Tag Archives: poem

Petals of Pain

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A flower

standing tall

proud

confident

cut for its features

beauty

scent

prized

growing older

day

by

day

wilted petals

slowly

falling

down

petals

of friends

of trust

of love

of dreams

slowly falling

down

pulled from the vase

no longer prized

studied

admired

beautiful

confident

proud

 petals

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Restless

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These visceral vision are still haunting my mind.
Hours after I awake they still shine within my eyes.
Or maybe now I’m really fast asleep
And those before truly exist.

I do notice I am learning lessons at least in my dreams.
Because the ones in waking life I still ignore
Even though I know better.
It’s like an alter ego that has all the final say in my actions.
Well at least my mind is still my own creation while awake

But it’s my eyes I’m worried about.
I know they only see 10% of what’s actually around us.
How can any of us truly know if what our minds color in
Isn’t only our imaginations.
Or is there any difference at all?

woman-p

What is at stake?

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What does one do,
When their feelings are real,
But the one they are towards,
Doesn’t know how you feel?

The answer seems easy,
But there’s too much at stake,
I’ve been wondering if,
It’s a risk I should take.

Given time, questions will unfold

 And show the answers held within them.

(I wrote this poem few years ago)tumblr_m895a4s4Lr1ry2xw8o1_500

Lonely Girl

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A lonely girl wanders the world
Searching for her poor lost soul
Waiting for lightning to strike her heart
Waiting for thunder to tear her apart

She’s never felt a butterfly’s flutter
Simple words always made her stutter
A tortured heart with the soul of a child
A nervous laugh and a beautiful smile

The neighborhood boys with jokes all the same
Pulling her hair and calling her names
Taking more than she ever could bare
Feeling the rip long after the tear

Millions of people suffer day after day
Hatred and destruction is what they say
Women are from Venus, men from Mars
and she’s just a local girl with local scars

 

lonelygirl

Envy

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By now she imagines
that her envy must have a flavor
Bitter orange and arsenic,
or apple peels and dust

It’s hard to be content
when she sees better all around
Unattainable, out of reach,
like sweet ripe fruit just above her head

she can’t change anything real, so
she will change her hair, change her dress, change her ideas
And hope nobody notices the plain old her
still hiding underneath

she feels like a brown-grey caterpillar
so how come, after so many years
she isn’t
a butterfly yet?