I'mma just go ahead and put it right out there

I have my 17 poems. :) Attack of the fear and trembles, right kids? Because that means its publishing time. Soon. And a part of me wants every little secret to stay in their neat little corners. As neat as dirt can be. So here's my favourite poem I've ever written. Ever. And a jazzy photo :)

skyscrapersandlights.


Take me back to the bright lights and high hopes, take me back.
Where the skyscrapers soar higher than my dreams
and in sleep I smiled, contented. What a fool!
Take me back to the busy roads and strangers' faces,
where the accents sound better than my dreams,
and in passing I smiled, contented. What a fool!

Take me back, where I dreamed and breathed and smiled easily,
But now I know my hopes and dreams are just as cold as the concrete floor,
just as lonely as the skyscrapers, leaning towards each other but never touching.




Sweetheart, it's just New York, not a fucking massacre. Y fin xx

Shiny

ok after that heart-wrenching two months of extreme emotion, I think I'm clear of the turbulence. As long as I stay far away.

So basically, I know I have to get my arse in gear now with my poetry, so I have brought forwards bucketfuls of whiney teenage angst from the depths. I think most of it isn't too bad, but feel free to correct me. Also, edited two photos, would very much appreciate if you could tell me which is better.

Currently, I think that if emotion was visible it would look like fairy dust, and that mine would be bleeding out all over my hands.






This is a piece of Poetry I wrote during happy days:

Far from the Storms 1/3/2010

Not reflected in the sunshine, but in my heart.

He stretched out fingers to caress my face and golden glows

Slowly saturating souls so soft so, sweet start,

We’ll keep the shadows at bay.

Born on the longest day, child of the sun,

It’s a smile tossing me to and fro on this sea, not a storm,

Golden as the sand, gold beats through my veins

Which are heavy now, as with alchemists treasure and fervour conjoined.

This is the summer of my heart,

Days needless of the dusk,

but still coming and painting the sky a flushed red

Blushing at the thoughts belonging to the night.

Twilight here holds warmth while you

Extricate the meanings from the ebbing sky

Laughing and coasting away on clouds,

Replaced by pillows and covers of dreams

Soft warmth in the night, chased backwards from sleep

By laughing nymphs and thick safety of darkness

Dances with the settled scent of sensual skin

Still, lie still but night presses on down the river.

The dawn reforms and bursts, palmfulls of burnt out daylight

Aged slightly to an alternative hue whilst you’re there.

The summer catches, contagious and lithe, whilst we are

Laughing and coasting away on clouds, far from the storms.

Tuviste mi corazon en tus manos.

"baby, there's a shark in the water, there's something underneath my bed, oh please believe"

The glass heart has shattered, all hail the heartless and the casual. Sacredness is overrated and fairy tales are just stories. Test me, use me, break me, take everything. Go on, there's nothing left, you might as well.

The rain hit the windows like reality hit me, as a head on collision, full internal bleeding. When does youth end? When you decide it has. It ended for me a long time ago, and I'm in a very black mood where the days and years stretch out endlessly before me, a great cacophony of fear, pain, sound and confusion.
The media suggests that children are growing up faster with teen pregnancies, and are being subjected to advertising that makes you feel undesirable without a product, not complete, not whole, not happy.
I'd say that this is a sad truth, and now I have no articulation left in me.

Yes I'm a bit bitter, mainly because the one I gave everything to, held nothing back from, I didn't mean enough to him to keep him mine. This blog is aptly named, its the end of the end of a lot of things.
I think the old heart has finally gone to the knackers yard. There's nothing left

The diamond on your hand,
the one little fingers trembled to find,
then coarse and broken, they fingered the diamond,
in the rough, we are all diamonds in the rough.

It dances in the light, all sight of the blood gone,
amongst ceremonies of white and smiles,
all lies and shows for the audience,
we always want an audience.

In the end, when all is dust,
your diamond will replace the pulse of your heart,
the steady heartbeat now a lonely twinkle,
the lonely star.

Not the best piece I've written, granted, but I am very tired.

Here's a better one:

It's the enigmatic route,
It's being told to shut my thighs,
But I'm the mother of all your vices
and you're opening your flies.

We're not the furthest thing from heaven,
however hard you try,
But still I'm buying a 5 foot 4 coffin
and I'm burying my lies.

If there's no smoke without fire,
It's not love if you don't fight,
and if our winter turns to summer,
I hope you'll see me in a different light.

http://www.thephotoargus.com/inspiration/30-striking-photos-of-urban-decay-beauty/
I found this gorgeous site on my search, here's one from "Felix" :

fin.

The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide

Just been to God Squad Camp and realized some facts I will now share.
A) He doesn't feel the same way I feel about him, his heart never skipped beats,
B) I no longer have any clue what to do with my life
C) I NO LONGER KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE, PANIC!
D) I am a difficult person
etc.

But still, there was a beauty in the way the stars aligned themselves at night, ("hey it looks like a pot!") a sacredness to the warmth and protection from harsh wind, and the precious feeling in your chest when you find one of those "moments".
Life dictates that emotion belongs in the heart, which is not ruled over by the head. Who cares if its irrational? You follow with your lights, please come with me and lets leave glimmers of stardust on the lids of shut-eyed rational sleepers, who shut their eyes to these moments, these emotions that should be, but are perverted and twisted like choking vines.

I'm a dreamer with her head in the clouds and her feet on the ground. Most of the time.

Hasta que muera.

Jeepers creepers, is it that time already? I've been meaning to keep this blog up but as usual things are in shut down.
It's interesting to take note how a perfectly ordinary girl can have crazy, unbelievable dreams. What's even more interesting is that the ordinary girl will be gutted when these dreams pass their sell by date.
My friend said something interesting about her favourite Disney Film, The Little Mermaid, the other day.
She said,
"it's sad when you realize that you are older than Ariel and past the age when any of this could happen to you."
and its true, the one thing we hold onto in impossible situations is time. We still have time left. If all else fails, there's still time. That's why hope is a cruel emotion.On the other hand, I found what verse I want on my gravestone. It's Ecclesiates 7:8, "Better is the end of a thing than the beginning"
I should do something with my poetry, I've been compiling my works recently. Thats where this all ties in, silly little girl with a silly little dream to publish.

And I'll keep these dreams running, until it's too late,
Hasta que muera. xx