I see wings that sprout from shoulders,
I see shiny slimy scales,
I see halos hanging over heads
and scary monsters' tails.
I see shining lights and radiance
and evil demon claws,
but in the end I see both good and evil
in us all.
BlinkDo the eyes of a hero have to work?
Do the legs of a hero have to work?
Does the voice of a hero have to work?
Or is she a hero?
When she wakes, what will she see?
If she wakes, will she see? Will she?
If she wakes will she move?
Will she speak like a hero?
While she's asleep does she hear those who wake and weep,
who wish to sleep, can't bear to keep her sleeping?
While she's asleep, does she fear my being near so she can hear me,
hear that she's a hero?
Can she hear me? So she knows she's near me?
"Goodbye"s "Hello"s but can she hear me, "Happy New Year", but can she hear me, crystal clear, me?
Yes, another year she's sleeping here, she's sound and still, another year she's still sleeping.
Does she know I'm scared,
or is she unaware, just laying there waiting to share the dreams she's dreamt so far, so fair,
like Snow White's skin, sleeping, hiding from Snow White's Seven Deadly Sins?
Would she prefer to be the princess who will wake, or does she know, she is a hero?
And when she wak
So She Adopted (slam poem)The baby was blue.
The baby was the only thing she had to hold onto
the keystone that she needed when her life collapsed into itself
because her baby daddy left her lonely crying to herself
just when she'd finished getting through herself
because she knew, she could not give birth.
And she can't watch the movie "UP" because it reminds her,
she can't mother, or so said the doctor,
but, she said, she'd find out how to be a mother, somehow, be a mother.
So she adopted.
And although the baby wasn't hers by birth
she'd tried before, embedded in her mind, before the baby,
and she can't admit she calls herself a tomb
and is afraid of her own womb
she hides the history but when she's all alone inside a room
it bubbles up just like a blister
holding back the screams of the baby's foster brothers and sisters
who never made it past the first trimester.
And although the baby wasn't hers by birth
she felt like it was living proof
that she had not committed murder,
what she had considered murder
The Poem about Diamonds"I accidentally fell in love," I said.
I went on to explain myself.
I told the story
the story that I read to myself at night,
the song that I sing in the shower,
of how I dug through the garden of my soul
and unearthed pure diamonds
already cut and ready for me to wear as jewelry-
as evidence that yes,
I really am this happy.
And so went the story of how I "accidentally" fell in love.
And it was a mistake.
I didn't mean for it to happen.
But the best things in life happen by accident.
AlwaysIn a crescendo of notes
flowing up and down
black and white keys,
a river runs upwards
to caress canopies,
flow from the mouth
with singing bells
that float through currents
up to meet the crest
where leaves embrace intangible heaven.
All products of
the threads that interweave
the nylon strings that glow of
pulsing earth with rhythm,
UntitledIt is the worst way to go...
and yet, we subject entire worlds
to such... ambiguity.
Wiped, but not wiped out,
not in an incident.
There is no tragedy,
only a slow fade to nothingness.
And all of the histories,
the timelines that were truly, truly real,
the places that you could feel,
That one joke that was said,
that one sentence you couldn't get over.
They became a dream.
And so one day they became harder to reach.
But not unreachable.
Winter SerpentThe winged serpent in the snow
will bite you with an icy glare
because your soul, the serpent knows;
a burning star resides inside.
It swallows stellar bodies whole
with frozen jaws opening wide,
and empty coldness that it stole,
it tries to fill with warmer air.
Why We Let GoA second chance is not an act of mercy
but a belief
that the human soul
can do better.
When I hold your life
in the palms of my hands
do not make me clench
them into fists-
you have cracked your heart
and I will not clean up
and the cold dark dust
at the end of every disaster.
I hope you need those wings to flyI can't help but to feel
that I took the fall
because I could take the fall.
I am still golden.
Maybe you needed a crutch.
You couldn't have made it this far without it.
I've come so far
and I've grown so much,
learning how to be happy with humanity's abstract concepts.
But I imagine you flying with invisible wings
and I wonder why I don't have wings
when I've worked so hard and so long to get them.
Wasn't it my goal to fly?
If you didn't have those wings, I'd imagine that you'd plummet.
But I'm so afraid
that if you couldn't fly
you would still be able to walk.
Teenager FactoryEmpathy is an art, and like all forms of creativity
I have to unleash it- I need it,
as I'm sitting in the corner
talking about creative robots,
fingers, colors, names
I need to know, why
why do you come over and ask if I'm okay?
Why do you care that I'm not talking to everyone?
Why can't you read my emotions?
Why can't you tell that I'm happy.
Empathy is a skill, and like all forms of skill,
it must be trained,
but as we charge through the darkest storms
we learn how to spot others. So,
why does it feel like you
are a man-made machine?
Do you think about these things?
Why are you programmed to state the hour,
and why are coded patterns of statements and questions
emanating from your presence?
Why does it feel as if my world is gone,
as I swallow the taste of iron
to prevent it from slipping down my mouth
where conveyor belts wait.
Empathy is a word, and like all words,
it is insignificant.
Confessions of a BorderlineHer gaze is the most peculiar thing,
she can't hold still for anyone.
One minute, it's rosewater delicate
and the next - the fire of a Gatling gun.
She's exactly what occurs when sugar and salt
are mixed in a chemical reaction.
Have you seen the way she walks the die?
Oh, but it's such an attraction!
You may feast your eyes, but you'd better not touch,
in fact, you should never go near her.
But hide away and lock your doors
and teach the kids to fear her!
When she gets upset over the littlest thing,
she gets all suicidal
(though you really should see her when she gets mad
she's full-blown homicidal).
When it comes to sanity (or lack thereof),
she's Harley's fiercest rival.
Can't calm her nerves to live her dream
then she stuffs up every recital.
She very hardly discerns her feelings,
she may hate you but she'll need you to live.
But she's barely a person, so it's perfectly fine
to use her till you've all she can give!
And you can't fall in love with a girl like her
(unless, of course,
DevourOh I'm well aware of my own limitations,
Unlike you, I do not quite have the talent.
I cannot warp the minds of the young and malleable,
I cannot make them believe I am greater than I am.
I am simply, not like you...
But if I were to eat you, I wonder.
Would I too experience such glory?
If I were to devour your flesh,
And drink your soul as if it were a fine wine.
Would I too become great?
Let us find out you and I;
And I'll thank you in advance, for the lovely meal!
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
Losing ItI'm kind of going crazy,
I'm caught inside my mad mind.
Ten different things weigh me down, but I'm still fine!
The words are coming slowly, my mind is on a slur.
I can't string this poem, because the brain is on a blur!
And I get so frustrated, I tear away at skin;
The hair is falling down and the voices make a din!
I wanna shut them out, but I can't find a key,
So all that I can do is simply shut away the ME.
Back BiteIf you think that you can beat me with your fakery,
I won't let you break or put me down; I'm a landmine!
And if you think that you can ever silence this deal,
Then sew your lips shut, while I show you what's real!
You live inside your fairytale world,
And you're ever right.
Think that you can cloud us with this fantasy?
I will show you venom and I will show you poison,
I will spit you verse that is as raw as its poignant
So why don't you sit back, arms flat, relax;
Let a new man take control of the apex!
And if you think that you can touch with flower-kissed verses,
I will take your dreams and I'll turn them into curses;
Don't think that you can fake a writer who's real,
Or I might have to show you how the real dark feels!
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”
Why do this love this web comic, you ask?
Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,
or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.
It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)
or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)
Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)
but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)
We really do love Sollux’s lisp,
and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)
Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,
it's also Rose's amazing magic.
How about when Dave starts rapping
and Jade Harley begins napping?
We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,
and how John is such an adorable guy.
Or maybe it’s with all the sprites
or how prospit glows bright.
Can’t forget about Derse’s darkness
or Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)
There’s also this thing with Tav and stairs
which he t