A page not meant to be written
I conceal the words never meant to be read
From the book I was torn
Left to wither on a counter-top
Eventually met with scorn, and burned to ash merely as a way to move forward
For my words could never be accepted
Only rejected
Despised by the masses for standing out so proudly
The once golden page that defined the book
Reduced to nothing more than a pile of soot
Simply for the words that couldn't be understood

I used to be able to tell you everything
I used to be able to be myself
Now I am struggling to let you in
Now I feel like we´re both someone else

This year has been like a rollercoaster ride
So many lows, so many highs
I've tried to put our differences aside
Just so I wouldn't have to say goodbye

You used to laugh at my jokes
You used to come when I needed you the most
I didn't see the fire through the smoke
You didn't notice I was just a ghost

This time I can´t read your mind
It's been ten seconds, but it seems like an age
It's like painting the rainbow colourblind
How did you end up on a different page?

I used to be able to tell you everything
I used to know you loved me more than words
Now I'm struggling to feel a thing
Still missing us really hurts

26. Februar 2018

“i touch it | my hand comes away scalded | i hold it | crumble it between my fingers | wipe it off onto my jeans

when the page turns | it holds the same words as the one before”

Word by word
Page by page
She was only a few chapters in
But she was already in love.

The Poet’s Soul…by Jessie 12/05

The poem is the poet’s soul
Deepest, darkest thoughts
Vulnerable and exposed
Expressions, like tasted wine
Sipped and swirled
Bouquets of overpowering aromas
Fruity, nutty flavors
Then spit onto the opaque page
Pallet cleansed, a release of tormented visions let go
Let go for now, but captured for eternity
For those still to come
For those willing to explore and satiate their cravings to know
There are those, content with the time a clock tells
Look close, for a clock is more than the time
Delicate mechanisms, intricate and complex
See past the surface, there is a world deep below
The poem is the staircase leading down

I see the past bearing down on me like a valley

I do believe I have the courage to take a step back

I feel the weight of generations past and the whispers they carry

I don’t know if it all comes full circle, but

I love the smell of old books.

I hate how we ignore those who came before us, as if we don’t walk across their graves every day.

I’m most passionate about understanding where we come from, and how we got here.

I hope people see me as a flashlight beneath a bedsheet, illuminating the written page.

By Arcassin Burnham


Do you know all that peace brings in May?
Love you give is strange , gives much malaise,
If every word you say is true , mark the words you say,
other than that I do not have time to waste,
My life never goes anywhere but in flames,
could your douse my fire , I don't wanna escape,
Or we could lust til the sun comes up in this open space,
then after you hate my guts and then delete my page,
And you know,
we only got one and one is not enough in a system
and country corrupted with minimum wage and a half
decent plate of food that could be poison,
how can you maintain?
only with the words you say and you know.