[x]

Does that make me Different?I wear make up. Does that make me fake?
I cry. Does that make me emo?
I have male friends. Does that make me slutty?
I smile a lot. Does that make me weird?
I laugh loud. Does that make me preppy?
I have anxiety. Does that make me a freak?
I have Bipolar Disorder. Does that make me abnormal?
I respect people. I change for me, and only me. I have a past, but I know I have a future.
Does that make me different?
Maybe.
But at least it makes me
Me.

FrostbiteNumbness
I can’t feel my toes and at first I think
It’s just my toes.
I can cover them up.
I can warm them.

It spreads, like fire,
Like ice.
I glance away for a second, it seems, and my feet are cold
Pat –pat
That’s funny, I didn’t feel that
Maybe I’ll cover them up too
I’ll warm them up.

I’ll take a nap
Maybe a short rest will make it all better, warm them
Up…
What’s that? How long has it been?
My legs… are you still mine..
Why has my breath left me, short?
Has everything but deserted me?

What about you, are you still here?
Are you still with me?
Hello?
And before I can say goodbye, I think my thoughts are leaving me too –

You'll Never Understand...You'll never understand...
But I'm glad you don't.
Because that would mean
You'd have to go through my pain.
And I'd never wish that
For you.

Dear fucked society,Dear fucked up society,
Why do you take our rights?
Our human rights?
To who we love?
To who we are.. To our image?
Tell me.

You force images down our throat;
Images of airbrushed, false looking
people. You want people to look
more skinny and cause anorexia,
More along the hidden line that
you dig under the ground like
a dead forgotten body yet always there

You show us that its not right to be gay,
lesbian, bi-sexual or transgendered..
And then wonder why the suicide rate is
so fucking high. You cause the nightmares
and terrors of our family not accepting us
our

Telling Childhood Goodnight.They were the fearless whispers through the starless night.
They were the pounding feet through the cobbled streets,
Screaming out for everything.
They were the fleeting memories of a time long gone by,
Blown away in the wind to a far away sky,
Where the air is cold and the stars never shine.

Memories leave their traces behind,
The scars on my legs from a day long gone by.
I was climbing a rock,
That would forever leave me with a flaw.

They were the youthful cries, screaming out.
They were the glowing eyes, on a fearless march,
Racing down the cobbled streets, blazing out for all to see.
The beacon of light that is now dying out,
I never wanted it to go away.
Everything is changing at a speed I can’t match,
I am drifting further every day.

It makes me want to cry that the best and worst days of my life,
Are being pushed away with every day that passes by.
I want to hold on
But each day I lose more ground.
Soon they will be gone without even a sound.

Th

Sleeping Beautyshe’s in love with a character who
never existed but in the labyrinth of her head:
a patchwork composition of beautiful, lengthy words
she’d heard in her catatonic state; coma living
day in and day out, reliant on the salvation
of a man made of foreign wishing
and imperfection and necessity – an ignorance
of the less than ideal perception of self she’d
come to fear, absention stained romantic to the point
where daydreams were a standard for survival

(real living is for the purposeful of heart,
he loves her in her sleep)

Silent and GoneAlong the blue streams of those who were simplistically glassed, I drag my wooden, empty coffin; it contains only my past.

For the many decades I've lengthened have expanded pain's time; across shallow mountains and beatings I prepare my final climb.

Through harsh mists and soft grasses the journey trembles on; days on end without my voices; alas, I realize they are gone.

Near all abandonment's shelter I rest without ease; my halved demon appears before me; she speaks hellishly in the breeze.

Forgiveness and hallucination she crisply burns in my eyes; I must awaken and continue, 'tis my time to remain wise.

To a judging stream near the g

I don't fight fair...Cut, bruised, scraped, forgotten. These things I have all been at least once in my life. But it
hasn't made me stronger, just more determined in my fight to live another day.
I know the ways of my attackers, studied their movements, learned their tricks and gleamed
their true motives. I have seen their weaknesses, their faults, theirs flaws and I have kept
them close to me, ready for use when the next time we meet.
They are cautious of me, they have weary from my adaptive ways, knowing that I can fall only
so many times. They are scared for I have the key to their defeat; not by sane ways, but by
the ways they fear to tread.
One look, one stare, one gesture and they will run in fear for the truth is upon them: "I won't
live restrained anymore."
"I have seen your errors an played on them like strings on a violin. Moved you to place were I
make the rules. Put you on display for all to see what you have done, and what will be done."

You ha

The WaitingBones hang from trees
Hollow windchimes rattling
In the sullen breeze

Dark clouds make noonday dusk
Rusted buttons on threadbare coats
Sorrow drips like rain

(From the fingertips of this dead-rose day)

Hoofprints kill the grass
Where the dark horse steps
The rider unsmiling

The tired and ill amble about
Cattle awaiting the shoulder tap
To sleep, but not to dream

(To become whatever the second birth dictates)

the carbon footprint of an arsonistyour crystal promise
rings drip off your glacial
fingers into global

nothings. the geodesic
dome you used to live in
is a hell you keep

clean-shaven and concentric,
spiraling away from you,
wrapping your unborn

children up in paper goblets.
for minimum wage, any geryon
would cling to the terza rima

inkblots on your
collarbones, his spongy molars
diving into your right

angles, his familiar laughs
killing your skin with
shivering cuddles and you

shudder, being self-diagnosed
at center of the universe,
your hair a nest of radio

waves, the one cosmic
principle drumming on the ancient
heart of mystery.

but amateur porn always
made you cry

lifelinesI fear the sound of sparrows
and the density of leaves
against dew-muffled blades
of grass,

and I'm drowning
in the sky.

My skin has learned how
to peel itself off
without causing a commotion
in my marrows or
even show the slightest hint
of pain,
and my heart has learned how
to hush the stars in their wake
and keep it all a secret.

There's a sea in my mouth
and I can't swim.

There are lifelines
cast like these and it will
all end with the same tragedy.

of seafoam thronesFrom Atlas’ hands she wept to me,
atop Africas and South Atlantics;

this is one situation unaffected by
ember eyes and windy lashes
(it has no anatomy).

You are sparrows stranded
in tiny crevices and cliffside love,
though you rebuke flight
in the fear of chipping feathers.

So what do you do?

You reach for my soul,
coveting flight with shaking
dainty arms…

and perhaps I’ll let you:
With flytrap lips and
glass shaped hips…
you are unfit for anything but
sight.

(But beauty isn’t everything)

Happily AloneHonesty,
She does not have,
Personalities,
She has many of them.

A million shields,
a million personalities,
She's always changing,
to fit every person around her.

If one were to ask why,
she would answer with,
I will never reveal my weaknesses,
because she's evil.

She hates everyone,
stupider than her is barely tolerable,
smarter than her is too scary,
She hates it all.

She leaves the world behind,
To one she has dreamt of,
No color,
nobody else.

Then,
she will smile,
why,
because she is truly happy alone.

She is not evil,
She does not hate you,
She is not dishonest,
She simply wants to be alone.

A Charmed LifeDoll-faced men and sinkholes, ancient tombstones
Leaves piled ankle-deep, falling down
Old wells, old graves, old friends lost
Pirate adventures in Neverland
Don't go into that barn

Ponchoboy and Rangergirl rise from the ashes
From the cold river, from afar
Remember before they were born, how they
Held hands and jumped into the world
Don't go into that school

Ladybugs, pennies, notes from the dead sun eclipse
Scrape the inside of your skull for clues
All the old dreams are still there, petrified
You are a rock of ages gibbering
Don't go into that factory

weight of the worldand suddenly--
it was like the world decided that
it didn't want to carry its burden any longer,
so it shifted the weight
into the hollows of my bones
and told me that
it was my problem now.

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Bathingi want to roll around in words
or take a sponge bath
in the soft pretty ones, the ones
that fuzz and roll off your tongue
bathe my skin in the milky rhythm of an 18th century pastoral poem

But then ouch!
The sudden prick of a staccato caesura
punctures my skin. It hurts.
Magnificently.

complicated mechanismsthe disjointed pounding wide-eyed
wonder that you are,
i'll always remember how it twisted my heart
when i realized you had dimples.

i pull up the straps of my dress as
we play cat-and-mouse on the floor
it doesn't fit me quite right
do you?

oh, please don't call me by my name
the sound of it on your voice –
a little raspy from the sleep you didn't get -
will dilute my blood and thin it out with happiness
and hum inside my brain
all night.

i don't think i'll ever know you;
you have gears inside your head
and they are not visible to me.
i would pry inside but it's so delicate
and you don't mess around with complicated
m

The Note.She ran from it.

She ran from love for a long time, from those eyes, big and blue and fringed with mascara-thick lashes, from the thin vibrato of a happy heart humming with joy, from the laughter of a girl ringing out bright and clear in the summer air.

It scared her, so she hid, and buried herself under the useless baggage she'd accumulated over fifteen years, and she curled herself up, knees at her chin.

She didn't deserve to be happy, so she ignored the tremulous love that threatened to overwhelm her, a wonderful sickness that quivered inside of her and tried to spill out of her eyes and her fingertips and her mouth.

When her legs got

structure is goodStructure is
good. I
like it
a lot.
I know
exactly what
to do
on Wednesday
afternoons and
I have
my tea-drinking
ritual mapped
out. But

you were entirely
unexpected and that was

not good
and also

music music music in my veins and laughter and
it's not
how even
and the pulsing of life beat drums bass
click of high heels and the sweat of heavy makeup
eyeseyeseyeseyesmouthskinvoiceyou

There is no way to sum you up
or organize you
and you're an inconvenient human being
and I hate you.

oh dear.

Fact.There is a love between you and me
and this fact we know to be true.

We know it like we know these things to be true:
the air
and the sun and the sky and
what to do when we are bored together
and the buzz and crackle of creativity
and the taste of cheap fried chicken on a cold Sunday night
hot and salty on your tongue and oily on your fingers.

Someday things will follow their natural course.
We will kiss
awkwardly, because my teeth are not good for kissing
I think we will get the hang of it, though.

And I'll run my hands down your arms
and trace the hollows of your faintly discernable ribcage
and put my head against your chest

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Whiskey.

by ~Meggie272, Apr 7, 2012, 7:05:36 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

I don't know how to feel.

I tried whiskey but
it burned
and I don't want to burn.

I've had enough of that for now.

Whiskey.by ~Meggie272

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

NaPoWriMo - Day Six.

I wanted to make this longer, but those first lines were the only ones that felt right.

~hannahlily Apr 22, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

it!

~Meggie272 Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

thanks!

~Dragonia27 Apr 7, 2012

Little snippets are still great and they can be just as potent as the longer ones. The first line is something that most people in modern society can relate to; I know I have several times. I really like this one. Thanks for sharing it!

~Meggie272 Apr 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh gee, well thank you very much. I'm glad this little one is getting a bit of love.

(I sound like a parent, haha.)

~Dragonia27 Apr 8, 2012

It's all good.

*beeinthebottle Apr 7, 2012 Writer

I like those first lines.; I think they say plenty.

As an aside, I wonder if it's true of others -- my NaPo poems keep getting shorter and shorter.

~Meggie272 Apr 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, gosh, thank you!
I think it's that because I have to churn out a poem every day I don't have any huge, long inspired ideas that I can elaborate on, just little snippets of every day thought floating through my head that have to do.

*beeinthebottle Apr 7, 2012 Writer

I don't have long, inspired ideas either. I don't know how many more NaPo days I can write!

~Meggie272 Apr 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Keep calm and carry on, I guess...

*beeinthebottle Apr 8, 2012 Writer

I want a t-shirt that says that (they make them).

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Whiskey.

Whiskey.by ~Meggie272

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