broken but they still stand,
arching over empty alleys filled only with dead cats.
Stardust is littered over the river,
drifting on the black water almost like moon beams.
You asked if I knew where I was going.
I told you, this was my home.
Once, I ate the lies of children, the dreams of dying leaves
and the stones that words have become
along with the ghosts of the town.
This torchlight might let us see the dirt on the ground,
but it will never detect their movements.
I know them.
They are quiet, almost silent.
They will never speak but they can scream.
They will scream you all the way into Sunday,
right past Wednesday and Friday,
the days they'd lost their bodies.
And watch your step.
If that board creaks, stories underneath it will haunt you.
Those stories are not fantasies. They are not pretty.
Between the cracks of moon light, I know their eyes are on us.
I know their feet are following our shadows.
I've made my bed where the
The tenderness that's herWith every word written, with every word spoken
I try my best to express myself, without it being broken
For what I feel is deep in my heart, is love that I want to be showing
Every day it develops, every day I feel more loving
Is the tenderness of passion, which I’ve never felt before
A feeling that I got from a girl who I truly adore
Beautiful as a rose and gentle as a peaceful dove
My heart gets filled with warmth, a feeling I describe as love
She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve seen, that’s as simple as I can be
So very cute and filled with joy, she’s the only girl who I want to see
Her adorable smile that always cheers me up, she’s the only one I need
She’s everything I ever wanted, I thank god that he gave her to me
So much time, so little to doI have seen the beauty of a dove beneath the skies
I have told the harshest truths, and I have told some lies
I have seen a child cry into its mother's arms
I have been that weeping girl who held onto self-harm
I have heard the laughter of a man about to die
I have seen the anger resting deep within their eyes
I have been the victim of my own disgusting thoughts
I have seen the best of people slowly start to rot
I have felt the heartache; I have seen a love go blue…
So much time is left to spare, but so much less to do…
Equinox LoversWe come into being twice a year
a balance of shadow and fire,
a half-lit moon face
pale blue and reflecting a still sun.
Sunflower faces follow me
westward, an ember
dying in the flame of thunderclouds.
Resonant and careful I am,
my molecules built on changing shapes.
You say to me,
"You're too young to be so shy,"
so I stand up and take your hand.
I am a glacier quivering atop cliffs
overlooking the North Atlantic,
but you exhale and
set me to smoking
blowing candle flames free
like dandelion seeds.
We've learned to keep our breath
cool and slow,
draw it out steady to catch the wish
with a last puff.
We are a pair of Arctic winds
howling down Norwegian coasts,
flopping like fish into open hands
a pair of freshwater salmon:
cook me gentle, peel back my scales
and pull away my pink flesh
with a fork.
I've sought loves like evergreens,
whole forests of pine sap
at the midpoint of summer and winter,
at the crash of seasons
like waves on cliffs.
You are my old woman