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Graduation DayGraduation Day:

They told us we would be alright...

We had fought with honour and won our titles.

We had overcome trials together -

Watching dozens of our siblings fall in the line of duty.

For this they had promised us, a wondrous welcome;

A bountiful world of adventure, with a myriad of paths.

All this, they said, awaited us in the stone cities.

Large metropolises, where the working folk resided...

There were hundreds of us, who made that journey.

Walking miles across the scorching desert,

Clinging to a hope of the fortunes beyond.

Yet what awaited us was not a promised land -

Nor was it a life based on the merit we had earned.

I wish...I wish I was a monster
So I could be kind
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I was colored
So I could respect people
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I was a man
So I could be kind to women
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I had male friends
So we could all be..
Just friends
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I had autism
So I could prove that autism,
Does NOT mean "dumb".
And I could break the stereotypes.

I wish I could change the world.
But sometimes, you can't break a stereotype.

Only stereotypes, can break you.

Lingerhow can i move forward,
when the fingerprints of my insecurities
are still lingering within my chest,
pressing against my ribs like piano keys?
i am just waiting, for the day,
when the saddest parts of me
are overcome with songs of serenity.

Pretty Blue PillsPretty blue pills,
shiny in my palm,
the ticket to my peace,
to my eternal calm.

They're so perfectly round,
and soon they'll be in me.
The closest to perfect
that I'll ever be.

They go down so smooth.
Five, ten, fifteen and twenty.
Soon I'll be gone.
Twenty-five and Thirty.

That should be enough,
but I'll play it safe.
Thirty-five and forty.
Now I have no more to take.

The bottle is empty,
as empty as I feel.
None of this is happening,
too good to be real.

But soon I start to drift
into a dark unknown fog.
Somewhere quite distantly.
I hear a muffled sob.

But I blow it off as fake.
Nobody could possibly care.
I doubt anyone's noticed
th

You don't just die.Do you understand?
The blade against your wrist
Doesn't just slice your skin.
It cuts through others
Hearts
Souls
And sanity.

Do you understand?
You don't just kill yourself.
You kill everyone.
Everyone dies
Everyone cries
Everyone suffers
From YOUR goodbyes.

Do you understand?
You don't just die.
You take everyone down
With you.

PhantomWhen life
or fate
or whatever it is
that puts things together
and takes them apart...
when It
amputated you,
it left me
with a phantom
limb
and you are still attached
to my body
when I dance
and make love
alone

ten ways this breakup isn't meant for the movies1.
you go out for twelve eggs and come back
with half a dozen and a new girlfriend.
you hold the eggs out to me like
six dead birds is enough of a peace offering.

2.
i push the eggs out of your hand and stay
with my hand over your heart as i watch them
fall. if they do not hit the ground, this is all a dream.

3.
the eggs smash on the tile and splatter
on the cherry wood cabinets, newly installed
that cost me two paychecks.

3.
the egg whites hit your leather shoes that
you’ve worn for two months straight
because you think they make you look more sophisticated.

3.
the egg whites hit the fridge halfway up, barely touching
the moose mag

Dear friend,You have to understand, dear
The reason to why I run.
I run away from reality
From the lungs that cannot
Take anymore smoke
From the heart that threatens to
Stop...
I run away because
I'm a coward
Because I'm afraid of life
Afraid to care or love.
I'm afraid that every time
I'm glad it blows up in my face
And that every time I smile
I shed a million more tears.
That's why I run, dear
You have to understand.
I was destined to be a fighter but
I don't want to fight anymore.
I was destined to be a warrior
But how am I supposed to win when
The war I fight is against life itself?
I know that I always blow everything up but-
I keep stepping on mines, dear...
...I keep stepping on mines...

ellipsisshe goes to sleep
clawing at her chest with pinpoint accuracy
for an emptiness she can’t describe,
but hates all the same. tomorrow

she will write a letter: “dear boy,
i always wanted to be somebody’s
flowery poem, but the verses carved in my arms
are riddled with ugly clichés. & you are why

i don’t sleep through the night. if
we were a language, i was the
subordinating conjunction, you were

the punctuation.

i remember you in staccato
conclusions, solemn absences
of goodbye”

brain squealsI beat depressions in the earth
for my brain squeals and waves
that burst in my wet ears
until something makes me drown.
I will. (again) V.

Virginia,

put rocks in pockets
and walk right in --
I'll drink your overcoat
until your throat weeps
and your soaked hair
weighs you down.

I promise.

with love,
Ouse.

P.S.
brain squeals are from cold sweats
sleep well.

TearsI am not afraid to cry.

I am not afraid for you to see the tears

My tears.

Don’t tell me I have no heart.

Don’t tell me I have no soul.

For without them I could not cry.

You may not see my tears but they are there.

I have learned to let myself cry for the things I’ve loved,

For the things I’ve lost.

They are silent tears, but they are mine.

So let me cry.

Let me show you I have a heart.

Let the things that touch my heart be shown through my tears.

I am not afraid to cry.

I am notI’m not your little boy.
You’re not my little girl.
I’m just someone you met,
And wants to change the world
I’m not the prince in your dreams
I don’t have smarts or might
I’m just the one that screams
And cries to sleep at night
I’m not who you want me to be.
I will never be what you are.
I’m myself, I am free.
I’m not ashamed of my scars
I’m not that weak
You’re not that strong
You still have company
But I’m still alone
So I speak
Though this poem.
It’s not a pretty love song
I’m just saying what pains me, explaining what’s going on.
Because I am not perfect,
I’m not retarded,
I’m just like you,
Broken Hearted
Never forget,
There is always a reason to be
And I won’t regret
I’m always happy to be me.

combatantI.
it strikes me
that this woman
could be a palace.

I marvel at
the opulent dome of
her brow, her arch
expression—

skin like a courtyard of
ivory tiles,
a thousand intersecting
golden lines about her
head and neck.

she beams from atop her
sunlit tower,
beatific and beautiful,

spreads her arms like
open doors,
invites you to be one of

the many
who have wandered her
lavish halls.

II.
I’ve often thought
of myself
as a castle:

all rough-hewn stone
and turrets,
a temper like molten
tar.

my head is crowned
with
embattled parapets,

weapons readied
at the crenels.

I look out from my
guerites, my brattices,
eyes like arrow-slits

Second ShadowThe hand on your shoulder
The whispers in your mind
The words on your tongue
The voice in your throat
And the feelings in your soul

To drive to madness
To seduce the insane
To draw the blood
And dull the senses
To plague the memories
Of damage done
To fake safe haven
As the character changes

Light the anger and fuel the rage
Another mind to feed
A second shadow
To take you into eternity

They Called Her UglyThey called her ugly
and she screamed that she was beautiful
because that is what she believed
and They screamed twice as loud
and They left a small scar on her arm that was
big and red and bright
for all to see.

They called her ugly
and she yelled that she was beautiful
because that is what she thought she was
and They yelled three times as loud
and They left a bigger scar on her other arm that was
big and red and bright
for all to see.

They called her ugly
and she said that she was beautiful
because that is what she hoped
and They just said it louder
and They left a scar on face that was
big and red and bright
for all to see.

They call

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More from ~Meggie272

hivesoulthis society is sad; cankerous;
filled with a kind of tragic beauty
we look out with our concrete grey eyes
to the emerald granite of the ocean and
feel a part of our soul lost and confused
a part of our soul reaching pale hands for the water,
the vicious salt-burn of life

trembling with this feeling, this
what-once-was feeling, nostalgia and déjà vu
swirling in the fluttering eddy of our blood –
this urge to slide into the woods and howl like a wolf, we’re
so confused because

we are still meat and bones and
electricty pulsing down our fibres
and we still bay and bare our claws and
rip at each other’s skin

rocksalt,teardropyou are the dirt on my lips the
lichen that webs over my cheek-
bones i am a girl of the earth
and you are the earth of this
girl

greyscale pretensionGod I want so much
to be black-and-white and fleeting
and open-mouthed and to
write all day surrounded by cigarettes and
city and people who roll over in my bed
tangled in sheets, long-legged
and sleepy-eyed muses who press
themselves into my lips and in
faded serif type press themselves onto my
poems, little typewriter clicks of love,
little typewriter kisses, kisses that are the
smoky punctuation of my smoky
writer’s life. I want to paint over all my imperfections
of colour (the drack brown of my hair) my
imperfections of life (why can't I write today,
why is the world so uninspiring, why)
I want to stud myself through with silver
an

warTired, angry girl, brittle like matchsticks,
fills herself up with a luminescence -
it pushes out of her eyes in aching streams of
pure white fire. It emphasises the dark
smudge-crinkles beneath her righteously
burning eyes, but hey, that's okay - she's just a kid
even if she is the vessel of the flame.

She screams her throat raw and destroys buildings
in beautiful explosions shaped like flowers.
She plants trees made of fire, and their
branches spread like wild sage.
In her eyes, black mushroom clouds sink, dissolve -
re-emerge -
puddles of oil, rainbow-slicked, crawl and expand
in her pupils.

She sits amongst the rubble, after;
smelling

oh...Love, do you want one of the flowers
growing nestled behind my ribcage?
I would pluck it out and place it behind
the pale shell of your ear.

Love, do you want the comet-fire
that crackles through my veins?
I would give it to you in a kiss -
I would singe your lips with mine.

Love, do you want the empty spaces
in the hollows of my hipbones and the
gap between my thighs and the parting
of my lips?
I would give them to you - I would have you
fill in my blankness, I would fit us together
like the sea and the sky
are together.

Love, do you like my bird-wing heart?
I would give it to you -
but you took it for yourself,
long ago.

a love poem to rainy evenings in townThere is such poetry, such inexplicably
mournful urban-dark beauty, in the round
glowing nimbus of a streetlight dangling
from an arching sweep of metal
against grey skies heavy with dusk,
the soft yellow luminance turning the
raindrops into glimmering starlight-
they shift and change like gossamer
curtains; I will never not love the smell of rain
on concrete, exhaust fumes, the sound of
school shoes on soggy-grit footpaths;
I accept the handfuls of icy wind slapping
my cold-numb face with a smile and a wince
in one, oh lord, bless the winter, bless
this steel-coloured town

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starving arms

by ~Meggie272, Apr 5, 2012, 4:11:39 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

My eager arms are starved;
they reach out, and I'm so happy to know you.

I haven't tried to pull anyone in
for a long time
arms pinned by my sides

I think I meant them to be friendly
and maybe welcoming
and maybe a little romantic
(ssssh)

but then I overbalanced.
Oops.

You have nice shoes, by the way.

starving armsby ~Meggie272

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

©2012-2013 ~Meggie272

NaPoWriMo 2012 - Day Five.

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

Mood: Love

~hannahlily Apr 22, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

haha, poignant AND cute AND funny, love it!

Reply

~Meggie272 Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Triple whammy! Thanks.

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~purple-camels Apr 7, 2012

I love the last line haha

Reply

~Meggie272 Apr 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Why thank you!

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`FuzzyHoser Apr 6, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Hahah...yeah, I do love a quick turn in writing that brings out a grin.

Reply

~Meggie272 Apr 7, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Aw, I'm glad you enjoyed!

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*beeinthebottle Apr 5, 2012 Writer

What a great turn of whimsy! I didn't see that coming.

Reply

~Meggie272 Apr 5, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Hah, thanks! Neither did I.

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*beeinthebottle Apr 5, 2012 Writer

Are you telling stories on yourself?

Reply

~Meggie272 Apr 5, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh. Maybe a wee little bit. But that's what poetry is for, eh?

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