SinkingShe was the ocean-eyed girl, spending her time weaving intricate stories while sitting in front of the TV. The TV was her life. There she traveled to the moon, to Egypt, to a world where everything was perfect in its own imperfect way. Drama was dramatized in the TV. Families were perfect in the TV. People won big in the TV.So she watched, and her eyes were drained of the ocean and eventually died, dragging her with them.Because she didn't know she was sinking into the world of lies and flashing lights, which whispered stories in the night, beckoning to come a little closer, listen a little harder. And eventually, her world changed to pixels. But she didn't mind.After all, who doesn't prefer life in HD?
Give UpShe wanted a freeze button, a pause button, a wait-and-come-back-later button.But such a button did not exist, so she settled for the next best thing.A stop button, a quit button, a give up button.And when she pressed it, her life snapped off, and that was the end of the 21st Century girl.
All's Fair in Love and WarWhat we tell ourselves while massacring dreams.
SleepingDreams always are a bit bittersweet.[Especially when I wake up alone]
LightOnce upon a timeI traveled through the tunnelInto the lightJust to see what was there.And what I foundWas a dim little lamp.
WhimsyI left my heart in CaliforniaWith a man with deep blue eyes.He said he'd give it back to meBut all he did was lie.So now I'm heartless in WisconsinFor that's how the story goesI've got an empty chest, ice cold breath,And a upturned bright red nose.
Written from Beneath the Parisian LightsDear Jack,It's half past sevenAnd beneath theParis lights I have fallenIn love with a boyWhose eyes are blueAnd lips are red.Do not fret, my dear,For I am in good hands-Hands warmer, softer,More alive than yoursEver were. And I-I am certain that heWill ask me to dinnerAnd will lead me toA café on the Seine,Where we will exchangeKisses more intimate,More passionate,Than ours ever were.Jack, unlike you,With him I will liveWhile you stay inEden, OklahomaRaising your daughtersWith the woman whoStole your heart away,From right under my nose.Farewell, my love, andI wish you a happy mediocreLife with that pleasantMediocre family of yours,Resembling the one you would neverLet us have, and the oneI wouldn't want anyway.With all sincerity, my dear,Your first true love,-Claire
WishesI wish on stop signsAnd kisses,Warm blanketsAnd coffee.[Because stars always have been a bit overrated]
Why Do We Write, Nick?You can't tell, Nick, but I'm writing this in French Script MT, size 20 font.I used to be able to analyze someone by their handwriting. This was the result of boredom and a crush in 7th grade. I would reread the boy's birthday invitation, seeing if he was more introverted or extroverted based on the slant of his words, and scribble my observations down on a piece of scratch paper. Ah, young love.Nowadays everyone is lost in a sea of anonymity. No more can you tell whether someone has a big ego by the way they cross their t's. Instead, you have to rely on how they type in Times New Roman 12. The more they use I, the lower their self-esteem. But still, lost is the art of calligraphy.Then again, I shouldn't be one to talk. My handwriting makes that Wingding font I never could figure out look like plain English. My writing was a part of me, though. When passing notes, I didn't need a different colored pen, with that chicken scratch so evidently mine. Do people even pass notes anymore? M
Inaudible ScreamWords.Fragile fragments our lives consist.A piercing bladecutting not fleshbut soul.A whispering breezeof hopeand melody.Opposites of the same coin.Seeds of growth and strengthbut also of contempt and deceit.Both serving as oneThe conveyor of truth and lies.But of these two,there is a third.Greater, more powerful.Yet gentle,serene,not of sound.A kind healerA heartless killerThe unseen sideSilence
Pretty GirlI'm pretty, right?
No?Well, let me eat lessAnd tan more,Burn my hair to make it straightAnd spend all my money on clothes.[Am I pretty now?]
99 PercentHer blue eyes dulled.99% dead.
let's start a riot.Maybe it's all about finding your heartin a broken mazefull of thorns as you walk on fireto get to a light that will guide you home.I admit that I've always been the typeto believe your heart will never stay attachedbecause sometimes you can lose yourselfwhenever you let go.(Sometimes it feels like the whole world is insecure,but insecurity has always been the newest trend.)
Silent ScreamsDarling, I miss you.Even if we dragged each other through Hell,I miss your sweet voice.We were a pair of masochists...a pair of sadists...We hurt each other,but I still |l|o|v|e| |y|o|u|[even though it might just be the biggest mistake I've ever made].I know it seems like this darkness could go on forever,but, honey, the sun always rises.
Russian RouletteOh, darling...How am I alive?After what you put me through,I'm surprised I didn'tshoot myself.Baby, love is a dangerous game,and we played it likeRussian Roulette.
I Never Stole a Traffic ConeThere has always been a silver lining.It's tarnishedBut if you melt it downandShape it into a bullet,It will still kill a werewolf.Not all dogs chase cars.Weeds don't know they are killing the PetuniasEven monsters dieThe only difference is that they don't get flowers and nobody wants what they leave behind.Things could be a lot worse.Eight black balloonsThe last Raven featherA gray hair floating in your tomato bisque.Knowing that blood tastes like dimes.I still believe that there is good left in our world.Orange things make me laugh.I knew a girl who thought that ghosts onlyhaunted mansions inNew England.
Morning RoutineShe wakes up to dew-drop kisses,Tasting of coffee and sleep.She drifts outside on the morning breeze,Looking at the pink sunrise cloudsAnd breathing in cool, crisp air.Leaves dance around herAnd rabbits run to their holesAs rush-hour traffic rushes pastCreating sonic booms in silence.She brushes her feathersAnd takes flight,Beginning the rest of her life.
thisthis feels like;rewriting a chapter of my lifethat i had already closedlearning where you went wrongand doing it all againlike crying into the shouldersof those who made you cryand starving yourselfof all that you know-
SmileSmile,Because they're watching.Smile,Even if it causes you to break.Smile,Because they're looking this way.They expect you to be happy.Aren't you happy?You must be happy, you have so much.Even though there is so much more,Few can look beyond the sunAnd into the horizon.Smile,Because they're watching.Smile,Even if it causes you to break.Smile,Because they're looking this way.All I want I can't want.All I need I can't need.All I have I can't have.All I am I can't be.They decided all this for me.They took me and whittled me down,Into something they can expect,Into something they can understand,Into something that is less than them.I'm on the wrong side of the line,Through pure misfortune and bad timing.Smile,Because they're watching.Smile,Even if it causes you to break.Smile,Because they're looking this way.Maybe, if I smile,If they think I haven't broken,They'll give up.I know it's hopeless.But I can't stop,I cling to this, because it's all I have
My HeartIn my hands, I hold myHeart.When I was young, it was a beautiful thing.A flawless, perfect, ruby-colored gem.Now, the color has faded to a dullBlood red.It is chipped and cracked,Held together withA bit of glueA piece of tape andThree band-aids.My quaint littleHeartIsn't quite so perfect anymore.It's a little bit dirty andSmall bits of it are missing,Lost forever.In my hands, I hold myHeart;Dusty, cracked, chipped, faded, patched together...But still full of hope, life and lots of love.
You're an ArtistWords on a pageCrumpled paper in the trashTired eyes and cramped handsI can tell you're a writerStacks of books and notebooksA thousand different pensThe special one you use the mostSitting on the desk-------------------------------Notes on a sheetShredded paper in the trashBloodshot eyes and calloused fingersI can tell you're a musicianStacks of books and writing paperA thousand different picksThe special one you use the mostWaiting on the chair-------------------------------Sketches on a padTorn up paper in recyclingDrowsy eyes and graphite handsI can tell you're an artistStacks of pads and loose leaf paperA thousand plain and colored pencilsThe drawing one you use the mostLying on the table
PretendingHe holds my heart with claws.Within that hold my heart rips,And I feel trapped.To please him is far out of my reach,Even though I dance like a fool for him.He just is just locked up inside,With a distant look on his features,Not even noticing me.Leaving me in the cold,I try to stay strong, but my happiness is fading.I finally found warmth,Then he took it away,With his bitter cold touch.My beliefs are within his lies,That my secrets are safe with him, and he would rid my fears.Only to hid his.I will pretend that his lies are true,Because the memories of the past is my poison,That I am killing myself with.And now my trapped heart is bleeding tears.
it'll kill you first.I brought back silenceso you could finally get the answeryou needed to hearbecause silence has always been stronger than words.I've never stayed bulletproofbecause you were my personal oxygenwhenever your lips touched mineand your cold skin felt like heaven on mine,but we would always make beautiful music togetherwith a broken chordbecause we were never fully alive.I overdosed on confidenceand now my secret is that I have none left.(You were always my heart,but now since you're goneit's like nothing ever mattered.)You always told me I would run away too far,so I walked because I thought lights would guide me home.(I always grew up in a family that didn't care enoughor cared too much,my father always screamedand my mother only accusedbut never apologized.My family was always broken,but we always thought that being broken was a new accessory.)Our hearts have always been mute,but being broken is the new beautiful.
Broken HeartClosing my eyesI see you goLetting dieMy poor little soulOpening my eyesI see you leavingA broken heartBleeding for youA life without youIs the futureChosen for meBut my broken heartSays another thing
I mean, what if they got lost in my time machine?You know when they say"See you later"?I always stop and thinkWhat if you didn't?
already gone.I'll have you know I'm screaming your name in my sleepbecause the world is empty and cold without you.I've always promised youthat I'd die realbecause the truth hurtsand lies never heal,but your heart has always been broken.We always try to screamuntil we can't breathe,but whenever you ran awayI always tell youyour heart would always bring you home.(You always try to breathe but there's never no air. There's no air, there never is anyone to love you.)I promise you your heart is not yet dead.Please do not say it is. If it was dead,it wouldn't hurt this much.Your heart must only be sleeping.I know you're broken,but I promise you that the world will never lose its beautyas long as you're in it.
In front of meWhen I stopin front of the mirror[and stare]it's not about the fat,nor the size of my thighs,or even the not-showing muscles,it's about the sad lookon my face,it's about the timesof them looking down on me,it's about the times ofthem making me feel guilty,it's about the"why can't you be like her?" it's about everything around me,[my world turning into ashes].Then the nightmareof what it is tryingto see myself straightbegins.She's beautiful,she's kind, she's what any guycould ever ask for,her long hair[oh no, her short hair]her self-confidenceand her lack of it,the way her eyes shine,you can almost feelyour eyes burning,like if you were tryingto see right throughthe sun's rays.she's all lightand dark, for whatperfection is, (for me)it's both beautiful andhorrifying.(because it's just unreachableto me)She's not that skinnybut she could be,actually she is,she is skinny enough(why did I just said she wasn't?)She's b
FamousIf I become a famous poet,I won't be remembered.[But you will be]