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Sweet LilacDecember 25th
As I stroll through the gates, the chilly winter air stirs around my scarf and hair. How is it where you are? I suppose it isn't quite as cold. I have to double up on the layers, wearing a sweatshirt underneath my winter coat. It still has yet to snow here, though. I remember when we used to play in the snow. You loved throwing snowballs at my head until mom yelled at you.
The leaves still float down from the trees, as though they continue to hang on for dear life. How sweet it seems now. I used to watch you rake the leaves from the kitchen window, remember? I would be in the warm house, preparing hot cocoa for you when you finished. You like yours with lots of whipped cream and marshmallows, and even some cinnamon. I get mine like that now. I like to pretend I’m still sharing it with you.
The few stems of lilac in my hand quiver with the breeze. Mom told me they stand for joy of youth. I figured that would be per
Sinking Beneath the WavesIf I could sink beneath the waves
I perhaps would be rather content
For you see, the ships that sail above
Know nothing of the ocean itself
The deep blue waters are peaceful and relaxed
As the sailors and surfers would say
But I can sink beneath the waves
I know there is another story to tell
The foamy whitecaps that swirl above
They tell but another myth
That the ocean itself is just as what it seems to be
All water and no depth
But the blue sea cannot be clear
Or else the secrets would fall through
If you learn to sink beneath the waves
You’d know just how beautiful it is.
Inside, and out.
Lies.What are words to you
Nonsense scrawled across a page
A space filler of sorts
The hiding place for lies
Lies that you will not dare stain your tongue with.
Memories recorded down
Fingers stained in ink
The words you said
The promises you made
The lies you told
All of these locked deep within my heart
And in my brain I keep them
For they hide the bitter truth I dared not reach for
Though I could see it
The stains on my own fingers show not me
They show what you wanted me to be
Show what I tried to become
And what I could not master.
But these red stains will change
Will become what I am
And your own marks already show
They show the bitter truth of the false face you show
Of the tales you tell
Of the claims to innocence
And I will try and muster all of my courage
Just to prove my worth.
Little MockingbirdOh little mockingbird,
Please be strong
The other birds
They know the words
But won't sing along
Oh little mockingbird,
You haven't failed yet
Crow and dove
They fly above
There's no need to fret
Oh little mockingbird,
The skies are still blue
Though the eagle cries
The heron lies
And they laugh at you
Oh little mockingbird,
Your wings may be small
But you are bold
And you won't fall
So oh little mockingbird,
Please stay strong
The other birds
They know the words
So sing your sweet song
Shrouded by the shadows
A wispy veil enchanted with secrets
Hide my insecurities
It hides the fact
That my wingspan is too short
To reach my dreams
Icy black chills down my spine
The fears that have been creeping
Still out of sight.
HopeHope is nothing but a dream
Spun with silken stars under the twilight sky
Hope is nothing but fantasy
Sewn piece by piece of the fabrics of myth
Hope is nothing but lies
A blanket of falsehood
Only used for the sake
Of keeping our cold hearts
I, Too, Have a StoryI, too, can make stories
I can scribble them down
On loose sheets of notebook paper
My pencil in my hand
And I can form the words
Like a puzzle in my head
And piece them one by one
On the blank canvas in front of me
Not only for myself, but for readers
Readers all across the world
Pages turning and smiles forming
Inspiring those who read
Inspiring them to write
Just as I
They will understand what it means
To get your thoughts out to the world
I, too, have a story
Stunning SilverStunning silver stripes your skin
Red rivers flow and flee
The bitter tears taint you cheeks
As sorrowful sadness consumes your soul
Depressed thoughts deepen your doubts
Pleads and promises are in the past
Love, like lies, never last
CHIME Chapter 1CHIME
Lafayette has had enough. She sits on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest. She rests both her arms on her knees, and buries her face into them. She has been sitting like this for half an hour.
She lifts her head and looks in the mirror. She sees her pale, freckled face, stained with tears. Her long, jet black hair is tangled in a mess. The sleeves of her shirt are wet from her crying.
She wonders why it has to be like this. Why does she always feel so empty and sad inside? Why does everything have to go wrong? Why can’t she live a regular, peaceful, and happy life?
It all frustrates her. From her fighting parents, to being neglected and left alone by her friends, she can’t seem to find a shard of happiness left inside her fragile heart.
The teenage girl's eyes are weary from crying. Her throat aches and she coughs, only making
I AmI am single,
but I am loved.
I am not a genius,
but I am intelligent.
I am not breathtaking,
but I have beauty.
I am not a saint,
but I am kind.
To the world,
I am not perfect.
But for someone,
Two Years LaterShe asked him gently, “Do you love me?”
In his long silence, she found closure,
And left her love under a willow tree.
lung canceri will die with your name on my lips
because there is nothing else i'll need to say.
you are my coffin, my funeral pyre.
as my bones disintegrate, popping and snapping,
you will greedily swallow my ashes
until nothing is left of me but secondhand smoke.
i've danced with you, love, across hospital tile,
the scent of antiseptic cloying as valentine's chocolate.
you dipped me into unconsciousness,
and i willingly closed my eyes.
the intrusion of your scalpel teeth no longer scares me.
you, my rigor mortis soul mate, always take me under.
your tent of frostbitten shelter pulls me down, an anchor,
while i gag on pills too abstract to save me.
forgive me, lungs, of my cigarette abuse,
but i've found happiness in a reaper's cloak.
i find comfort in these carcinogens.
i've made my nest in a swaying tree,
my body destroyed by the nauseous rocking.
they smile at me with pity in their eyes,
scribbling nonsense on those jaw-like clipboards.
their crisp, stark white world still has faith in me,
All Her Little ThingsStop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from..
Stop demanding her to do things,
Things she can't accomplish,
Things she can't imagine being done...
Stop lying to her,
Telling her you love her,
Want her, need her...
When all you've ever done is make her want to
Stop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from...
When those little things you've done
Take her down...
The little things won't matter anymore.
you've been dead for a year, my deari met you on december 21st,
the longest night of the year.
you had solstice eyes: cold, dark, alluring.
i knew you were not meant to last,
powerful as a gale but fragile as
the tulip stems you snapped,
a sickening cycle of you,
an overwhelming tidal wave.
they say two wrongs will never make a right,
but i made so many bad choices that
i wound up back where I began.
it was too easy to love you,
but getting you to love me back was impossible.
i clawed at your chest until I struck blood,
until my nails split into shards.
you were born a phantom,
and i, your corpse.
holding onto you felt like drowning in quicksand;
i fought but always sank into your arms.
i breathed in dirt, breathed in dust, and
found my organs choked with you,
smothered by your existence.
you sucked out my breath
every time i kissed you.
i died every day with your hand
knotted in my hair.
You left on june 21st,
the longest day of the year.
i bit down sorrow and deconstructed
the labyrinth within me,
the one you hadn't th
Mirror, MirrorMirror, mirror, on the wall,
Watch it crumble, break and fall.
Look at all the bloody glass,
How it reminds them of a severed past.
Watch a reflection slowly disappear,
Looking at all the shattered, crushed mirrors.
A breathless state of mind goes by,
Am I just alive or did I die?
Confused and in an awe,
Careless people unknown to what one saw.
Throat slit so one can't be unlocked,
Too bad the thoughts have become blocked.
Crimson splatters, dripping, breaking away,
Thou shall not know the feeling of all the pain.
Oh, Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Why did you crumble, break and fall?
Eye of the StormI believed I could make the wind blow,
and force the moon to shine at night,
create rainbows just by thinking,
and hold tea parties for fairies in July,
I was the queen of my own graceful lands.
Yet, I grew old and realized,
I am the kind of girl who'd trip and fall,
often for stepping on her own feet.
My crown of diamond and gold
now a rusted piece of bronze,
I lost my throne to treason, my kingdom to hate,
I became the eye of a hurricane,
loaded with mishaps I need to atone.
I felt the soft touches of angels,
and lost my own wings to demons who could crush stone.
Felt the scorching tears run so often,
I knew I must have hit bottom low.
I had nothing holy, no one to call dear,
but here I am, the starting point of my own storm.
I felt fear, clung to shadows,
encased my heart within marble walls,
and threw the keys that can unlock my soul.
So many chances I've lost with no love to seek,
and so many people I turned my back to.
I let the darkness gnaw through my bones.
A stranger walked up to me today...A man walked up to me and asked me for a cigarette… I told him I didn't smoke anymore, and he asked me why? ––I answered "because the person I used to smoke with, isn't around anymore", and he replied…"that's why I smoke."
A woman walked up to me and asked me for drugs, I replied "I have several in store…his eyes, his smile, his hands"…she whispered, "that's not a drug"…and I laughed as I said.. "if only you knew."
A child walked up to me today and asked me to play a game, I told them I was too tired to play games, i'd been playing for years, they replied…"then you must be a pro!", to which I said "yes…a pro at losing."
An old woman stared at me today, and I asked her…"is something wrong?" she answered "I was about to ask you the same question."
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
The Sounds Are ConfiningDarkness fills the space.
The fog pours in.
She feels like a waste.
Impossible to win.
A stab in the back.
A blow to the pride.
A soul painted black.
And nowhere to hide.
Happiness is torn.
Her heart is pounding.
Her patience is worn.
The sounds are confining.
She's feeling trapped.
Her eyes are shining.
Her heart is snapped.
AerosolIt has been a day and a half since the crash, and I have found a cabin. In some ways, this is a relief. I don’t know if I could face another night on the mountain without shelter. Outside, a fire does no good: the heat simply travels upwards. However, this place also raises some difficult questions. I estimate that I’ve put eight miles between myself and the crash site. I don’t know if this will be enough. It Saving...
occurs to me that I don’t really know anything.
The survival manual recommends staying with the plane. It explains that this affords the best chance of rescue. It explains that the wreckage offers warmth and shade. It explains that seventy percent of pilots who stay are located within three days, while seventy percent of those who leave are
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