LightOnce upon a timeI traveled through the tunnelInto the lightJust to see what was there.And what I foundWas a dim little lamp.
CensorshipThe contents of this poemHave been omittedDue to the following reason(s):Contains unwanted informationProvokes thoughtMay cause a disruption[And we couldn't have that, could we?]
JealousShe danced in the streetsAnd sang on the subway.People had every rightTo be jealous of her.[For we rarely find a personWho is so alive]
SleepingDreams always are a bit bittersweet.[Especially when I wake up alone]
DeliveryThe breeze carries memoriesWrapped in silk and tied with bowsTelling stories of somewhere else,A place nobody knows.
99 PercentHer blue eyes dulled.99% dead.
MoonI can't imagine that kind of emptiness.
DrowningAnd then the fish drowned.
Paper ScrapsI write on fairy wingsAnd soap bubblesBecause paperIs too fragile.
WishesI wish on stop signsAnd kisses,Warm blanketsAnd coffee.[Because stars always have been a bit overrated]
KissWhy can't that be me?
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.
done, broken heartBroken headBroken hurtBroken hateBroken heartAnotherday I feellike I'm aboutto fall apartBroken mindBroken bodyBroken whollyBroken soulI will shatterinto piecesif I'm notcarefulBroken eyesBroken earsBroken noseBroken lipsReminders ofwhat happenswith justone tiny slipFallingFallingFallingDownBreakingas Ihitthe groundShatterintotinypiecesGravitytried mefortreasonEverything is goneI don't know howto getit backI fellI'm brokenBroken openBroken at the soundof hate inbroken earsand broken soundsmy broken fearsmy broken heartit's aching, breakingwith each crack it's wailing, sayingfinally, oh finallyI thinkI mightbedone.
70 plastic spoons..You took me to the cinema so I didn't have to talk about what was wrong,taught me to open sweet packets from the bottom so they didn't rip,didn't laugh when I bought 70 plastic spoons just to eat ice cream,showed me how to embrace new horizons and to pack light,got me lost in a ghetto in Dundee, and a non-existent castle in Kirkaldy,tied a suitcase to a skateboard and made me laugh until I cried,and never once told me to shut up. .
A Hero, Someone.I need a hero, someone strong,Someone to tell me that I'm wrong.I need to know that it's not true,I need someone to help me through.I need a hero, someone wise,To set fire to my million lies,To make me gold and shine like new,I need someone to help me through.I need a hero, someone tough,To guide me through these time's so rough,To hold me tight when times are blue,I need someone to help me through.I need a hero, someone strong,I need someone to help me through.©Lonewolfpuppy
AloneI may be brokenAnd you may be lostBut at least togetherWe're not alone.
DarkI close my eyes and I see light.I open them and I see you.
True LoveAbusive love leaves scars,but true love will heal them.
my midnight creative insomnia -i should have told you my favorite color is blue.well, actually it's yellow, but occasionally yellow is a sad color; it should have reminded me of sunshine and daises, but instead it reminded me of sunsets, and there is something lonely about sunsets i can't put my finger on.so my new favorite color is blue..i should have told you my eyes are hazel and not brown. it bothers me, by the way, that you still think my eyes are brown after so many years of looking at my face. it makes me feel like you don't even look at me at all..i should have told you i like oranges. but sometimes the juice stings the paper cuts on my hand, because i write too many works about the juices from an orange..i also write of irony..i should have told you i am a writer, and that i write mostly of you, about the blue irises of your eyes and how they fiercely reminded me that i was drowning in your hands. it was a nice drowning though, because even though i couldn't breathe, i was alive underwater as
Tell me you hate meDon't ever tell me that my effort shinesFor I'll believe your words without protestThe glory for which my heart aches and pinesProves honest harsh words surely to be bestI am so fearful of measuring shortThat hiding is my best hope to succeedAvoiding every frightening reportWhile snatching up all praise with desperate greedMy self-worth weak as any castle gateThat's stood up to invasions stolidlyThe fighting that has torn at it of lateHas weakened it beyond defending meInvaders! Pillage, steal, and ruin hallsTo now hold burning smoldering remainsNo safety will be left between the wallsWhere formerly assurance held the reinsMake vicious wreckage of my self-esteemWreck my mind, destroy my peace, I pleaFor even as I mope and whine and screamDistress will make a mortal out of me
Silver LiningCheer up, little flower. I know the sun isn't shining, butYour roots are a bit deeper in the ground than you think. If I could, I would paint rainbows over your gloomy skiesAnd sprinkle raindrops over your fading petals. I know the clouds must have a silver lining becauseI see the lining of hope around your heart.
LesbianGod loved the two girls at the end of my street.Everywhere they went, they went together,hand-in-hand so they didn't get lost,laughing at everything and nothingall at once.He was so proud of them.They never stole, they never swore,they brushed their teeth twice a dayand always said their prayers.It was a gift, said the townspeople,that two girls as perfect as they werewere born in the same place.an even greater gift, said they,that those two were the best of friends.Long nights spent giggling in rooms with closed doorswas a good thing, back then. One day,halfway between their housesand in the middle of the street,they realized that they loved each other.A gaze lingered a moment too long,a heart beat a little too fast...They kissed for the first time on a park bench,hidden from the rest of the world.God doesn't love them anymore.
passerbyraspy voice, like a demon begging for mercy. she wasalways a broken melody,a puzzlewith no corner pieces.i can see her,drenched by the truth in her ownwords, "i am justa crack in the concrete,markedby the footstepsof people likeyou."
The bird collector.She still sits on rooftops,and dreams about flying.Just like the bird her dadgave her when she was eight.Then her dad flew away,and she pretended shedid not notice.Sometimes she wishesshe could be death-daringskinny all over again.She liked to dance,it sometimes felt like flying.So she'd make her fingersdance on her torso, overthe cage inside her chest.This cage held a bird,which never learned to sing.A bird that only hit the wallsinside her, making a pounding sound,desperate for the freedomshe'd love to have.Besides beauty,skinny meant light.And light enough to fly(just like a bird)is what she was going for.And like she was too coldto own a heart,she'd collect birdsinside her ribcage.Stealing their freedom.
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?]