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I Wanti no longer want
someone to hold me
and tell me i'm beautiful
that i don't need to hate myself
because i'm already perfect.
i don't want it.
give me someone
who isn't afraid to hold me hand
brush their shoulder with mine
pull me into a hug because they feel like it.
give me someone who isn't so afraid.
i want to be able to write
without giving every poem
the same hopeless, pathetic mood.
i want to be able to write
because you're filling my head
with false hopes and pines
for you to do something.
so am i.
take my hand in yours
and we'll shake with our anxieties together.
i'm tired of being pathetic
i need something with a gut
show me it.
before i get up
and find it somewhere else
All of Themi turn my phone,
i don't want to see the notification
marking a text
from a name,
that's been giving me chills.
perhaps these chills
are one of happiness,
though they can't be every time.
we've both felt that of anxiety
that still isn't all of them.
maybe they're of a realization,
discovery of a new feeling
what did i call it earlier?
maybe that's it.
that still isn't all of them.
perchance they are of a sadness
holding the knowing fact
that nothing stays.
we've gone months without talking,
why break the pattern now?
i think that's the rest of them.
i turn my phone,
and see the notification
marking a text
from the name,
that's been giving me chills.
Write Dryyou're sitting at my fingertips
words and lines
stanzas and sonnets
waiting to be written
you're a muse
i need to write dry.
Valentinewe started in july
though i shared things about myself
most people haven't heard.
between then and now
we talked in brief spurts
for a few days at a time
because i was willing myself
to let you text first
it never really happened.
but its been about a month
possible more or less
but i couldn't care any less
because you're here,
and our conversations have changed.
i told you my many anxieties
and you didn't turn me away
you shared a few of your own
and some broke my heart.
you told me how you were brought down
but you pulled yourself up
with what seemed like little help
it was better than anything i've ever done.
you've told me i was "amazing and generous"
for what i thought a simple act of
kindness? perhaps more of love?
but it made me feel like i could do something
maybe pull myself out finally.
i haven't told you yet
how i'm really a hopeless romantic
with a bad attitude.
with countless, impossible scenarios
buzzing around in her head.
ones that are for the movie
My Knuckles Hurtmy knuckles hurt.
well only the two.
the one of my pinky
and ring finger.
the space between
yellow around the expanse
of these two fingers.
a purple color spreads across
the knuckle itself.
my anxieties are
ground into the skin here.
my knuckles hurt
well just two.
Words and Lettersthe ringing in my ears
it sounds like screams
to get out
to save myself.
but the words are slurred
and the letters are blurry
i cant make sense
of what i'm being told.
its this ringing in my ears
maybe they aren't screams
that ears aren't trained to hear.
the words seem slurred
and the letters blurred
i can't save myself.
if that's what you're trying to tell me.
Hopeless Romanticshe's just a hopeless romantic
who plays scenarios
in her head
all day long
she's too scared
to make any of them
Perfectthe day i gave you that odd smile
you told me that night, i had a nice smile
so i stared at my phone in disbelief
and stumbled over my words.
tonight i wrote you a ten line poem
about you hearing my voice the day after
i cheered for you in a football game
and you told me i was generous and amazing.
you told me to take credit for all i do for people
i said i never think about credit
you said you wanted to play hide and seek at four am in a cemetery
so i told you i wanted someone to hold my hand
or have you there when i call, awake from a night terror.
i told you that you were my muse of recent poems
but that you were hard to write about, a mystery that i couldn't understand
i said you gave bliss, something i didn't know before you
i wanted to know how to do it, how to give you the same bliss.
then you told me i already knew, i said some things with grace and natural ability
and if you told me, the grace would be gone
you give the perfect compliments
so i wrote you this poem.
Replasei think it's back
what i've been hiding from
since the end of seventh grade
the worst of this depression.
eighth grade it changed itself
made itself more lethal
crushed my weak foundation
but decided its job wasn't done.
so now, as i sit here
talking to a nice boy
who has gone through some things similar
i feel your dark gloom over me.
i wish you'd leave.
i don't want to fall back into your habit
almost like a guilty pleasure
maybe more like an addiction.
i don't want to touch you,
fall back into your
and back into a sickening depression
the want of a blade had passed
though now i think it's back
i don't want it, i want to be out.
but i think you've found my hiding spot
I Saw a Burning ManIn front of my house, he sat.
Skin burnt off, now charred and black.
Hesitantly, I walked outside.
And he followed me with his watery eyes.
With steps as nimble as the snow,
I hid my fear and continued to go.
Now before him, the Burning Man.
I kindly offered him my shaky hand.
No malice nor vice leaked off of him,
rather sadness and agony which simmered below his skin.
I could feel it around me, the pain and despair,
yet, physically the man was nearly repaired.
For his scorched skin was not his problem,
instead the bottled emotions that devoured all of him.
“Would you like to come inside sir, and stay?”
In which he replied by looking away.
Again I asked, and received no reply,
and was startled when the man began to cry.
Unsure of what to do, I walked away,
Yet I’ll never forget what happened that day.
Be it from pain, or mute, or undisclosed desires,
I watched as the man was engulfed in fire.
I stood back in awe, with my mouth agape,
and feared that he had fallen into
HauntedI see her there with
Coal dust carved
Into the icy skin
Under her eyes,
And on her lips
Dance a chorus
Of bitter lies.
A skeletal hand of smoke
Claws at my neck
Until I bleed;
She tells me that the pain
Is just what I need.
And her blood
Zooms in her veins
Like speeding cars.
She looks at me
At what I am.
She’s a snake,
In the guise
Of a lamb.
‘What happened to us?’
Of what I used to be.
‘I may be you,
But you are not me.’
The sun comes up:
Yesterday is gone
But see it this way;
The past is part of the future
But the future isn’t the past.
You choose which bits go,
You choose which bits last.
little victories.when i was younger,
i thought i was the strongest
little girl in the world
because i could easily
beat my older brother
at arm wrestling.
it wasn't until years later
that i realized
To the person who holds my best friend's heart...I know that is is kind of weird
But I felt that I should write this down.
I need to tell you what I feel
And tell you what he means to me.
He's my best friend and he's a good man.
Please, give him the love and respect he deserves.
He may seem goofy but he's very sweet.
I know this because he was always there for me when I was sad.
Now, I know that you're not bad
Cause he would never choose someone who's mean.
But I still want to tell you just in case you forget in the future;
Please don't break his heart.
He's been through so much
And he doesn't deserve something like that.
He is the kind of person who smiles even when he's hurt by others
And would take any pain for the people he loves.
I know, I've witnessed it.
I know he may seem kind of childish sometimes
But don't let it get to you.
It's just his way of expressing himself.
He's very caring and I'm sure he'll do anything to make you happy.
He doesn't look like it but he's very kind and thoughtful.
He'll put your needs before h
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
You Ever Felt ItHave you ever felt it?
When you lay there broken
And feel yourself so guilty
Eyes gushing red
And you want to sleep in a coma
Your brain swelling with thoughts
At the same time empty with nothing
When you can't suit yourself
And see yourself a place among the demons
that moment when you control your life
The moment when you choose between life and death
And then you yourself can decide either way
It's when you're on the edge
And want someone to pull you back before you make another step
A hook, to rip all the insanity out of your body
And suck all the madness that is growing black dead trees
Have you ever felt it, have you known depression
Did you ever seek a source of help, and did you ever find it
Deathit stares us down
we try to hold our grip
we can hold it
it will take over us
keep us in its grip
carfully watching our every move
hoping not to be sent
a game of cat and mouse
the feeble mice
running just out of grips of the sly cat
us....we are no longer the sly cat
but the feeble mice trying
with our might
to escape your grip
your in control...
these words make me cringe
my bones fall apart
with each word you say
screaming for help,
our voices arent lud enough
to over come you victorous laighter
we've given up
we are your slaves
we work your labor
until we are sent
to the death...
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More