[x]

I Don't Miss AdolescenceMy sister calls to ask me if I'll do her makeup;
Mami promised that she would, but she's tired
and screamed when Maria reminded her senior prom
is tonight. She says, "I have a hickey on my neck,
something she doesn't want to cover, and you've always
done a better job of highlighting the subtle graces
inherent to my bone structure, the angles we share."

I say, "That's okay, but I can't pick you up,"

so she arrives in a flourish of exasperations,
telling me all the family business, waving her nails
in my face and talking about the pain of her extensions.
She says, "Do you think we need yellow concealer?
I plan to take pictures, and the last

Onyx DreamsOnyx Dreams

Fluctuations of sound waves vibrate the floor,
While the lights of my room glow brilliantly,
But as time winds down and my energy starts its decline,
My vision gets blurry and listening becomes hearing,
And hearing becomes simple background noise,
While Palaceer Lazaro’s words become filmy intonations
Yet, still creating a motion picture full of abstract images,
In my mind full of words and phrases that do nothing but stay stagnant,
And Slumber begins to wrap her warm hands around my head,
As she sweetly begins to pull me into black depths of rest,
A state of unconsciousness that will take me on a journey,
Through the grey abyss we call the center of our nervous system,
And once I fall into the pit of nothingness, the pit of onyx, for those few hours,
I will transform into an atramentous being with aphotic wings,
Because “black is free……..”

You were cold insideYour lips tasted of
summer, of warm days and
cherry-flavoured ice,
relaxing by the
pool side and
smiling against the sun.

You should have been too hot,
too sticky, too humid.
You should have
overheated, should have
melted into your bones until
they turned to ashes, but
it never happened.

I suppose I should have
seen it coming, but
I was so moonstruck over
the way you said my name, so
in love with the idea
of love, that I
didn't notice the way
your eyes bled
winter.

7 - The Pet PoetI remember when Mommy bought you
a black-haired pet for your sweet sixteenth.
Its bronze collar said its name was "Poet."
You fed it noise from the out-of-tune piano,
intense moments involving flesh and razors,
and the occasional walk by the lake.

At first, he knew only the wolf's howl,
purging blood and flames onto the carpets.
Everywhere was a smell of extravagance --
like that woman's cheap perfume on the train to work.
But you cried a little less,
smiled a bit more.
And that was when Daddy stopped
trying to send it back to the shelter.

Soon, you even started watching T.V.
(and enjoyed food, dressed nice, made friends.)
But T

The HourglassWatch the hands go round and round.
Ahhhh, how long have I been sitting here,
Listening to the grandfather clock?
Watching him ticking away?
Watching the polished wood yellow and rot?
And with every sound he makes
More maggots eat his wooden flesh.

Every grain that falls is an eternity!
In the firelight you can see the glass.
The dust that coats the cracking bulb,
Listening to the sand that trickles down.
Listening to the passing hours.
With every grain that filters through
Another man sleeps eternally.

The sundial stands defiant!
From my leather chair I see it!
It stands defiant in the plaza below me!
Standing in the moonlit night.
Standin

nothing specialthey tell you not to give up
because you have potential--
and to the ones who simply enjoy
you're probably fantastic
but to those who do
you're simply mediocre,
nothing to bat an
eyelash at.

you're not quite bad enough
to quit, but you're not
great enough to be
remembered.

unrequitedyou make my words
gather at the hollows
of my throat
until i choke on them.

my fingers ache to
hold you--
but my eyes ache to
cry.

you're nothing but heart break
wrapped in a bow
of something beautiful,
like the dust of grace from
fallen angels.

i drink a little faster and
cry a little harder
because the way whiskey and tears
mingle on my lips
tastes suspiciously of love.

Thinking.Thinking without thought,
Not thinking about a lot.

Thinking about what it how it would be,
To have a thoughts as endless as the sea.

Thinking about the passing time,
About the mountains I have not climbed.

Thinking about a world gone by,
And about the big blue sky.

Thinking about love so sweet,
And of life crumbling at my feet.

To think about everything vast as it seems,
Would take as long as counting dreams.

So to think without a thought,
And not to think about a lot.

Would carry on an endless dream,
And let time unravel at it's seams.

SeppukuA blue sky greets me as I kneel to the ground.
I hear the rushing wind and the sacred water sound.
The cold, grey stone upon my knee,
As I prepare myself for eternity.

I take a solemn look at my silent crowd,
Those cruel, dark faces scream so loud.
They want me to do the final deed.
I'll plunge the tanto in. They'll see me bleed.

I look for a while at my full rice bowl,
And prepare for the next cycle of my soul.
What shall I be? A man or god?
Shall my next life be lived in the mud and sod?

I finish quickly so we don't delay.
By now the light is fading away.
I take up the pen and start to write,
To put brush to paper is one last delight.

"

VIIEncore un peu de cendre
Au coin de tes lèvres
Parolescentes

J'épluche tes souhaits
Tu laves le ciel
En vain

Et dans ce vent chaud
Des milliers de pétales
De peau

She's changedIf you looked at a little girl with big brown eyes and soft hair from the crown of her head
Her dreams would be big and her worries would be simple
And you’d say “She’ll be going places”

If you looked at a young girl with a toothy grin and a giddy laugh
Her pride would be strong and her conscience would be clear
And you’d say “She looks happy”

If you looked at a shy growing girl with her forehead covered and sleeves down to her fingertips
Her eyes would be distracted and her heart would be a drama queen
And you’d say “I don’t know who she is”

If you looked at a maturing girl

The Boy Who WaitsThe train rolls past the selfish boy,
The boy who stands and waits forever,
The boy who watches the girl fly past,
And wishes she would get off at his stop.

The boy stuck in circles,
The boy who always needs help,
The shy boy with the social prowess of a shattered rock.

He waits and waits,
And every time she flies past,
He hopes and hopes.

She talks to him often,
But sometimes not so much,
He feels like he’s walking straight when she speaks,
Her words make sense to his boggled mind.

The boy at the station,
With eyes wide in anticipation,
The selfish boy who wishes good things to happen,
The boy who takes things for granted,
Who thin

Left AloneYou want me to leave you alone? I'll leave you alone.

You want me to buy you a cake and a knife? Sure I'll do that.

So, what else do you need me to do? OK. That should be easy to do.

Here I go, walking to and fro, to unknown destination just so I can please you.

You hate my guts, huh? Well, to be honest, and I will not lie, I hate your guts too.

You see me and I see you, walking past each other each and everyday - We do not smile.

I often invision you surrounded by flames and you invision me drowning in the sea.

And here is my question to you: Why do you hate me so much?

You snarl as you echo my words: Why do YOU hate me so much?

No wordsI don't like to talk.
I feel that words cannot truly express what I feel.
When I am filled with emotion, I can find no word that can express what I feel to the fullest.
There is no word beautiful enough to describe this joy, no word horrible enough to describe this hate, no word ugly enough to describe this miserable existence.

a small dosage per daysorrow makes its way into my cup of tea every morning
so I add more spoonfuls of sugar into it,
hoping the sweetness will overpower the bitterness;

yet, this clever feeling still seeps through the sweet substance
and clings to the sugar's particles,
races through my veins
and scatters in my blood,

making an entire day feel ruined
already.

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He Doesn't Even Try"He 'stumbled' into my knife."
"Again?"

Levitate With MeYou know what sucks?

A lack of motivation.

You know, that thing
that drives you to
do whatever you do.

I miss it eloping
with my emotions and
causing the products
of typed poetry that
seemed kind of good.

But now it just seems
like the misshapen baby
of some emo teenage angst.

Inspiration is what I need.

An outlet that is more
like a fireplace because
instead of taking me in
and sucking out my words
that turn into poems and
stories, it'll bath me in
the warmth of writer's bliss.

Then maybe I'll stop writing
emotional poems and maybe then
I'll go back to working on my life.

I have a life?

Apparently.

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60 Marks Continuation

by ~NarutoNinja44, Nov 30, 2010, 4:27:50 PM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

Getting back into the pace.
With the same steps
and the same faces
and the same people
saying the same things.

No wonder I'm always bored.
No wonder I'm already bored.

60 Marks Continuationby ~NarutoNinja44

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

It could be worse though. I could be dead.

For my 180 Days of School Project.

EDIT: I just realized that I am 1/3rd's done with my school year. Nice.

~su-kuchiki Nov 30, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

Hahaha,

it and I know what u r going through cuz I'm bored too

~NarutoNinja44 Nov 30, 2010 Hobbyist

Nice to know I know I am not the only one.

~su-kuchiki Nov 30, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

you're not for sure LOLZ, there are a bunch of us out there

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60 Marks Continuation

60 Marks Continuationby ~NarutoNinja44

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