[x]

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)

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"

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

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)

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)

weight of the worldand suddenly--
it was like the world decided that
it didn't want to carry its burden any longer,
so it shifted the weight
into the hollows of my bones
and told me that
it was my problem now.

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The ArtistBeauty was a picture bird
which perched upon a tree;
If he had wings, he swore he would,
he would fly away with thee,
Yet he had none, no wings you see,
save those of memory,
And so he paints, he paints a scene
with paints that never flee.

YouThrow back the years, throw back the tears;
Erase the counter of your life,
Delete the fears, delete the cheers;
Strike out the chronicle of strife.

The truth evoked, the guile revoked
After the math of man is through;
Your fortunes yoked, your failings cloaked;
In nobody's view, who are you?

Monochromeand it fell, snow deeper than thoughts;
pile upon pile, heap upon heap,
layering the motley Earth
in shades of sickly white;
and still his children relished
building snowmen all morning;
which peered rather blankly
and then he frankly
realized he wanted
every colour
back.

Trickle DownUnknown amidst the chasm,
Obscure over the gorge,
Life is a phantasm
Which early mind did forge.

Old eyes see what is fading,
Young limbs see what is lame;
What wealth is wisdom trading?
One's days are all the same.

Trickle down O little one,
Trickle down O Lord!
The drop, the wave, the surging sea
From eternity to eternity!

It begins, it begins ending;
The journey across the vale,
All are born merely spending
The chapters of this tale.

He looks ahead in despair,
She leers abaft in sorrow;
Absent the second's airy lair
Between bygones and tomorrow.

Trickle down O little one,
Trickle down O Lord!
The drop, the wave, the surging sea
From

Little Black BookConscience was my killer;
Little black book of fate;
I stored each name
In colours of shame
And preserved the sinful date.

Skeletons in the closet;
Corpses in the yard;
All I did want
In my fell haunt
Was a faded tarot card.

Always Date a CarDon't question your promising star;
Sound men persevere below par,
And women, unlike Vipers,
Come without windshield wipers;
Remember, always date a car.

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12 to 6

by ~Zark123, Dec 10, 2012, 11:35:25 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

And I
stayed up
all night
waiting
for
a
call
that
never
came.

And I wondered
was there
ever a plan?
Or was it
the night
that
makes
the man?

12 to 6by ~Zark123

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

*tatterdemalioncandle Dec 14, 2012 Student Writer

I stared at the last two lines trying to figure out which way I wanted to interpret them.

I think that's an accomplishment.

~Zark123 Dec 14, 2012 Student Writer

Which way did you read it first?

*tatterdemalioncandle Dec 26, 2012 Student Writer

I read it very... grandiosely at first. Like the narrator was waiting for a call from God, or from Fate. His "destiny". But there is no such thing, life is as we make it.

Then I began considering whether maybe it had a more person-to-person type meaning. Waiting for the call of a friend, or a loved one, only to find that we are made in those moments we have to stand alone.

~shehrozeameen Dec 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Why did this song remind me of Usher... I don't know, must be the first stanza.

Although, to be fair, free verse doesn't suit you... My opinion.

~Zark123 Dec 13, 2012 Student Writer

I just write free verse when I'm too bored to think. I think I'm quite an antimodernist actually.

~shehrozeameen Dec 13, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You are.

Significantly.

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