"And, Yet"

More than today
and more than yesterday
—though I know
    nothing of tomorrow—
I learn more
and understand more
of the world.

And more than ever,
I feel my patience
run dryer
      than desert rivers
because
it is
so
unbelievable
                   to me.
                   Really.

And more than I can remember,
I feel disappointment
  accompany the blood
  in my veins
as bits of resentment
     pile up
     in my
     head.

Yet, more than today
and most definitely
more than yesterday
—even if I can't
    tell the stories of tomorrow—
I feel for the
  world and all
  its people
more than I
feel for myself.

Because where my
patience runs dry,
a downpour of
understanding
drenches my soul.

Because where my
disappointment
flows, my heart
pumps out
visions
of hope
and possibility.


--; April 9th, 2014

I guess I was just disappointed because of everything I was realizing...I don't really know. Period four on the 9th was a weird day.

"The Role of God"

Hello little angel,
come this way.
I have a man
who has killed,
but still
he should be saved.

Hello little devil,
come with me.
There's this boy
who's too pure
for anything
but tragedy.

Hey little cherub,
can you hear my thoughts?
I'd really like it
should these
two
fall in love.

Hey little reaper,
can you listen for a bit?
In my heart is
a person
who is
way past his prime.


--; April 9th, 2014

I wrote this because the thought of redemption was stuck in my head—mostly thanks to Dengeki Daisy (check it out; it's an awesome manga)—and I like believing in the idea that God is as unbiased as he can be when it comes to creating destinies for people.

"Far Too Long"

he held my hand
and gripped it
tight
as he placed
it over his cheek
to caress.
he said,
he said,
"it'll be okay"

So I held
his body
close to mine
as my fingers
ran through
his hair.
I said,
I said,
"it is okay."

his body shook
and his mind
collapsed
as I spoke
and I spoke,
saying again
and again,
holding his heart
to mine,
"it is enough
and
so are you."


--; April 09th, 2014

I wrote this for Traine who seems to have a problem with being honest. Because I know his feelings and I wish I could do more for him.

"Silent Symphonies"

I could hear them
as they
             kicked up their
                       heels.
             as they
                         got ready to
                                walk
                                and
                                leave.

I could hear my heart
            b          g
              e      n
                a  i
                  t
a
  pulse,
like it was nothing
But it wasn't
nothing.
It wasn't
a triangle playing
   a soft sound.
It was
and only was
a drum
p
  o
    u
      n
        d
           i
            n
              g
in my body.

I could hear all those
         *voices*
that kept saying
         e
       enough
     enough
     you are not enough
         g
         h
And the way
the drumming
      became
                     LOUDER
and the footsteps
        q
          u
            i
             e
               t
                e
                  r
until all I was left with
were
melodies
painting
melancholies
in
   my
        still—yet beating—
              heart.

--; April 09th, 2014

I wrote this while remembering a lot of the feelings I used to have when my depression was extremely bad.
I'm becoming more artistic with my poetry. Lol. Look, no more squares/rectangles~

I know I've been owing you guys a lot, so here's the latest and my queue will be officially coming back up :)

"You Are My Company"

The clock doesn’t strike

midnight,

     —at all.

It just ticks

     and ticks

until the hour

touches

twelve

     and ticks again

some more.

I lie in bed

and I wonder

about what thoughts

go through your

mind

when you cannot sleep,

and midnight has struck

      once or twice

      already.

Do you think

of me

with a dazing fog

of melodious words

that make you

fall in love?

Or do you

think

only of what

I say

and make everything

sound

so

screeching deafening

to

your ears?

I think of you

and what it’d be like

to have you

in my arms,

     —to be in your arms

to have you

hold me.

I love you.

My thoughts

of you

are my company

when I cannot sleep.

I’m quite sad

and restless,

in fact,

because I know

that you cannot

sleep

when you think

of me.

Though it may seem

flattering

to the ears,

given much thought,

it’s quite a depressing

story.

You cannot sleep

over the thoughts

you have of me.

I am your misery,

though I wish I

was your company.

--; December 11th, 2012

This is a story about the sad parts of love that every person has gone through. We go through these different stories but we all learn to feel the same things (kind of). We feel the insecurities that love brings from time to time, and this was meant to show that.

"The Failings of Love"

I lie in bed
and wonder
if I could become
your guilty pleasure
     your midnight bliss.
Because you have become mine.

I think of us
in the middle
of the night
when I can no longer sleep.
It has become
my comfort zone. 
You are my peace.

But because I cannot be yours,
I suffer.
I offer you
no tranquil thoughts.
I rage and I bicker. 
I leave all parts
of sanity
lying in the dust.

You are my calmness,
but I am your calamity.
We are as different
as day and night,
though we share the same sky
     the same earth.

You stay up and cry over me.
You dream of me in peace.
I stay up and smile over you.
I dream of you in pieces.

You are mine
and I am yours,
but we are not
each other’s.

--; December 11th, 2012
Love isn't perfect.

"Are you In Love?"

To be in love
is to let love
swallow you whole,
as if a sea
of the masses
doesn’t exist
and cannot save you—
for you are
indeed
drowning.

If love is the ocean,
let your voice
be my safety
net,
and let me
never leave
the waters
that attempt
to drown me
because your
kindness
keeps me
safe
and warm.

--; December 11th, 2012
This may have been inspired by the poem "Devotion" by Robert Frost. Maybe.
But, it came about when ask.fm asked the question "What does it feel like to be in love?" (or something like that).

"Unrelated Matters"

I watched her grow up
and I watched her leave.
I wonder if she knew
she became the death of me.

--; January 8th, 2014
I wrote this in dedication to someone who used to be in my life, but is no longer in it anymore.
She broke my heart when she left and I haven't forgotten about the heartbreak since.
I think a lot of us can related to the feeling of being left, even when we think we'd never be left behind.
The title was meant to be a contradiction, because obviously, this is a matter that is very important and holds a crapload of significance.

"I Haven't, Though"

You broke my heart
and it seems
you forgot all about that.

--; January 11th, 2014
I think it's pretty much self-explanatory. Yup.

"The Stars Don't Even Shine"

I asked for a wish
from the stars
that shone
above me.

However, once
I opened my eyes
all the stars
stopped shining
as if to tell me
that I have a wish
that could never
be granted.

--; March 3rd, 2014

"All These Used To Be's"

I used to think about you
and the ink explosions that
would flood my paper.

But, I can't think about you
or the ink explosions
that never happen.
Not now. Not anymore.

The difference is time
and time caused the change
between the two of us.

We became a part
of the past
that we never wanted
but had to have
anyways.

"I Wonder If This Is Living"

How do you explain

to someone

that the reason

you used

to love them

is no longer

reason enough?

Such as

the way their voice

became the

air you needed

to breathe.

How do you

tell them

that you

learned

to live

without them,

when they used

to be

the only way

you knew

to live by?

--; March 3rd, 2014

I don't know why I wrote this. I just did. I haven't been able to write much of anything. Even my last piece was mostly crap. Every word I jot down seems to be wrong. I feel like not one piece of my writing should exist.

"Stronger Than the Flames"

If my house burned down,
could I rest my heart
in your mind?
Would you be willing to
provide me with comfort
and protection--
let me know
that you are
my home
and you will never burn
away
like wood to fire
     never turn to ash
?

--; January 8th, 2014

I had something to say with this poem, but I decided against it. Maybe I'll edit this sometime later and add what I wanted to say.

"To Each Our Own"

Maybe the flowers
know of a better sun
as they have soaked
up so much light
from the world
in order to exist.

But I have to say,
basking in your
presence
is still the only
sun
to me.

--; January 13th, 2014

A lot of us will go through those moments where others will tell us that the person we are with isn't deserving of us, or that we could do better. My response to that is: how would you know? Maybe we could do better, maybe we can't. However, how could you know? You do not experience the moments I experience. You do not see what I see. You cannot possibly feel everything that I felt for that specific person at the specific time.
"You may only be one person to the world. But you may also be the world to one person." (Anonymous)

"Our Own"

Books.
They surrounded us.
The smell of paper
     as the world filled our visions
     with books.
We heard the whispers
     of the people
     in discussion
     of what happened
     and who's the favorite character.
You remembered all of this,
     but I did not.
I didn't care enough
     to remember.
I only thought back,
     when you asked,
     to the library where
     we hid from
     the adults--
escaping to our own world.
Do you remember?
I spoke to you
     and for once,
     you took me seriously.
The tension was clear.
You never expected,
     and neither did I,
     until just a few days before
     when I realized
     I could not
     forget your smile
     even as you walked away.

Pages.
We flipped through the
     pages of the books
     in the library,
     always examining
     to see if any of it was
     ever going to be
     good enough
     to take up our effort
     and time.
I saw the way you smirked
     as you read a comedic
     line.
I never forgot
     about that.
I could never.

Shelves.
The world around us
     spun as we crashed
     into the shelves.
At least,
     my world spun.
I saw fireworks,
     even though
     it was impossible
     in the library--
the laws were too strict
     to ever allow for so much noise.
Music was not allowed,
     but we found music
     in each other's voices.
At least,
     I found music in yours.
I was never sure
     when it came to you.

Covers.
It was always done
     this way.
We would always read
     cover to cover,
     side by side.
You sat beside me,
     resting your head
     against mine
     and I would never notice
     until I realized
     I could never
     forget you.
The books formed
     our bond;
the pages
     to our story
     had no deeper
     meaning
     than what was written--
at least it was that way
     to you;
the shelves stood
     tall for us--
for me--
to lean against
     when the world
     kept spinning.
All
     because
          of
               you.


--; February 8th, 2013

I wrote this to capture the essence of a first love that blooms from close friendship.
The speaker is a boy--but you can make him to be any gender you like--who falls in love with his friend whom he has spent many days going in and out of the library with.
You can decide for yourself if it's a reciprocated love, haha.

"Love, Actually"

You give me commas
     and tell me to pause.
Say that everything
     I do
     goes a little too fast.
I need the pause,
          apparently.
To me, it's unfortunate
     but I suppose it's rather lucky
because you simply gave me commas,
     instead of ending it all
     with a period.

I give you semi-colons,
     and say that we're never meant to end.
But you think I'm an idiot
     for believing in such
          faithless things.
Is it wrong, though?
     I'd give you all my patience
     and all my love
     just for a moment
where you'd see all my semi-colons
     and wished I gave you more.


--; May 17th, 2013

This is a poem inspired by e.e. cummings's poem, "since feeling is first".
I read it in my sophomore year of high school when my English teacher was absent.
I didn't write this poem until over a year later when I was dating Traine. I think I wrote it because we had very different definitions of what love was supposed to be at the time, and it disappointed me.

"Raging Waters"

The rain dissipates
into vapor
as the flames
sears at its touch,
consuming the flowers.
Petal by petal,
they burned away.
Leaving behind ashes,
     memories,
for me to bury
within the dirt.

This was the desecrated
ground:
nothing holy,
     nothing light.
Just imperfection
so close to perfection,
that it turned into
nothing more,
     nothing less,
than cinder.

Charring my skin
as I reached out for
what was left.
But nothing remained.
I was simply
scarred
by the memories
of the flowers
flared in life,
and disintegrated
by death.

The waters could
not calm,
     never quell,
the anger of the
fire.
Sensations
rushed through my body,
electrifying me,
as I saw it all happen.

The garden,
     an epitome of beauty,
          grace,
          love,
          hope,
died in my eyes.
I stood by
watching,
unable to stop it
as it happened.
Watched
as I was left behind
by the beauty,
     grace,
     love,
and hope.


--; April 10th, 2013

I wrote this for my Twin.
He wrote a poem about flowers burning and requested that I wrote something in response--which I did. This was the result of it: a poem about despair and lost hope.
We portray flowers to be beautiful and glistening. To bring up the concept of flowers that burn, we are, more or less, attempting to destroy all that the flowers represent.
That's what I took it as, anyway.

"The Boy with Nightmares"

Do you know about the girl
     who dreams?
Her eyes remind me
     of summer
     and make me fall in love.
But she said her dreams
     caused her to see winter.

Do you know about the girl
     who dreams?
Her voice gives me
     peace
     when chaos ensues.
But she said her dreams
     caused her to be mute.

Do you know about the girl
     who dreams?
Her smiles speak to me
     even though
     no words are said.
But she said her dreams
     caused her to cry.

Do you know about the girl
     who dreams?
Her memories bring me
     tears
     when I’m aware.
She said her dreams
     caused her to leave.


--; October 17th, 2013

I'm actually not sure where the concept for this poem came from.
I think I thought about my boyfriend at the time--and that referred to the dark fog that used to constantly hover over my head--and I thought about all the times that he became really sad when I felt hopeless.
It led me to the conclusion of this poem: ...it'd be a memory he'd never forget if I disappeared.
The title is supposed to be a response to the repeated line of "Do you know about the girl / who dreams?" as a means of showing contrast. Even though she dreamed, he was haunted by her absence and despair. It's supposed to further the idea that even though she dreamed, her dreams--while not nightmares--were disturbing enough to corrupt her.

"How We Turned Out"

You were
my rainbows
and butterflies.
You were
so magical,
and oh so beautiful.

It’s not like
I was blind
or anything.
I saw you
for your flawed
features
and loved you
for your kind
and gentle
heart
that was wrapped
up in layers
of protection.

Time can do
the worst
of things
to people
with kindness
in their eyes,
and I can’t help
but think
that it was
what happened
to you.

But you were
magical
to me.
And now,
you are
simply you
to me:
my comfort
,
my rain
,
my vast ocean.
So full
of emotion
—and possibility.

--; January 8th, 2014
This is quite possibly my favorite poem to date.
I don't have much to say about it, other than the fact that it was written with my boyfriend in mind.
And in case you guys didn't know, I don't really write poetry with anyone in mind other than an idea (and sometimes myself). Lol. So, yeah. I suppose you can call this a partial dedication to Traine. Haha.
I hope you like it, because I really do. :)

"Not What You Think"

Let’s talk about the girl
with broken bones
and no skin
on her body
without miles of scars
running races across
her healing tissues.

She has no
broken dreams.

--January 9th, 2014

This is a poem to show empowerment. It is supposed to tell a story of someone who has been through a lot, but even still, she managed and she survived. Still, even more than just surviving, she lived.

I think that's what's supposed to make this poem beautiful. That is why I wrote it.

I always love the "plot twisting" ideas, after all. Hah.