dreams, they sit
peaking through open lids-eyes watching
sealed in a long pouch
an empty dream rests
black ink shines upon
its contents
unread and unearthed
silence compounds the
air between, kisses
never tasted, from
mouths never wasted
they walk past daily
fingers touching, eyes
purposefully avoiding
**** tear, it's there
she waits, collects dust
and creates for
an empty pouch
that keeps a dream

three letters

that don't really mean anything

but somehow describe

*exactly how I feel

Poetry isn't about being able to relate.

It's exactly like watching scenes of a movie,
feeling the emotions someone else has create.

Thoughts in purest form,
you've been gifted the ability
to have an understanding of one
another that goes beyond this world.  

(s.m)

Such a beautiful mind
Such a delicate heart
Such a burning soul
What else could I do but fall
What else could I do but dream
Where else could I be than love
Such lovely eyes
Such fragile lips
Such a heavy soul
What else could I do but wish
What else could I do but want
Where else could I be than love
Such heavenly pictures
Such woeful verse
Such mad mad soul
What else could I do but long
What else could I do but cry
Where else could I be than love

so, i trust to easily;
story of my life.

and because of that,
people go and break me.

but i'm not fragile,
i'm quite the opposite.

i have built my walls,
higher than you think.

and i don't love easily too,
but i wear my heart out on my sleeve.

because i care,
care was too much about others.

more than i care about myself,
really.

but i have been in love,
with someone who loved me more than the moon.

i let him in,
he let me in.

for 9 months,
i was happy.

then it ended,
too bad.

that confirmed it for me,
make that wall thicker.

higher,
no one can break it.

and that made me stand out a bit,
because i was strong.

i am smart,
but not a genius.

and i know what i am doing most of this,
so don't wast my time.

then i met another guy,
almost a year after the other guy.

my first love,
done and gone in 9 months.

and i am still recovering,
i still love him, i'll give ya that.

now,
the new guy.

well,
i guess i can't say it's love just yet.

how can it be?
only 1 month.

and then there is a problem with a friend of mine,
he likes me too.

something about me,
how can someone love me, like me, when i don't love myself.

how?
i don't get it.

i see myself as someone who is willing to help others,
care for them.

and i don't see what they see,
pretty, skinny, beautiful.

i see someone who can be a *****,
someone who is ugly, fat and gross.

but oh well,
**** happens.

anyway,
i am 16.

and i am tall,
which i hate.

i have strawberry blonde hair,
that i wish to dye.

and my eyes are the colour of a forrest,
a dying forrest.

my skin in pimply most of the time,
and i wear make up.

i dress to fit in,
not for comfort.

the pain i put myself through,
just to make people think i am happy.
me,
i am just me.

and i think,
that i am not good enough.

for anyone,
no one.

if i am not happy with myself,
I can i expect someone else to be.

i asked him if i was ugly,
he nodded and almost laughed.

no,
he said.

definitely not,
Summer.

definitely not,
echo's through my head.

Hush. . . no one must know
That I am at war with my own mind.
No one must know
That I am fighting a losing battle,
Stuck in a brain that wants me dead.

For how long I can keep it up
Only God knows.
But I will probably be dead
Before anyone even begins to wonder.
But hush. . . no one must know.