The right to be mad

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It runs deep, it boils from the chasmic spaces in-between your bloodstream.

They say contain it, they say smile.

Their lips form shapes that spell out the words, calm down.

Calm down.

How can I possibly be calm?

Must I pretend that the climate of this world, doesn’t put me in a state of distress?

Why is it that only the expression of happiness is deemed acceptable ?

But then I remember they do not want you whole.

They tell you that your anger and your sadness is something that must be purged.

But do not let go of your anger.

For emotion is a thing of wholeness.

But display your anger in such a way, that they cannot call you angry.

Use your anger and show them that you are determined, you are definite.

Even with your anger, you are wholeheartedly whole.

For what is a human without their range of complex emotion.

Many will say you don’t have the right to your anger,

But the right is yours and yours alone.

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I’m slowly forgetting the sound of your voice, the curve of your lips. I’m slowly forgetting the feeling of your arm hair brushing just slightly against mine. And with it, all these small inconsequential memories. I’m slowly losing interest in everything. I don’t listen really, I don’t listen to anything or anyone. Nothing excites me anymore, no small sparks of passion to keep me on my feet throughout the day. I don’t even really enjoy music either, not like I once did. The sound of it leaves me feeling, a tad bit numb. All I can do is write words, words that when formed together aren’t even good enough to be typed onto a blank page. But that’s all that’s left, a vacant space, a hole. I often wonder why it has come to this. It’s no one’s fault, but my own really..Why did I allow myself to fall in? Why must all beautiful things end in tragedy? Why must they end at all? For what is a writer without beauty? For what is a poet without tragedy?

For a poet without a muse, no longer has a reason to write.

But write they must.

And I will,

even if it means, no longer writing for you.

Give them a smile

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He stares into the mirror. Unable to recognize the man, who looks back at him. The joke. Dreary eyed, the skin of his eyelids so thin, they appear transparent. His lips stretched and black, form a smile curling to the tips of his ear lobes. His eerie laugh transitions from laughter to a painful screech, lastly fading into a soft distorted whimper. He knows that he must wipe his tears. “The show must go on.” He muttered. He applies the chalk white powder onto his already dried, lifeless skin. Smearing black circles around his eyes and red paint onto his lips. He smiles, remembering a time when his teeth were not rotten and his spirit was youthful, filled with life and passion. Those days are long gone now. A red curtain behind him is all that lies between him and the act. He exits onto the stage, filled with fraudulent laughter. The audience loves it, but does he?

boys

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i hate boys

some make me feel like im not wanted

some make me feel like a toy

some think my soul doesn’t add up with the body that my spirit decided to enjoy

some think im a weirdo, they’re right i am

some are intimidated, they run away because they are scared

some no matter how much i do, don’t seem to care

some want me physically

none want me spiritually

so ill hate boys until the death of me

I wonder what it’s like to meet a Man.

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It’s the rain

It’s the sun

It’s my messy handwriting

It’s that never ending search for the one

It’s the plants, that hang down from the wall

It’s my favorite flower of the sun, she stands tall

It’s how badly I crave to find someone who will listen to it all

The good, the bad, the dark and ugly

The foolish nonsense that it involves

My mind, a terrible place, but once the pen starts, it doesn’t stop

One click of the key is all it takes

So it’ll be the rain and then the sun

It’ll be whatever it takes

To make sense, where there is none

The story of the sun

Once upon a time, there lived a star. She was obsessed with the idea of love, so she would watched as all the other stars shot across the galaxy to meet one another in unity… But because she was too fearful to give her heart away, too afraid to join all the other shooting stars, she waited and waited, until she grew older. So much older, that all she began to attract were cold, small, lifeless rocks. She unknowingly began to warm all the rocks nearby with all the things she imagined love to be like. These rocks would soon form an orbit, all rotating around her light. But her poor heart, she kept it in a jar protected by a ring of fire. Far from harm, but also so far away from love. And this is the story of the sun and how our planets were formed.

Siren

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If I could be anything, I think I would be a siren.

Without all the horror.

My sweet sensual song, would lead you straight to me.

Away from all the frustration, death and wreckage at sea.

I would call you to the large mass of stone, just slightly above the water.

Where I would then, taste your lips and drag you down under.