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Does that make me Different?I wear make up. Does that make me fake?
I cry. Does that make me emo?
I have male friends. Does that make me slutty?
I smile a lot. Does that make me weird?
I laugh loud. Does that make me preppy?
I have anxiety. Does that make me a freak?
I have Bipolar Disorder. Does that make me abnormal?
I respect people. I change for me, and only me. I have a past, but I know I have a future.
Does that make me different?
Maybe.
But at least it makes me
Me.

FrostbiteNumbness
I can’t feel my toes and at first I think
It’s just my toes.
I can cover them up.
I can warm them.

It spreads, like fire,
Like ice.
I glance away for a second, it seems, and my feet are cold
Pat –pat
That’s funny, I didn’t feel that
Maybe I’ll cover them up too
I’ll warm them up.

I’ll take a nap
Maybe a short rest will make it all better, warm them
Up…
What’s that? How long has it been?
My legs… are you still mine..
Why has my breath left me, short?
Has everything but deserted me?

What about you, are you still here?
Are you still with me?
Hello?
And before I can say goodbye, I think my thoughts are leaving me too –

You'll Never Understand...You'll never understand...
But I'm glad you don't.
Because that would mean
You'd have to go through my pain.
And I'd never wish that
For you.

Dear fucked society,Dear fucked up society,
Why do you take our rights?
Our human rights?
To who we love?
To who we are.. To our image?
Tell me.

You force images down our throat;
Images of airbrushed, false looking
people. You want people to look
more skinny and cause anorexia,
More along the hidden line that
you dig under the ground like
a dead forgotten body yet always there

You show us that its not right to be gay,
lesbian, bi-sexual or transgendered..
And then wonder why the suicide rate is
so fucking high. You cause the nightmares
and terrors of our family not accepting us
our

Sleeping Beautyshe’s in love with a character who
never existed but in the labyrinth of her head:
a patchwork composition of beautiful, lengthy words
she’d heard in her catatonic state; coma living
day in and day out, reliant on the salvation
of a man made of foreign wishing
and imperfection and necessity – an ignorance
of the less than ideal perception of self she’d
come to fear, absention stained romantic to the point
where daydreams were a standard for survival

(real living is for the purposeful of heart,
he loves her in her sleep)

I don't fight fair...Cut, bruised, scraped, forgotten. These things I have all been at least once in my life. But it
hasn't made me stronger, just more determined in my fight to live another day.
I know the ways of my attackers, studied their movements, learned their tricks and gleamed
their true motives. I have seen their weaknesses, their faults, theirs flaws and I have kept
them close to me, ready for use when the next time we meet.
They are cautious of me, they have weary from my adaptive ways, knowing that I can fall only
so many times. They are scared for I have the key to their defeat; not by sane ways, but by
the ways they fear to tread.
One look, one stare, one gesture and they will run in fear for the truth is upon them: "I won't
live restrained anymore."
"I have seen your errors an played on them like strings on a violin. Moved you to place were I
make the rules. Put you on display for all to see what you have done, and what will be done."

You ha

UneditedWe cry.
We scream.
We fight for our dream.

We scream.
We cry.
We're just waiting to die.

The same emotions
with a different drive.
Sometimes dead, sometimes alive.

The same in one way,
different in another
brother and sister, sister and brother.

So close in feeling,
so different in the end.
Falling apart, or finally on the mend?

Which am I?
Will I ever know?
Fighting to stay or ready to go?

Maybe I'm both,
in some impossible way.
Emotions oddly mixed everyday.

Wouldn't surprise.
I'm such a freak.
Excuse me, I laugh, I should call it "unique"

Happily AloneHonesty,
She does not have,
Personalities,
She has many of them.

A million shields,
a million personalities,
She's always changing,
to fit every person around her.

If one were to ask why,
she would answer with,
I will never reveal my weaknesses,
because she's evil.

She hates everyone,
stupider than her is barely tolerable,
smarter than her is too scary,
She hates it all.

She leaves the world behind,
To one she has dreamt of,
No color,
nobody else.

Then,
she will smile,
why,
because she is truly happy alone.

She is not evil,
She does not hate you,
She is not dishonest,
She simply wants to be alone.

lifelinesI fear the sound of sparrows
and the density of leaves
against dew-muffled blades
of grass,

and I'm drowning
in the sky.

My skin has learned how
to peel itself off
without causing a commotion
in my marrows or
even show the slightest hint
of pain,
and my heart has learned how
to hush the stars in their wake
and keep it all a secret.

There's a sea in my mouth
and I can't swim.

There are lifelines
cast like these and it will
all end with the same tragedy.

the carbon footprint of an arsonistyour crystal promise
rings drip off your glacial
fingers into global

nothings. the geodesic
dome you used to live in
is a hell you keep

clean-shaven and concentric,
spiraling away from you,
wrapping your unborn

children up in paper goblets.
for minimum wage, any geryon
would cling to the terza rima

inkblots on your
collarbones, his spongy molars
diving into your right

angles, his familiar laughs
killing your skin with
shivering cuddles and you

shudder, being self-diagnosed
at center of the universe,
your hair a nest of radio

waves, the one cosmic
principle drumming on the ancient
heart of mystery.

but amateur porn always
made you cry

of seafoam thronesFrom Atlas’ hands she wept to me,
atop Africas and South Atlantics;

this is one situation unaffected by
ember eyes and windy lashes
(it has no anatomy).

You are sparrows stranded
in tiny crevices and cliffside love,
though you rebuke flight
in the fear of chipping feathers.

So what do you do?

You reach for my soul,
coveting flight with shaking
dainty arms…

and perhaps I’ll let you:
With flytrap lips and
glass shaped hips…
you are unfit for anything but
sight.

(But beauty isn’t everything)

The WaitingBones hang from trees
Hollow windchimes rattling
In the sullen breeze

Dark clouds make noonday dusk
Rusted buttons on threadbare coats
Sorrow drips like rain

(From the fingertips of this dead-rose day)

Hoofprints kill the grass
Where the dark horse steps
The rider unsmiling

The tired and ill amble about
Cattle awaiting the shoulder tap
To sleep, but not to dream

(To become whatever the second birth dictates)

We are the King and Queen of Broken DreamsStanding still in a mine field, staring at all we have left.
We were so young, we didn’t stop to think.
Now we’re in a car crash, teetering on the brink.
If you were to leave me now, I don’t know what I’d do.

It was a whirl wind romance,
A light when all was black, a spark of something when all was bleak.
You swept me off my feet and made me feel brand new.
I thought we could live forever and I’m certain you did to.

We built a house without foundations
And now we’re falling down,
Everything’s crumbling around us, time slipping through out fingertips.
People used to walk past us but they were to drunk to see,
That our lives are coming apart around us, there is no light as far as we can see.

There was no fire to start with,
Just two broken things, the world had left behind.
The casualties of other people’s dreams of power, money and control,
Spat out onto the curb to rot away and die.
We never stood a chance or so

A Charmed LifeDoll-faced men and sinkholes, ancient tombstones
Leaves piled ankle-deep, falling down
Old wells, old graves, old friends lost
Pirate adventures in Neverland
Don't go into that barn

Ponchoboy and Rangergirl rise from the ashes
From the cold river, from afar
Remember before they were born, how they
Held hands and jumped into the world
Don't go into that school

Ladybugs, pennies, notes from the dead sun eclipse
Scrape the inside of your skull for clues
All the old dreams are still there, petrified
You are a rock of ages gibbering
Don't go into that factory

Ashes on the SandWe put you in
a crystal box
small enough for me
to hold in my
hands
(and that thought gives me
chill bumps)
The tide was high
where we took you
and I remember thinking
how pointless it was
(you were just going to wash
up on the shore)
Everyone was quiet
and some people cried
and as you were tossed
out to sea like so
many grains of sand
I thought how much
I missed you
(Now I think how much
I hate you
for leaving)

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The PantherPacing on padded paws, the feline walks
Back and forth, back and forth
Stalking the space between us
Pacing evermore, never tiring

You see before you a housecat
Small, relatively harmless
What do I see between us?
A panther, deadly

A jeweled collar is around his neck
It bears the name "Betrayal"
Ever pacing still, stalking its prey
Does the feline wish to kill?

Ah how I wish that I could change
Go back in time and undo the past
How I wish this feline were not here
Stalking, waiting, pacing, always present

You feel its presence too, don't you?
Perhaps it is in the way my eyes watch it
Or do you too watch it, but stay silent?

Sunrise, SunsetA summer no matter how beautiful fades to winter
The most gorgeous rose will lose its crimson petals
Willows wither, fauna fades, sunshine to sunset
For each gem soaring high, gravity will send it down

Why must the joys in life become inevitable sorrow?
Why must the brightness of daylight become night?
I want to cling to the light, but behind me is darkness
Its thick fog is encroaching on the bright sunshine

How long will I be allowed to bask in daytime?
How long until the roses lose their beautiful petals?
I hope I can stay forever in this joyous sunshine
But for every dawn, I know there is a dusk

Flower GardenI have in my yard a beautiful flower garden
Once choked with weeds, but since pruned
The flowers, they bloom bright and plentiful
I breathe in the scent, my lovely flower garden

Truthfully it is not a perfect flower garden
Weeds consume sections of it from time to time
But all I need is my garden sheers to fix it
Given to me by someone special, true love

I continue my walk past my own flowers
To see how other peoples gardens bloom
Some bloom in humble colors, others bright
But I have come across a few dead gardens, too

Some gardens have been murdered by weeds
Others perish to frost, more still to drought
I pick a wilted bloom an

True LoveTrue love is snuggling on a couch late at night
Followed by engaging in a tickle fight
True love is inside jokes that two people share
And it's locking eyes in a love-lit stare

True love knows no limits, nor bounds
It where ever friendship and trust can be found
True love knows no race, gender nor creed
It cannot be corrupted by lust, envy, or greed

True love is being together playing silly little games
True love is calling each other dopey pet names
You find true love in the arms holding you tight
As you cry in their shoulder in the middle of the night

True love is when the world feels so right
When the sun and moon were made to

Dream-WeaverSitting in a field peaceful and silent,
The earth is our bed, our blanket, the sky
Together always, 'the one' and myself
Once I thought this just a dream, not real
Love only a myth, happiness a dream
Then, suddenly you, perfect man you are
Found me waiting there, in my land of dreams
Reality found, discovering bliss
You were always him, the man I dreamed of
Letting love inside, that is the true dream
Learning to trust you had completed me
No more need I sleep, life fulfills my dreams
Thank you dream-weaver you brought me to life

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Broken Sculpture

by ~tentenpiemaster, Oct 23, 2011, 8:56:13 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

I see before me a porcelain sculpture
so delicate, wonderful
It gives me great joy to see it
I love having it with me

But here and there i see cracks
They are hastily mended
The glue shows in some places
The edges are chipped away

To think someone could break it
This sculpture that is so wonderful
A beautiful gift to the world it is
It fills me with such emotions

I shake with rage at who broke it
My stomach in such knots i feel sick
I feel such sorrow for the sculpture
To have been once broken so badly

I put it in my pocket carefully
I gently carry it home with me
I vow to never let it come to harm
Its so precious to me, so amazing

Broken Sculptureby ~tentenpiemaster

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

not much to stay here

~dunkmeinariver Oct 23, 2011

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