[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
neither the Sun nor the Moon no longer
ache to see me fly in their luster.

XXXXXEven now,
part of me
(my hands)
want to
pull out
that glass
she lodged
in her neck.

Pull it out
and drop it
into pieces,
or keep it
in the back seat
of my car.

Where it can
lay a while
and stare at me.
Part of me
(my chest)
is not afraid
of demons.

It is far less
dangerous
than girls with
haphazard knives
and other
monsters.

Chasing Butterflies

I believe in starry nights writing timeless songs
of all the yesterdays and tomorrows yet to come.

I believe in hearing the voice of love in rhyme;
I heard it as a child in my mother's lullabies.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

I believe in playing, absorbing life's full sun,
dancing through the day until the night is done.

I believe in wishing wells never running dry,
granting us the time for a tender, slow goodbye.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

Should I cross to the other side,
don't you worry; don't you cry.

There you'll see where tomorrow I'll be,
forever chasing butterflies...

on excusesthe floor creaked with a pressing tone
and my toes crept sadly toward you.
i heard the sounds
deep inside of your throat-
before they could come out,
before you could think them,
before you could stutter an
apology.

i was up all night and
the thought that, you,
were sleeping somewhere
naked, with your fingers
stretching and your dreams
retching up what you couldn't
admit to awake- was too much for me.
maybe if i
was next to you while you
were dreaming, your body
would admit to me that you
loved me. and you wanted to make
me cum. it had been so long.

you blinked hard, fast
your eyes shaking, dying fish.
i pulled you apart
like the ribbon

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

HollowHollow
Is her chest.

She feels around for emotions;
Sadness and anger is what she has mastered the best.

World moves around her
In top-speed rate,

While she stands still or get maneuvered around
Like a dense grey stone in the rapids of fate.

Erosion shapes her outsides
As a rough unapproachable being;

It builds up the pressure inside
Where she's really quite more softer than what you're seeing.

But don't expect for there to be a heart,
It's already shattered to pieces and is reformed from charred coals;

Even now and again it is crumbling apart;
Life has filled it with so many holes....

Hollow
Is her chest.

She feels no emotion,
Exce

EqualityEquality

Today my rainbow flag
Stands proud next to
The American flag.

Today my flag is counted
Equal. Represents equality
To our nation.

Today the rainbow flag
Represents the gay
Community not as a

Separate any longer
But as a whole. As
My state Minnesota
Legalizes gay marriage.

On The Collapse Of Modern Society"I've never seen so many folks
putting their hopes
in packaged air,
as far as I'm concerned,
and from what I've observed
misplacing material worth while
rushing back and forth
to get nowhere."
my Grandma said,
shaking her head.

BalanceWe tend to see the bad in the good
But not the good in the bad
And it turns out we missed
Just how much good we had
Because life is all ups and downs
As the saying goes
But instead of striving for ups
We just go with the flow
We overlook what’s around us
And only focus within
When it should be about balance
Like a bird in the wind

Too strong, too weakWe were on the verge of wisdom but
So young, still.
As young as the freshly born flowers,
Too weak for winter, too strong for love.
We've believed often that the world
Belonged to us
And we let our emotions take us deep.
We were young lovers,
Young haters,
Young liars,
And young fools.
My mother taught me to block out my tears.
She said that when we start feeling, truly feeling
We will sink into the abyss of madness.
"I will never love. I will never hate," said the golden girl.
"I will never cry. I will never fear," said she.

Prayer to Odin from experienceAl-father Odin! You who hung for 9 days and suffered on the tree of Yggdrasil.
In so you received and gave us the runes and its mysteries.
You who have given up an eye to see and know beyond sight and knowledge.
Allow me to be strong through my own sacrifice and suffering.
So that one day, I can achieve great wisdom through what has happened to me.
Allow my mind to open and to focus on what i must do.
One day, I cannot always criticize what is before me.
From experience, I was angry and put down a faith that i knew was untrue.
Though you may have smacked me upside the head a few times
for my foolishness and ignorance. But I did deserve it a

Within A BoxIt's a prison for the minds of haunted souls
an odd prison, not large enough to contain its prisoners
and yet it encompasses every fiber of their being
in silent, silent spaces.
Haunted souls are searching for the key
there is no key, but they don't know any better
and what harm could it do? Hope is better than nothing
here's an unlocked open door for you.
Little trinkets haunt souls with their questions
and we want answers, but they won't give
anything away. Very smart,
you know the world is ending soon.
(The best of which are only
crude descriptions of the magic
they are looking for.)

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

Evolution of life

child, we dream
teenager, we have ideas
adult, we have a bar code encrusted in the nape

we evolve to finish in the matrix

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More from ~MisfitableGrae

sometimes i feel like a superherothe house across from my bus stop
is a temporary funeral home, but back when the Yankees controlled the town,
it was owned by a family whose daughter rode bareback
twenty-seven miles in the middle of the night to warn her
rebel leader of a lover that the Yankees were coming for him,
the Yankees were coming, the Yankees were coming,
the Yankees are coming, John, get out, quick!

and maybe she tripped and fell,
or her red cape got tangled up in her stirrups and ideals,
because by the time she rode into the neighborhood,
the houses were already on fire, children were already
crying for their mothers, and her John
was already hung up

Caitlincaitlin musgrove is the definition
and prime example of the fact that
the very worst of things happen to the very best of people.

(warning: this is a cancer story.
this is a mother and daughter story.)

fact:
when caitlin grades quizzes, she writes a smiley face
on the top of the paper if you did well, or a
an even bigger smiley face if you didn't.
i didn't know caitlin's mom had cancer until
a couple of months ago
because caitlin's not only strong, but her damnation
might be the fact that she hides everything until she can't anymore.

but maybe that's also because she didn't want to tell me.
and that's understandable.
we're not

Audreydear girl i sit by in english

this is for you.
this is for you because you are
the dreamer of impossible dreams, and the
doer of improbable things.

this is for you, because
you balance on two legs when your life
is spinning out of control
and poetry will always confuse you.

you love fudge brownies like you love
every single guy you like.
for so long, the only thing i knew about you
was the fact that you liked reptiles in second grade.

this is for you, because
you walk around swim meets without pants
and brush your hair in the bathroom before lunch.
you're a mess of contradictions and the most
securest insecure person i have e

you break it, you buy it.1. someone came up to me the other day, and told me
that if i didn't start using capital letters in my poems,
she wouldn't read any more of them.
i just told her in a quiet voice that i was tired of screaming
at people who would never listen.

the thing with me is that i always
read too much into things-
people, newspapers, fucks, metaphors.
and usually i fall in love with things that
could never love me back.

2. i destroy the things that mean
the most to me, and i've never gotten the hang
of writing in stanzas.

most days i walk around reciting numbers
and other people's poetry, but usually
i just count the seconds i spend falli

Madisonlights.
curtains.
action.
no retakes, no redos. only one chance.
this is broadway.
and this is madison bailey's dream.

my friends and i are lost boys and she's our wendy;
we call her mom and she reminds us to all to
"do your homework, adysen,"
"be nice to sydney, audrey."
"you're going to eat more than that, aren't you, grace?"
and when she doesn't understand,
she doesn't stop trying.

madison's a closeted directioner,
and i feel almost bad because she's the kind of person
to hide her opinions if it makes anyone else
feel uncomfortable.

i, on the other hand, am rude and loud mouthed
and i have a tendency of floating off int

stop me if you've heard this one beforei.
there is a man on the corner of my street
who gave me a bottle of bleach
and told me if i drank it, i'd finally feel clean.

but i gave it back to him, and went home to take a shower.

because i am almost happy,
and i do not want to mess that up by
chugging bleach or fingering knives or thinking too much
about that man who turned my insides cold
from inside of his car.

because this has to be happy.
this has to be what happy feels like.
it feels like god gave me a vodka bottle
filled with nature and people and oceans and deserts and seas,
cause see, it feels like i'm drunk on life.

ii.
i have this nervous habit of scratching

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Submitted: December 30, 2012
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Lauryn

by ~MisfitableGrae, Dec 30, 2012, 10:40:09 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

^{lauryn is the best example of the reason
i like writing about people.
because i have waited too long
and now i have forgotten—
because now i do not even remember
if i spelled her name right.

lauren? laurin? lauryn?

here's the three things i remember
about the girl in the back of my spanish class
who showed up late for video rehearsals,
but pronounced español like she'd been speaking it all her life

one-
lauryn is the only person i can
remember asking me to write a poem for her.
the rest of them just sat back and thought
that eventually i would write a poem about them
that they could steal and read.
she is the only one who has ever
wondered if i had better things to write about than her.

two-
her sleeping bag during one of the school bonding trips
was bright yellow with a spongebob face on it.
i would know, i shared a tent with her—she woke me
up in the middle of the night because she thought
she heard something out in the woods,
and "please grace, won't you go with me?"

she carried two flashlights with her—one to light up
the monsters that hid in the dark
and the other to hit those monsters on the head.

i don't know why she wanted me there too, because
lauryn is brave without anyone
telling her she needs to be.

three-
the spring of last year was full of grueling
track practice where the only person i knew on the team
made of sixth graders was lauryn.
we both ended up getting put in discus.
me, because i was not good at anything else,
and her because she knew i'd feel alone without anyone to talk to.

on graduation day, she threw me a smile
and i threw her a half-assed poem, and
i haven't seen her since.

dear lauryn, here's your poem, 221 days late.

the last one was awful, all about a girl
who was afraid to be amazing.
i know now that you will never have this problem.

so here's a better poem.
this one's about a girl i used to know,
who was funny and amazing and adjective-defying,
who never had to be afraid of being amazing
because she already was.}

Laurynby ~MisfitableGrae

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

_{People on Paper 21

if these people on paper poems were an actual person, he or she would be old enough to drink in the united states now.

it's the small things, guys....

no, but seriously, i don't remember much about lauryn. i guess it's because i never really knew her well in the first place. a lot of the people in my grade have gone to school with me since kindergarten, but she only came in sixth grade, so i never got to know her well enough before she left.

our track coach would always say, "NBATBA." or, "Never Be Afraid To Be Amazing", so when she asked for a poem from me that she could hang up on her wall when i became a famous write (oh puhlease), i wrote her a poem about that--or close to that. i don't really remember. i just know that i regretted it the moment i gave it to her.

so here's take two.}

~jplgaara Jan 1, 2013 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Wow. Haha.. It's kind of incredible. Dedicating a poem like this.

~Lacewinged-Beauty Dec 31, 2012 Writer

^{This is very lovely.}

~tiajones Dec 31, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

"i don't know why she wanted me there too, because
lauryn is brave without anyone
telling her she needs to be."
<3

i'm sure she would love this. (:
i know i would if it were about me.

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Lauryn

Laurynby ~MisfitableGrae

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