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a poem for the hurt and unwantedyou just want to
no one truly wants me
waste of space
out of place
no one to care
to hold me on my down days
mentally suffocating me
strangling my emotions
my eyes red with tears dripping like
mentality of an adult
face of a fat baby
too many for one
but handled easily
acting with ease
fooling the unknowing
i'm too much to love but
yet better than most
psychological observation from
the age of four
making my loneliness
craving the love i had
that almost killed me
then red and clear tears would fall
because of the lonely heart
sick of trying
sick of fate
sick of time
little blue bird.i wish i could feel again that something that made every day worth waking up to.
someone to wake up to .
someone to live for .
someone i'd have to express these trapped feelings to.
But don't we all ?
am i just being selfish again ?
my tears fall,
my head pounds ,
it's all behind the depth of these lonely eyes.
stare into my eyes and feel my sadness.
unlock the cage and set my emotion-bird free without a care.
i overeact and don't act.
cause i am trapped .
trapped within my cage .
the strong gold bars holding me inside as
i sing my songs .
A long time , little left.attention.
The sweetness of a bitter girl.
the innocence of the wrong doing.
the deterioration of sanity and happiness.
convinced into make-believe.
A mask rotting from false happiness.
The depth of thought.
The hands of a creator,
a mind of another dimension.
A deteriorating girl
with a cracked mask.
Dont Forget Me.You were with me, this time last year.
I had warmth in my heart
and a smile to my face.
Now you've moved on, I regret not being
perfect-you said it wasn't me,
but yet, I still regret and blame myself.
Time is just one thing, andI was willing to
wait, but it saddens me so that now it's
just too late.
My time is over; I am but the old,the past,
but the feelings remain.
I feel for you as you feel for me,
but obviously my feelings are
strong, like the wood on that
Each branch a different story.
When I cried, you felt my pain.
Do you feel it now?
Am I the one to blame?
If i had to choose between the
physical pain of a nerve dying
that you helped me through,
I'd say THIS pain is MUCH
I may have cried for hours then,
but now, I feel like crying
with no end.
Before it was the nerve dying,..
now it's my emotions.
I feel empty.
The past replays in my mind and
I remember being my happiest,
now thats been taken from
and all remain are fake smiles
and real frowns.
LOVE-To give and recieve..If you have love,
love him/her til your lives end,
because some want love,
they want to relive what they had;
the feeling of being wanted,
the warmth in your heart.
i wish i had it again...
trapped.i dont know what to do,
i dont know who to go to.
im sat alone torturing myself with my emotions.
i cry and i want to scream.
its all built up.
but i dont know why...
i feel trapped,
screaming in my head.
i tear myself apart by playing with my negative emotions.
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
smotherher spine was dusk
and unmade nests,
but he tried to live there
he was neither nocturnal
nor a dawn-believer,
so he suffocated
in the birdhouse of her ribs.
between my vertebrae, you are (cemeterial)oh, these writers never speak; they
claw words out of bird carcasses,
poets pecking viscera like necropolitans.
they count their ribs to remind you
of a corpse or of a matchstick. dry bones
between fissured wrists & funeral pyres,
these have been dying days &
they're all mortuaries.
Your eyes...Your eyes...
All the truth no lies
wanting to tell your story
But all tucked up inside...
The am mount of tears
That have left your eyes fall to the ground
As you say that your fine...
The words you speak
That are not always what you truly feel inside
but true feeling ain't meant to hide...
The emotions you put forward from your soul
Sometimes show on the outside...
All the stress and pain shines through your eyes
Being able to understand is the main part that never dies!...
Looking into your eyes to get to your soul to see what's been hiding behind them doors for a little while.... your eyes....
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More