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 Jul 2015 kailasha
Nicole Dawn
It used to be
That I would escape the world
Through sleep

Then the nightmares came
And now
I am not even allowed
That 'luxury'
 Jul 2015 kailasha
Lauren Leal
I said I was okay,
                and another person was deceived.
 Jul 2015 kailasha
Nicole Dawn
Hey
My mouth is smiling
Could someone please let my heart know?
Your eyes are still the same grey-blue
In every way you are still you.
Yet your smile’s not warm, your voice not soft
You’re not sending, my heart aloft.
"I love you, I always will"
Yet looking at you, my heart lies still.

I guess we truly, weren’t meant to be,
Since there nothing between you and me.
Not kindness, nor friendship, nor even lust,
I was right, and all is dust.
 Jul 2015 kailasha
Hannah Bauer
Echo
 Jul 2015 kailasha
Hannah Bauer
The Artist painted
the skies and molded
the stars and galaxies
to His liking.

He sculpted the
mountains out of
clay and dirt.

He wrote music
and taught the birds
to sing His chords.

He carved a place
for the ocean and
poured His love
in its depths.

He made man.
He knit veins to bones.
Skin to ligaments and muscle.
Built a cage to protect our heart
as He knew that it
is so easily broken.
He connected nerves to the brain
and in that brain,
He made so complex of a
system that science is still
baffled by the ***** that
holds the information
of our personality.
Our emotions.
Our passions.

Then.
He did something crazy.
Insane.

He gave man free will.
To love or to hate.
To turn to or against.

And man turned against.
Hid from his Creator.
The One who knows his
inmost being.

And beauty was distorted.

All that is beautiful
is only an
echo.

An echo of the home
that we once knew.
An echo of the original
Artist, the one who
taught us to create.

*All I can do now
is to try and capture
Your beauty
to show to others.
 Jul 2015 kailasha
Nicole Dawn
Why?
 Jul 2015 kailasha
Nicole Dawn
Why is it
That the biggest hearts
Are emptied the fastest?

And the brightest souls
Are blackened
The quickest?
 Jun 2015 kailasha
epictails
Whatever did Sylvia Plath
and Anne Sexton
have in common?

—two great minds
of the literary canon
who drove themselves
to the proverbial crimson

One gassed herself
like a condemned Jew
the other stayed in her car
letting the breathlessness brew
A melody of the swans that
not even Beethoven
could undo

What could have been
in their poetry
that consumed them in
the deepest misery
—like one of a dark soliloquy
or a dying plea?
I've recently become interested in the life of Sylvia Plath. One person told me a poem of mine reminded him of Sylvia Plath's. When I looked her up I learned of her and several other poets ending their lives in the most miserable manner. In fact, I found a list of 100 plus great poets and writers who did it. Even Ernest Hemingway shot himself with his beloved shotgun, to my surprise. A considerable number of them were manic-depressives, sad to say.

Plath's main style of poetry is confessional poetry, some sort of subtype of lyric poetry, I guess. In fact, her and Anne Sexton (who also killed herself together with John Berryman) popularized the style. This is a far-fetched idea but I think their poetry is part of what made them commit suicide. Confessional poetry focuses on the poet's psyche, individuality and even their very own demons. They sure had some dark issues but couple that with writing that leaves anyone bare, open and vulnerable to personal pain and depression could very well drive some people to death. I just realized while reading their stories and even their accomplishments how writing could get very dark. It's such a risky career if not wedged in the right direction. I always thought it would all be rainbows and fields of daisies. But then it goes deeper than that.

And that concludes my little blog entry and research haha. To be honest, confessional poetry is my favorite and most of my poems are of that style. I believe it's so pure and raw but is also the most tasking to write.
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