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Feelings InsideYet again you feel it within yourself,
Like a twisting pain, sharp, and
You somewhat enjoy it, the pain, for
It brings color to a dull world that you see.
Is it jealously?
Perhaps, although there is no reasonable
Thought that comes to mind as to why it
It doesn't go away, but when it does,
After much will and forcing out,
You think that you have conquered it,
And if it may ever return again,
It will be easy to rid of and ignore,
However, that never seems to be the case.
Goodbye...Such a close friend,
Goodbye, I say now,
And even though you may not read this,
I will miss you.
I will miss your one of a kind thoughts,
How you looked upon the world,
And how you so gratefully let me help
With problems in your life.
I wish you the best of luck,
Although I doubt you'll need much.
Human BeingsBreath in,
Remind yourself that you are human.
You make mistakes.
You hurt people.
You will never be perfect.
Remember everyone is human.
We'll make mistakes.
We'll hurt each other.
We'll never be perfect.
YouYou are the source of all my happiness,
The root of all my pain.
A bitter sweet love I seem to have for you,
But when I think of the things you have done,
Then back to myself,
I wonder why it had to be you...
You of all people, I fall for,
Deep and slowly, although fully aware.
I talk to you and I think my heart stops,
A joyous feeling, oh so happy indeed,
But when I remember you have somebody else,
A part of me whines, and cries and dies,
Silently as I wince from the hole forming in my heart,
A put on a smile,
And pretend its alright.
Stifled LoveYou stand in front of them,
And oh, how their eyes seem to shine
Back at you,
And you feel such an urge just to lean
Over and kiss them,
Yet, you hold back,
For they are simply taken,
And your heart cannot be
Taken from you, for they
Already grasp another.
And act like nothing is wrong,
But ever time they speak
Of their lover's name,
Your heart shrivels up,
And cries out to them.
But you keep your mouth shut,
And stifle the pain,
For you cannot be loved back,
No, not someone like that,
For you simply do not deserve your only love...
Walk AwayAnd so they say
Sometimes you just need to walk away,
And see who follows.
I did this one day,
Walked away, far away,
But sadly no one followed.
And so back home I walk,
Head hung with sorrow,
A pencil drawn smile.
Fitting InI could,
Oh trust me, I could.
So easily could I change my appearance,
Both inside and out,
So easily can I become another,
Another part of a widespread group,
Yet, I do not,
I do not speak to it,
My opinions kept silent,
My thoughts rarely expressed.
JudgingNo matter color of skin
Culture or sexual orientation,
Beliefs, religion, or even simple opinions!
Judging is wrong, you cannot
Judge people on their beliefs,
Because it is beyond wrong,
And can lead to suicides.
Can you live with blood on your hands?
You will be judged, no matter what,
For that we cannot change.
Do not stoop to their level,
For no metaphors are needed here
To prove why this is wrong.
remembering isn't enough.i'm trying to forget:
your lashes like spiderwebs brushing
against my cheek,
lily lips and peppermint breath,
falling ohsogracefully in
words like acid trickling through
mouths wide open, trickling
into my throat, drowning my lungs,
staining my insides
stars dancing from your
teasing fingertips, just out of
The NothingsThe Nothings
Once upon a time there were somethings.
Somethings where the little girl with the pigtails would come bouncing home talking to her mother about what she did at school today, how was her friend Jimmy, and oh! she almost forgot her crayons, but luckily Emily was there to remind her.
She would prattle on and on delightedly while her mother listened, her euphoria taking her higher than the moon.
She insisted on acting "grown up".
She would sit, straight and stark, and never forget to keep her elbows off the table and her napkin on her lap. She would always say "yes, ma'am," , "no, ma'am,", "thank you very, very muchly," and "excuse me!", over-enunciating the words and biting off the ends of sentences, so that to her they sounded sharp and crisp, just like her daddy talked on the phone, and she knew everyone wanted to be like daddy.
Her parents shared subtle smiles, hidden amidst floral handkerchiefs.
She became a butterfly, she said. She wanted to
edenThey are only
their fingers kissing
by the palms;
that is how long they've
"You know," she
murmurs, leaning in.
"Your heart is cold."
He stiffens, breaks
from her touch.
"I meant your hands-
your hands are cold."
She smiles, then,
and the soft breeze
of her hair.
he traces the white-lily
curve of her fist with
"I've made mistakes;
my heart has hardened
over time, but..."
There is a pleading
sort of poetry in
his words, his
anything but cold.
She is still beaming,
daylight streaming from
yet twilight is not far;
"You have to wake up, now." she says knowingly.
Melancholy is swallowing
drowning her into the
of regrets; bird bones seeping into ink-water.
"Don't leave me." his voice cracks.
The wind whisks her away,
like rose-petals in
"Let me go." she
a lover's observations.when you asked me to define love,
i answered with this.
i. a collection of sighs
by remembered dreams
and rapid heartbeats
ii. fingertips on knuckles
and the hugging of thumbs
iii. making silverware
on the mattress
in the company of the stars
iv. exchanging dialogue
with our mouths shut
and our eyes open
v. cheekbones and crow's feet
vi. turning every what if
into a reality
when i asked you to describe love,
you took the answer from my mouth
with your lips.
"Teenage Love Poem"I want to hold you near me
Sift your hair between my fingers
Brush it back from your clear brown eyes
So the feel of your gaze lingers
I want to see your face light up
Like mine when you're walking by
I want so much to know you
But I'm too afraid to try.
When I see you, you're surrounded
By a gorgeous, grinning flock
The jealous eyes upon me
Take away my urge to talk
If you ever say you love me
I swear I won't resist
I'll be your silent shadow
Til you realize I exist.
Kiss From A RoseYesterday, I was walking down a crowded street until I found this girl standing on the corner with dark red hair. She told me her name was Rose and one day she wanted to be on Broadway. I told her I was a writer and had a dream of being published but my words weren't nearly pretty enough. They were nothing compared to her bright blue eyes that were striking enough to burn out all the stars in the sky. I had a tendency to fall short of breath but she knocked the wind out of me for an entirely different reason.
Later that week, we went on our first date to this small Italian restaurant where everyone had thick accents and we felt a little out of place. It didn't really matter at that point though because I was only trying to understand the strings of words she was projecting from her speaker box. I learned that she was adopted from an orphanage when she was 8 and graduated from high school when she was 16 where she finished at the top of her class. She went to a college for the performin
She was very sensitive.
As if the volume was turned up in her head.
She started using her mother’s sedatives,
As a solution for her sleepless nights in bed.
She couldn’t connect with any of her relatives,
They never showed an interest in anything she said.
Her attempts at socialising were tentative,
So she conjured up imaginary friends instead.
Her dogged detachment was her only imperative.
She could not risk the chance of being misled.
There was no one to peel back the layer of negatives.
Too many years of tears have been bred and shed.
The smile she occasionally displayed was purely decorative.
She knows people will judge her before they have even read
Her story because they’re too caught up in their own narrative.
They only take the time to read your book once you are dead.
They say we’re born alone and die alone.
As humans we are built to survive and consume.
Even if you are raised from a loving home.
You can still feel out of place in your ow
things you don't learn in schooli found a cricket on the roadside, put it in a mason jar to show
the world and called it by a first name. He died of
loneliness shortly thereafter and i learned how wretched
it is to be forsaken.
When i was twelve, i watched a boy slit his wrists
with a plastic spork at lunch, and though i laughed at the irony, all i kept thinking was
I really hope he washed his hands.
He bled tears of scarlet red that looked just like tomato sauce, but i
just stood there because it was the coolest thing i'd ever seen.
The boy, he smelled of dirty laundry and cigarettes and sorrow
and used to sit by the window until the bell, where he'd wait
until everyone had gone outside to make sure it was safe. His eyes
were the hollowed rings of Saturn, with freckles like stars & cosmic bruises
up and down his arms.
If he spoke, it was of distant shores & escape,
and we believed it when he talked of things like freedom, hearing
the scratch of gravel roads from within his throat.
i realized one day that i'd
miss the girlyou see her,
her bones rolling,
as she prints
of her name.
you are sitting,
it is not
into the myriad
and lips and
next see her,
speak for the
a story together.
you are staring
to slice through
and you turn,
back of your
as the months
melt into one
as the leaves
go white with
Her EyesEverything that has
Ever been so perfectly exciting in my life,
And all its sure enough flaws.
All the beauty of everything
Tangible and abstract,
And the ugly black core they posess.
Every love and hate
Song that plays is bittersweet
In the burning impression
Of the deepest recesses of
Where, of course,
Her eyes observe me,
What I was, and will become.
Her eyes, buried deep in me,
They whisper softly,
Harsh words of rememberance,
"What if", or "Why didn't you..."
But, perhaps I desrve it,
I let her go,
I let that final glance occur,
I let her eyes stay with
Me, for they said everything
Neither her nor I could ever
Dare to say.
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More