Tonight, my heart
Sounds like a thousand soldiers
Marching off to their deaths
Through fields of flowers;
Crushing any hope that might have bloomed,
Despite this dismal setting.
I am done practicing patience
At the expense of regretting every day of my life.
Tonight, spineless or not
I am going to be gutted like a fish;
Cut open and used for other people’s gains.
So don’t tell me to be quiet -
I am going to scream as you cut me,
So that you never forget that you ruined
What was once so close to being unbroken
But now sleeps with eyes open and heart shut to hope, safety,
And family.
I remember when
they told me the world
was my oyster. Lies.
The Lady of Casterly Rock;
A Queen;
Her eyes glittered with the possibilities -
The power her father denied her,
The love no one but her brother ever showed her.
Admiration; and the chance to make her deceased mother proud.
A Whore
She spat - not even weeks into their marriage.
A loveless commitment plagued by infidelity.
By amorality. By death - both his love’s,
And his own.
A Mother;
She sat beside her son on the throne,
She wouldn’t have to pretend anymore,
And she loved her children - she loved them,
She loved them, so much,
She loved him;
But again, love was not enough.
A Sadist;
She watched his twisted acts mount;
His cowardice, his impotence obvious,
His sickness spreading and sure.
She loved him, she loved them;
She couldn’t control them at all.
A Void;
She loved too much, but it was never enough.
And then - then, she could not love.
She could not love at all.
Not her brother. Not her lover.
Not her children. Not him.
She could not love herself
For she could not seem to win.
A Failure;
So the world deduced;
A cold-hearted, weak, foolish failure.
An incestuous deviant, an infidelity ridden wife.
A poor mother. A person of poor character.
Of the richest, Lannister by birth,
She was the poorest of them all.
Was she a Lannister at all?
A Human;
She weeped but they did not see;
She drank to kill the need to hang
Her dainty little neck, in her pretty girlish clothes,
Because death wasn’t very lady-like;
She never had control, and she watched one by one
As she came to have nothing.
Nothing at all.
“You win or you die,” She said, “There is no middle ground.”
I hand you a flower,
You ask me “Why?”
“We’re supposed to give flowers
To those we love
Who’ve died.”
The Two Fools
We fell in love with those who needed it most,
Drowning in oceans of their own creation
And in an effort to save them
Have nearly drown ourselves
That is a lie.
We have both drowned, many times over
And yet somehow we are still here,
Even if it is solely for those we love
You say we stare into the sun,
Like flower we reach towards the light
That is slowly burning us.
The only water we have comes from each other.
Pathetic? Hardly.
To survive the kind of love we have felt
Takes the heart of a lion, the patience of a saint
And a little help from the gods.
But what happens when my watering can cannot quenches you
And you have no water to offer me?
Will we burn together, cursed by the love
That should have saved us from ourselves?
The love we have deep in our hearts
Is stronger than a thousand bulls,
And we, denser than a ton of steel,
Refuse to acknowledge that even bulls die of old age.
It is a fact
That new babies will rob their parents
Of about four to seven hundred hours of sleep
In the first year of their life.
How many first years have we been through by now?
Take my advice—find someone you love, get a seed
And plant it on level terrain:
You will break your back and your heart
Trying to stretch others to your level.
In response to Erika’s poem (X)
Sam wrote a poem in response to mine and it’s so beautiful and they go great together and isudhfksuhfdisfd. I love this girl to death. <3
Nightmarish Nostalgia;
I have seen oceans stretching like canvas
Over picturesque horizons
But I have never delved below the surface;
Never drowned in suffering the way you are now.
That is a lie.
If there is one fool who fell too deeply
In love with a sun as fake as the painted sky
One who sympathizes with your plight - it is I.
I know what it is like
to stare into the sun longingly,
to feel the warmth tickle your skin -
to welcome the cancer in exchange for the light.
It is pathetic the way we allow
Our eyes to gaze upon the very things that blind us;
Ironic how the things that light up our worlds
also horrificly clouds our judgement.
I know what it is like
to risk life and limb, inspired by false prophecy
That your love is invincible and that water
Is a safe road to walk on.
It is a fact
That Jesus was still nailed to the cross.
Blood stained palms forever outward stretched
seeking salvation from the sun that baked him where he stood.
Take my advice - find someone you love, get a seed,
and plant it on level terrain:
For any love founded on less than equal ground
Is bound to be violently uprooted.
I loved the moon
Too late;
It is already revolving
Around something
Much more important
Than me.
She’s small,
But her slender body remains strong.
On the surface she is green with envy,
But at the core she is well rooted in her beliefs, herself.
She knows her way around this ground.
Always open to absorb the world around her.
She will never grow to be as tall as the trees,
Or as far as the weeds,
But she will bloom one day soon;
She will be beautiful.
My curtain call curtails the suffering
The same way it is humane to put down
an animal who has been extensively abused.
I am bruised; Outside and in.
My interior turmoil seeping to the surface
In shades of yellow, blue, purple.
Sporadic lines, desperate fingernails
Seeking to release the tension building within.
Skin the color of fine porcelain,
It is a poor thing, the way I am constantly cracking
Under the pressure of a world I am not molded for.
War in my mind, war in my soul;
“Wars are waged with guns,” they said,
Perhaps I haven’t reached that point yet.
Forget me if I disappear;
Out of sight, out of mind,
Forgive me.
To be or not to be -
The answer to that remains simple;
Crippled by my own pre-disposed
Self-destructive tendencies.
The true question remains:
Will it be a tragedy or comedy?
A playwright’s mighty sword is his pen
But I find knives more effective.
Change in Heart;
When a lover moves in,
They padlock the door behind them,
And light a fire to warm the place up.
They paint over convictions etched into
The toughened, thick walls:
Walls perfect to keep in, and echo, the things they say.
The more settled in they get, the more they change:
Rearrange the furniture, change the curtains, remodel the floors –
Pulling, plank by plank;
Uprooting your foundation.
Love, you have hung red string, following
Each plane you did not catch, from where you are,
To where I am:
The distance never felt so tangible.
But look at all those strings,
Weaving a bond so strong,
It can weather any challenge;
No mile number could tattered it,
Nor days till seeing you fray its edges.
I am sure sometimes you will leave the seat up,
Or the lights on, running up the electric in my soul,
But that is manageable,
For there is no replacement for the vacancy,
Nothing that makes love,
Feel like home,
Quite like you.
