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Poetry Plath Reincarnate death-like existance, and the conformation of such In the reckless abandonment of conformity, she is reckless to herself Morality declines, and the sweet song, and summer sunshine isn't enough, to wake her from the blackness and dust of self-hatred The purity of nature, though a seldom beauty amidst thorns of structure exaggerated the faults of my desensitised character eager to please, but on the outside eager to destroy Vile, Angry, Thorny Rose, without mystery, without gentle beauty, without life or youth Faith, such heartwarming, tear striking-faith-shattered-all shattered into a thousand fragments of crusted blood and thrown generously over my entire body, crackling with my every step into the world of shadows of people someday I may wake, someday I may see a future beyond the self-consuming social circles -and the riots will sound- so euphoric the sound will be, when the butterfly wings open to see the one thing he ever had and lost Ever loathed and loved, Me I don’t know where things went wrong, or how. I don’t know why forever seems so long all of a sudden. The vague thought occurs to me, that he’s forgotten what it was that he appreciated in me. He has lost that lust for of what I speak, for dreams and simplicity, stark focused on reality. But I am still a dreamer, a sentiMENTAL romantic. Memories so fond and pure, shared with a listening ear so frantic. The arm that does embrace me, feels light and delicate. The mind that used to chase me is now narcissistically deep self-set. A hurried whisper and a kiss on my neck, words have lost their authenticity. Like a silver sword, sharp and pointed, somehow I’ve become so free. I still don’t know why I am alone, and why he feels my love like a bruise. But time ticks by and I hold on, continuing this silent muse. I am here. I feel on the edge, bad, secretive. What gives me the right to jump into his life……but the keys he gave to me. But I am low in the blackness of a scarcely relieving depression. The clouds are gray, my skin is cold, and I have long since lost myself. What am I doing here? Feeling part of him is still with me as long as I break his trust? Nothing makes sense anymore. The paper is too small to read. Words, once my soul, I can’t understand. I feel tired and useless-on the brink of a big fall. Just waiting to die. Why be it up to me? Why on my head,does indecisive skin cover-needing flesh? I have succumbed to much worse, much sad longing, and desperate looks. I lay here and there, with a beckoning glare, my body full of impatience. Now alone, cold, unwanted, so distant in the same room. You are dying, and my heart begins to mourn. Beating in the lull of sleep, forgetting tears we used to weep, happy faces turn forlorn and my souls kiss you scorn. Morning coffee I sit only inches away from him, but feel completely alone. His eyes meet my own, and he senses my discomfort. I look to the floor, admiring the subtle shine I scrubbed it to, and the old, worn in comfort of aged wood. My mind wanders, as do my eyes, from and to him, but I can’t seem to focus very long. I think about why, then I know it is trust. Until now, the silence had been filled with so many little thoughts and worries, that I hadn’t noticed how long it had been present. Between us there seemed to be a thick wall, of electricity and ice. A sigh manages to escape my lips, And it is the only thing giving dimension to the room. Who knows if it is love, or if it is lust, or if the whole thing is a big fucking mind game, totally self-created. I stare at him now, finally finding the courage to let him read my thoughts. The innocence, the desperation, I am sure are as easy to see as if stamped on my face. He seems to know, to see what it is that I want him to. But instead of helping me through this, he looks away, refusing to be caught in my gaze. I see him as a weak,orphaned kitten, afraid and withdrawn unable to grasp the nurture in front of him. Is it I who hurts you? I seem to ask with a pained look. He does not answer intrigued by the stain of my table, the grain of the wood, anything but the woman who loves and respects him, the woman who knows him and cherishes him, and puts him above all of god's creatures The woman that is right in front of him. Angelica(the two lovers) I apologize for my existance and fight the tears within I pretend that I am perfect while holding inside my sin I walk on a cloud of superficial appearance one glass heart- for my endearment Adorned with a wreath of roses from who... my mind closes My eyes see only him in comparison everyone else is so dim So I walk towards him blindly, hoping he'll love me divinely But I know deep, deep within, that the love I yearn for won't come from him I take off my flowered halo I press it into my heart I go back to the beginning and begin to start But he is no longer waiting dead roses on his pale chest I closer my eyes beside him and imitate his rest I say that I am sorry for leaving him behind but his eyes are as shallow as my own mind Ava Adore The scent of wisdom Like a rose curves the truth under every fold The taste of knowledge on your lips Like vintage wine devoured in sips The beauty beneath us the instinct within in love and intellect even in sin The philosopher dances his charms unfold his actual story less innocent than how its toldthe absence of irrational doubt I hear every word he utters but relate even without A love of books has been hard to find but narrower still is he with the path connected to mind This love This passion This spiritual soar My mentor My heartache My ava adore The Journey When I could be smiling, my lips are tight and I am frowning at the clock that will not move. When I could love, I am alone and hating, looking at myself with disgust and at the world with fear. When I could be having fun instead I am writing lists of numbers, calculating what I think defines me with a cold criticism. When I could be living, I stay here inside this deadened body and numb head that erodes away a little more each day. When I could be happy, I am sad with each thought that confines me to this prison. Sometimes I wonder what life is like outside this little sphere. I wonder what it is like to be truly happy and I try to remember who I once was. Sometimes I wish I were completely dead, so I could start over again and erase this tainted life. I appear to live but am only wishing I could live, and trying to find a source that will sate me, fill me, make me complete. I lay down my heavy head and cover my frozen body, in a hurry to sleep because it is the best part of my day. I dream about life and I sketch out plans for what I would do if I actually found a way. But when I wake up this all vanishes to a mere unattainable afterthought, and I am left with the droning voice of a workout tape and a single dish. I go through the day trying to find a moments peace and I tell myself that if I only had a second of relaxation than I could make it. But that second never comes and I forget I am even here. Life is a routine; with a series of chores I am never as good as I should be at. I had a goal once but I long since betrayed it, replaced it with the miserable calculations, with the mirror, with my scale and an existence without an essence. All I ever wanted in life is in the opposite direction. I have walked so long and far downhill that I don’t think I have the strength to turn around. I think it is too late. But the more I think of the possibility of simply turning around; I find that I am wrong. I have a chance. If I want to, I can do anything. There is nothing to hold me back. I grow sick of where I am standing and picturing another day in this hell forces me to turn around. When I look at what I missed and lost, I want it even more. The fantasy of life after this becomes more and more of a reality as I continue on. My eyes open slowly and I can suddenly see why I was so weak and tired. I was dying and now I am being reborn, given another chance. I begin to read again and learn again and live again, I see faces and people and hear voices that were once so dim and foreign to me. I stumble up the hill with new legs, feeling my way through the darkness. Sometimes I close my eyes again and I trip over a bump, but I don’t fall all the way back down the hill, I remember to open my eyes and look for the light of hope. Denial slackens off and falls away from me, anger and sadness detach and crumble, my once cloudy head becomes clear and wise. What I have dreamed about is in the light I reach for, that each day gets closer and more attainable. All I have to do is continue to walk towards it up into life and to the top where lay balance and peace.