to the star of my show; nothing more than mere imperfection, someone standing over me in my dreams it’s oh-so-you, again. the one who taught me how to be strong, even in my moments, now, of weakness, I’m still weak in the knees for you.
Try to hold my tears back, I know not only I am trying. We’re both putting in an effort to keep me smiling, but why is it now that the waves of sorrow keep coming? I have taken on a happy life, and it’s all a big thanks to you, having visited my dreams, you know me just as much as I do. I wish that my memory is and will be my day to day. but losing someone in the past, and knowing they’ll never return visibly its another heartbreak in itself.
I am torn, but not forgotten, and I notice your gestures clearly, but why is it that my love for you grows ever stronger, and I can only thank you in praise? I dedicate my life to you, and all the little fragile portions of it. please take this gift as an exchange for your watching over me. thank you for making me the person I am today. thank you for making the smile real, and the dream big and the heart mended solid.
(I wrote this on June 18th, 2009. This is my most passionate piece; the most emotional piece I could ever think of, so far— I still can’t even read all of it without crying and getting really intense goosebumps. I hope you all enjoy it. C:)
With groggy eyes, night time surprise. Putting my heart on a limb, spreading peace on a whim. Give or take, wake and bake. Take me or leave me, but you’ll never let me free. Seen and not heard, only this much we’ve learned. Opinion is fact, the world has cracked. The devil’s advocate is you, and I don’t even need a clue. The world is always turning, the trees are always burning. Simply put, life goes on, running strong, dusk til dawn.
(I wrote this on October 2nd, 2008. It’s rare when I write rhyming poems that I like. I remember hating this when I wrote it, though.)
With silence behind us, and motions, aside; in waves, come hesitance, with you right beside. with this fist raised high, and my mind— floor deep; little is sacred— this much, at least, we’ve learned.
with everything, comes nothing, and with a load of everything, here we are. in solitude, find me; this is not where you belong.
home of ghosts, den of angels; this is nowhere to be sought. tiny dancers, fragile women shed your tears- now- but no more. in jungle, to shine sky castle, pon glorious treetops and clouds; delicate wings no longer sink here, little birds no longer fly.
I would have left it to my mouth to carry you, when your legs were overwhelmed. there is no room for forgetting, only forgiveness is just a word for love, and as much of a floorboard it is, it’s still the sacred ground that exists, for you.
is it wrong that I can no longer trust myself to be in charge of this? or is the problem simply, that I’ve forgiven you, but can no longer forgive- or forget- myself?
(I wrote this one on Jan. 14th, 2009; however, I freshly edited it today. This is a prime example of how I am lately. I should seriously start writing again.)
Like everything was made for us; and even in the waters, stagnant, yet everflowing, there are the few of us learning to breathe.
Sometimes in silence, there is beauty. Since it is, therefore, golden, the sun radiates the mute. And within each ray, a tightrope walk of fate, through the galaxy and beyond, you determine how wide the bridge is, that you walk upon.
(I wrote this on May 18th, 2008; influenced heavily by the hallucinations and the memories I was experiencing. I was also frying on mush. I hardly write anymore, but when I time-travel back on my DA account, I find myself wondering why I have had a solid 2 year block. This piece makes me really proud; and I think is a substantial demonstration of what my mind really is.)