[x]

I.Am.Not.An.ArtistI am not an artist
I do not believe I am someone with a creative mind
someone who can make something so bland into something so magnificent
I am not that
I will never be that
I see art and the world it is in
and I see nothing
I see no beauty
no creation
just shapes and colors
I do not see the beauty someone has created
or the depth and emotion that is hidden between the lines
I don’t see how someone can see so much within so little
to be able to create a life by just a few lines
and to be able to recreate something with their minds
I wish I could be able to do this
just a little of this
but I am not an artist
I am my own person

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

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.

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

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……..”

All-Seeing EyeAll-Seeing Eye

We’re not moving, but He is……

Smoker's EpiphanySlipping through a puff of smoke
exaggerated wisps slipping through my subconscious
and I am emptier than before, less than I was
something subtle and hearty

Softened
smoothened and soothing
it's almost relief

almost.

Equestrian StormEquestrian Storm

I was walking through Canterlot,
as rain beat my plot.
I just didn’t feel right,
before it came into my sight.

The princess of the night,
alone and broken.
What a pitiful sight,
out of my slump, twas awoken.

“Princess, why are you here why are you crying?”

“Because nopony loves our night, I would be better off dying!”

“No Luna no, now that you shouldn’t say!”

“And why ever not, what reason hath you that I should stay?”

“Celestia for one, your sister whom you love.”

“Right sure, the sister from whom to the moon I was shoved.”

“Lu

DilemmaToday in class
You moved to sit beside me
And my heart missed
A beat

Your friends followed,
All sitting nearby
And I sat in silence
Afraid of being judged

The presentation started
And I tried not to look at you
But instead peeked
From the corners of my eyes

The presenters spoke
And I tried to focus
On the droning voice
But you invaded my thoughts

What we had talked about last night,
What I should say to you,
How I should instigate the conversation,
If we were to have one at all

I peek over
And you look miserable
Sick, I remember,
And feel an instant sympathy

Time passes
And fear of being judged
By those around me
Keeps me silent

You

All Systems are Shutting DownI shut down
Kicking everyone out
I sit alone inside myself, while other pieces of me close the gates around my heart
And lock the door to my brain
I refuse to let anyone in; I pretend I’m not home
“Please leave your message after the beep…”
Beep.
“Where are you?”
I don’t know.
“Are you okay?”
I don’t know.
“When are you gonna let me in?”
I don’t know.

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.

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.

a small dosage per daysorrow makes its way into my cup of tea every morning
and 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 itself to the sugar's particles,
which in return races through my veins
and scatters in my blood,

making an entire day feel ruined
already.

Never open the window... Never open the window...

I see you're here.

Pay attention, don't fall. It's dark.

What? No, I don't want to light up the room. Yeah, nor open the window. It's useless.
And actually, the only light I need...
...is that one that is so distant for me.

She asked me why I was saying that.
But best of all, I knew that actually she didn't care
I saw too much faces ready to wipe away all my tears and all my fears
But best of all, I know that actually they didn't care.

Seems like destiny put me in this world to help others.
Oh, I'm tired, but I won't show you.
it has been four years, right?
Four years that I'm holding all of you on my shoul

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The Tornado HeartsThe silent whispers linger from ear to mind to heart.
The inevitable hovers, hungry from the start.
Gentle eye catches gentle eye while glances exchange.
Quickly, features of the face happily rearrange.

From lonely nights and lonely beds to warm and tucked sheets,
Pressed together are the spaces where barren skin meets.
We're echoing the words we thought we would never mean;
We never keep the promises we make at sixteen

When tears are wiped away by a gentle, sweeping touch,
When smiles upon smiles can never show too much.
The tornado hearts stop spinning, slower winds pass by;
We thought the storm was over, but tis only the eye.

This is a sicknessThis is a sickness, and this is a disease.

It crawls beneath your skin, scratching at its surface- begging and screaming to be free. It strikes, violently, again and again and again until it's pleased. This is a yearning and a hunger and a deathbed awaiting. It's a slow deterioration of something that wasn't pretty to being with.

And it gets worse. Much worse.

Every second of every hour, it whispers. Loudly, threateningly, until those whispers turn into shrill screams. It burns within your lungs and it scratches at your throat. It's weathering your smile; It's killing you.

The damage has been done and the consequences remain. It only gets

FenceEdgeVergeI'm on the fence of life and death
I do not want to live, yet I do not want to die.
And why?
Why.

I'm on the verge of going to and not wanting to
I need it, but it's not good for me.
So very not good.
So?

I'm on the edge of never and maybe
That will never happen; maybe it will.
Maybe Maybe
Maybe.

Secret I.I feel like each day
I'm becoming less and less
important to you.

Here it comes, again.Here it comes, again. Here comes the long nights with swollen eyes, and tear-soaked pillows. Here comes the echoes that never silence, and the silence that always echoes. Here comes the crawling skin, and the blood rushing to escape. Here comes the loneliness, the agony, and the thirst never quenched. Here comes the pain, the raging, searing pain.

There walks the person who'll never love you back, running in circles, but never to you. There reads the words thrown at your face when you were younger, the taunts you still shrug about; the names you'll never forget. There passes the best friend you thought you'd never lose, the one who'd promise

I never could write.To the person clutching my spine, rustling my wings, and bubbling with disappointment, I sincerely apologize:
I never could write you something beautiful.

I'm tearing my wits out- striking keys and shaving pencil led. Words come out, but nothing deeper than bleached trees. Every syllable written is incomprehensible- inhuman, even. It's a jumble of lines and a few button smashes, nothing remotely as literate and eloquent as I'd like.

(I wasn't born with a talent for trees.)

Every sentence I build has conjunctions eager to silence me: and and and. or or or. but. Options, similarities, restrictions, consequence. It's so repetitive, it's trag

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[x]

Your Green

by ~thesleeplessgo, Feb 4, 2012, 3:14:57 AM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

I never understood the hype about green eyes. They're green, isn't that it? I never understood why people would melt at the sight of them, as if they saw more than eyes, but emeralds- pristine, perfectly cut, and shining. But, they're just eyes. Green eyes.

I have to admit, though, the moment I saw your eyes... I knew. Call it whatever you will, cliche even, but your eyes are magic. They're more than just eyes, they're forests. I could wander off into them, and end up where the trees are at least a hundred feet tall, with canopies so lush, I could forget the color of the sky.

( I'm starting to think that stardust is green. Somewhere, when a star explodes, there has to be green lights spreading throughout every inch of the universe. Not an atom in the world wouldn't be blanketed in green, at least for a moment. I'm always too preoccupied staring into your eyes to notice, either way. )

I sit here and try to think what colour your eyes most resemble. All these fancily named hues make me dizzy. What I think is green is apparently army, or sage, or cucumber. Though, I can never seem to find the right one; there isn't a green quite like the shades of your eyes.

Your Greenby ~thesleeplessgo

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

I've never liked a boy with green eyes, but I have liked fiction.

*KaitForest Feb 11, 2012 Writer

"( I'm starting to think that stardust is green. Somewhere, when a star explodes, there has to be green lights spreading throughout every inch of the universe. Not an atom in the world wouldn't be blanketed in green, at least for a moment. I'm always too preoccupied staring into your eyes to notice, either way. )"

i very much love that

and this

(my eyes are green)

~thesleeplessgo Feb 11, 2012

Thank you very much! And, aww, that's lovely

I was always jealous of green eyes T^T and Grey~

*KaitForest Feb 11, 2012 Writer

i was always jealous of hazel
(and grey to, so nice)
no problem!

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