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
cause her would-be baby daddy left her lonely crying to herself
just when she'd finished getting through herself
because she knew.
She can't give birth.
And she can't watch the movie "UP" because it would remind 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 she's 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 conside
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.
Innocence LostHe called me.
Asked me to come over.
I run down the hill.
Go up a strangers driveway.
Jump over a fence.
Climb down a tree.
Enter the house through the back door.
He erases my number from the phone.
So no one will ever know he called me.
In his room he kisses me.
Lying on his bed there are more kisses.
Then he asked the question.
I said no.
He asked again.
I said no.
He continued to ask.
I said no.
Finally I quit arguing to shut him up.
On the floor.
Neon pink underwear.
On the floor.
Union Bay blue, yellow, brown striped shirt.
On the floor.
I lie naked on his bed.
He unzips his pants.
I turn my head away.
Not wanting to look.
Then the pain.
Pain you never forget.
I remember how much it hurt.
I told him.
I do not know.
I will never know.
I am just glad.
I look to the right.
I see the clock on his night stand.
Bright red letters scream at me.
I need to go.
I get up and get dressed.
His parents w
Oh art thief, oh art thiefOh art thief, oh art thief
How you’ve brought us all to grief.
How can you be unashamed?
When you stole from people unnamed
How you think about your own fame
Just like others like you playing that game
How you feed off us
How you live on others success
How can you sleep at nights,
Knowing you infringed other’s rights?
How can you enjoy this fame,
Knowing it rightfully belongs to another name?
Do we also carry the blame
That we blindly follow someone’s claim?
To the people that believe everything humans say
To you I say good day
We must always question what we are told
Or we can start to be controlled
By vicious lies and such
To me that is just too much
There is nothing more devastating
Than losing a loved one
Knowing that you will never
Hear their voice again
Or feel their touch, or see them smile
It's heart breaking
Time is a powerful thing
One that is forever
Time takes everything
And makes it it's own
They say that time
Heals all wounds
Time only created more scars
As the ones that it caused before
Begin to heal
To lose a loved one
Is a tragedy all in its own
But don't be sad
You will see them again
Because while time takes everything it can
Will take you too.
Time takes everything
And eventually it even takes you.
Random Homestuck Troll Character Facts(1)Aradia Megido once finished "The song that never ends".
(2)Tavros Nitram can set ants on fire with a magnifying glass. At night.
(3)Time waits for no man, unless that man is Sollux Captor.
(4)Godzilla is a Japanese rendition of Karkat Vantas's first visit to Tokyo.
(5)Nepeta Leijon does not hunt because the word hunting implies the possibility of failure. Nepeta Leijon goes killing.
(6)Kanaya Maryam does not need to "style" her hair. It lays perfectly in place out of sheer terror.
(7)Terezi Pyrope can taste lies.
(8)Behind every successful man, there is a woman. Behind every dead man, there is Vriska Serket.
(9)TNT was originally made by Equius Zahhak to help indigestion.
(10)"Let the bodies hit the floor" was originally written to be Gamzee Makara's theme song.
(11)When you say "no one is perfect", Eridan Ampora takes this as a personal insult.
(12)Contrary to popular belief, the Titanic didn't hit an iceberg. The ship was off course and accidentally ran into Feferi Peixes while sh
Daddy's PoemHer hair was up in a pony tail,
her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
and she couldn't wait to go.
But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone.
But she was not afraid; she knew just what to say. What to tell her classmates of why he wasn't there today.
But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school
eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees;
a dad who never calls.
There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats
One by one the teacher called a student from the class. To introduce their daddy, as seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
for a man who wasn't there.
"Where's her daddy at?"
she heard a boy
don't spend your days
with lifeless, dreary stone
don't linger where
blood was once spilt
i am not
in either place
i stay with
GraffitiI am graffiti on a wall
Some people admired me
They said I was a work of art
I was a colorful design
making a statement in this world
I hold a hidden message
Only the artist understands
Graffiti is an art
But some people cant see it
They think it is a mess
So they critisize me
Point out that I'm a disgrace
And with out taking one second
To try to understand
They painted over me
In black and white
With what they think I should be
It's sadIt's sad,
How people lock themselves up,
In their own little world.
We lie to ourselves,
Say that everything's alright,
We wear the mask,
And act the part,
And say it's all part of the show.
We live in boxes,
See in darkness,
And speak in lies.
I't's our world
That we live in,
Why should it change?
UglyMy eyebrows may not be perfectly arched,
My lips might look a little too parched,
My eyes could hold a tad too much fear,
My looks may not land me a modeling career,
My clothing sometimes doesnt follow the trend,
My personality, you may not comprehend,
My fingernail polish might slightly be chipped,
My life may not follow the teenager script,
My skin tone may seem a little too pale,
My habits might make me appear rather frail,
However, Id rather be ugly through and through,
If perfect meant I was just like you.