Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Oct 2013 Jaymisun Kearney
lydia
“I never raised you to be afraid of love,”
Was what my mother told me as I cried into the phone.
You don’t really notice you’re cynical or broken till one day
You realize you can’t love somebody the way they deserve to be loved.
I don’t know if it was one hit that sank me,
One giant ice burg that brought me down;
Or if it was just years of small splinters,
Tearing me away from the inside.
When I look at you it feels right.
95% of the time I’m sure I’m wrong,
So this must be right, right?
I know we’re not on the playground anymore
And I can’t chase you, but if you ride around
On this merry-go-round with me I promise,
It’ll be worth it.
I’ve stopped sending you songs because they
Don’t mean the same to you as they do to me.
But that’s okay, I’m beginning to understand that
I don’t need you here for things to be beautiful.
I know we’re not on a playground. But you’re still it.
I wondered why I didn't find the sunshine,
in the sky, but in your hips
And why I couldn't ******* feelings,
anywhere but your lips,

I asked myself why I held you,
as if you'd float away,
why I always glanced behind me
unsure if you would stay.

I danced your shadowed shoreline,
like a kite without a string,
a ship without an anchor
a crown without a king

You told me not to worry,
you told me I'd be fine
you told me you'd protect me,
but we ran out of time.

I told you I would leave you,
I told you I'd get scared,
for I myself am broken
And I fear I cannot be repaired.

And you were such a wonder
the way you bent without a cause
and buried me beside you
reactions without pause,

We walked on ice together,
to often we fell in,
you'd pull me down beneath you,
our love was wearing thin

And now beside the rubble,
I should of known it from the start,
we never the grand production
just a piece of broken art

A boy of failed promises,
a girl of untuned strings
In trying to build a home on solid ground,
we forgot about our wings.
 Oct 2013 Jaymisun Kearney
AngelQ
She
She wears makeup for fear that the scares on the inside will soon be seen from the outside.

The scares from the wounds caused by the words and actions of people she thought cared for her but instead just took another stab at her.

Plunging the knife so deep inside that she started to not even feel the pain anymore.
Started to wonder if there was anyone even inside anymore, or if she was just a shell of a person sent here to be used and tossed aside.

She started believing this,
For believing it was better in her eyes then facing the truth that this world is filled with people who have lost the kindness and compassion she knows we are all born with.
That kindness and compassion that is stolen away by this harsh world.

She lives everyday facing the reality that this is her life, accepting it as home.
Born and brewing on the road
A choice on me has been bestowed
To grant one side my presence there
Take time to choose; contrast, compare.

Offers, one side, an easy life
Let's sing all day, and play the fife!
The other, it seems, is harder still,
Yet full of life; a forest's trill.

"Come here!" one says, "there's much to do!"
"Have fear!" one says, "it's brutal too!"
"It's crueler there," says one, in rebuttal.
"It's cruel, but fair," one says with a scuttle.

Forever struck, undecided on the road
For which side is better; my humble abode?
Made soon is this choice, for ahead comes upon
Two lights on the hill, like a double edged dawn

Quick like a deer, I unfold into action.
Be part of the woods? Or a slave unto fashion?
To the judgement of others, their eyes on my back?
Or the home of the hunters, to survive their attack?
To the glistening great cities with the smog thickened air?
Or the rolling green trees, all alone in despair?

So towards the lights I will run, on the road I will ride.
For I will always remain with one foot on each side.
The sun hasn't risen yet
the black hatchback opens up on the Lee Bridge
in the rear view mirror the city shrinks minuscule
as I forge forward at a steady pace of fifty
No matter where My destination is
the reason is always the same
escape
like a thief in the night
trying to put some distance between me, myself, and I
daydreaming ceaselessly as traffic flows on every side
the front tire has a slow puncture
the door panel barely hanging on
in much need of an oil change
driving alone below the aspersions cast by unwanted eyes
as the rain slowly comes down to blind and cleanse
I never got to say half of the things I wanted
and I know that I won't write half of the words inside me
so I'm impatient
laying on the horn
and flipping old ladies on their way to church the bird
faces not seen enough to be memorized
hands not felt
laughter never shared
these things haunt me
holding their flickering candles to the bottom of my feet
Driven now
the sun hasn't come up yet
which is good
because before it does
I have some things that I need to do
Emotions take me physical
Making me their slave
They trick me
Into a false reality
Consuming my sanity
They seize my control
I am held captive
With an illusion that is seeping through
And with a slight glance
I see them inside,
I am a puppet
Lifeless with eyes,
Eyes that gaze over
Them pulling strings
Once thought mine
Now torn to shreds
I start to fail,
And as I quiver
I stay quiet
This control over me
Has me still
But staring,
I plead silently
Just let me run away
Into thoughts once alive
But in reality
I am perishing
In lifeless thoughts
Filled with poison
That I am not awake
Only just a waste
Loving you is how the world turns
How the world burns and the willows weep.
What i know
is what the Love yearns
How the love burns more me than
Me Burns.
The stones you keep -
you cannot.
i know,
for i have been in the wind
that won't stop.
Choose your anvil from the fray
and be laid
to such
rest -
That a barter
of Our High Noon
is South of our
Soft June

if nothing else...

Where the Winter
is more
thick
than a thin knick
to a fat vein.
Be more claimed
than my average " Have Me ! "
Get at me
and abandon the  
rude clues
to the whimsy
of Men


Only
the Night"s bitter fabric
of " Almost Love "
and the
rest
a jewel
for the woman
that would
have it.
and The Hell
That would
do the
same.
Next page