They want me to come to them,
they miss me they say,
they’ll take care of me they say.
These ghosts try to bribe me with empty promises and voided checks.
An illusion of happiness and peace
if i only give up the life i’m currently living
and return to God
They have no idea how ive changed.
How clearly i can see now.
Lady justice might be blind
but i dont have to be,
impartial justice doesnt exist with ghosts, never has and it never will.
These ghosts no longer talk to me,
i’ve strayed to far off the narrow road. Shunned for wanting to live a life that is my own,
for wanting to love someone who is apart of the world.
For so many things that i have done
and that i continue to do
and none of them are even evil!
Not to the living at least.
The memories of the years i devoted haunt me.
I had tried so hard,
so very very hard to prove my worth.
To show them i could be a loyal follower of christ as well,
the ghosts didnt care,
it didnt matter how much i was struggling,
how close to the edge i was,
the traumas ive been through.
I didnt pray enough,
i didnt throw my burden solely upon god,
i didnt go out and preach the word of god enough
Instead i had turned to the world for help,
i had turned towards people who’s job was to help me not want to die,
to help me work through my problems.
I had turned my back on the ghosts.
And every-time i had tried to return to them
they only made it harder for me to get into paradise.
And after all they had done,
after being labeled a deserter
and being shunned,
i still miss them.
I sometimes still wish i could go back
Making the choice to leave the organization easy.
Not returning to God is the hard part.

it was too early to let go,
but was the sky—a hodgepodge of red, orange, and blue—
weeping for our permanent parting?
we were drowned in a swathe of starlight black
as if the moonlight cloaked us with invisible fabric?
we were there, i knew, but even my loudest shouts
was no match for your indifference.
our eyes, untrammeled even by the tempestuous winds,
gazing like rapiers through skin,
only vacillated by my innermost deluge.

in the nightfall, i see you outshining the sun,
but what am i then, a rock, a moon in the morning sky?
your gaze, resolute and unfaltering,
like a soldier facing a barrage of mercenaries.
i reach for you in my haze of thoughts,
only to be impeded by my wistful diffidence.
the mere thought of you electrify me—
a robot begging for every inch of shock.
you are my ardor through which my soul is replete,
a sharp pang as i wake up from my nocturnal reverie.

i am a monolith weathered by the voyage of time,
and in my days, crumble into specks of dust.
i'll get to you soon, however far it may be—
the earth, the sun—just as you breathe me in,
and only then will i truly leave.

that’s how it feels, then
to love and be loved and lose it-
to experience the highest feeling,

to fall so hard you lose every breath, to be so hurt you feel certain you’ll die

i can’t do this
i can’t bear this
it’s too little and not that long ago it was so... so much more

so much more than hollow eyelids and numbing cello chords

in this moment i know, i believe i’ll never be fine again
in this moment i’m the rawest i’ve ever been
my screams and sobs are the ugliest sounds

i hope you never have to hear desperation leaving your mouth

but I do hope you get to experience the kind of love that has the power to wreck you

just remember to pray it doesn’t

Sometimes, I am a paper girl.
I look in the mirror
To judge my blotches and creases-
I am a pale, thin tissue
That bows to the howling wind
Transparent for anyone who cares enough to look.

If you like pretty pictures, I'm the one for you-
A roll of film scratching laughs
On curious cinema screens
That could run into infinity
Just to fuel your smile.

I soak up your messes willingly:
All the colours that bleed and mix
To form the specks of sadness
In your eyes at 10.p.m
And the grass stains that roll
Down your bare gypsy feet
And the sunflower seeds
That stick to your inky lashes-
These things give an echo of the flavour
I miss.

I am vain
I regularly conjure up poetry on my skin-
Do not give me yours.
I will recite it to my last paper breath
So I can kid myself that paper is power.

I am not the phantom you teach to play piano
Under the helter-skelter moon,
I am far too fragile for that-
My paper cut fingers bend
And bleed light all over the keys.

My hands are a canvas
For anyone's ***** details
For if enough titles are painted on my body then perhaps
I will learn the complex trick
Of gaining depth

And maybe the world will look as full
And real as I read in books
And dance with in music
And maybe my edges will stop being ripped
Or my corners cut
Or my pages burned and tossed aside.

Sometimes, I am this tiny
Vulnerable
Origami creature
And my cream card bones tremble like feathers
A bad caricature of life.

Sometimes I am full of wonder-

But right now, I am this.

The broken hunch back
Yellow, wrinkled, and withered with age
Not a single fraction of his formerly radiant youth remaining
Choughs up a few more
Words to throw on a page
Desperate to rack up more followers
...

It’s sad sometimes how desperate I can be
But what’s even sadder is-
Enough
CUT OUT THE POINTLESS SELF DEPRICATION