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heather leather Mar 2015
you lit a match on my heart
told me your name was trouble from the start
and yet you made me believe that you were wrong about yourself
i still wonder what i would be like if i had known what
would happen from the start after all

darling, you taught me love was like a game of cards and
once you lose you should never play twice

the ironic part is that you've never made a bet and
yet you gamble with desire

and maybe we still would've made it,
after all you always did have a good poker face
oh but what a shame sweetheart you were nothing
but a mirage and hid everything behind a facade
and even though this game of hearts is long over; it ended like
a blaze leaving nothing but ashes in it's wake
i still think about how well you played and if it was all a lie
after all after a pack of cigarettes in and a bottle of gin
you never really had a good poker face maybe
if the tables were turned i would've won but i guess we'll
never know because you taught me that love was
a game of cards and once you lose you should never play twice

(h.l.)
Jasey Rae by all time low : "I've never told a lie/And that makes me a liar/I've never made a bet/But we gamble with desire/I've never lit a match/With intent to start a fire
But recently the flames are getting out of control,"
heather leather Mar 2015
they knew what was about to happen--
both of them already knew that this wasn't going
to end well, and maybe in the beginning they had
hope that their love wouldn't dwindle out but
in the end it wasn't enough, they both loved two
different people and it was now time to let each other go
and move on with whatever life would throw at them
they didn't even love each other
so why was this so hard?
why was ever single kiss, every single poem,
every single moment flashing in both of their heads
as if they actually cared about one another?
the silence was overwhelming, and if there was ever a moment
where they wanted to be swallowed whole it was this one
he took a deep breath, and with a shaking voice said the
words that they both knew were true
I think we should break up
and they should, they should because they didn't love each other
anymore and every moment they had with each other just
reopened whatever wound they had on each others' hearts
so, yes, it was time for them to leave each other
*but then why was this so hard?
god this story is sincerely ******* me up
  Mar 2015 heather leather
ephemeral
"she's a bad friend, just a heads up.
I know she seems really great
and fun and understanding.
she's like that, at first.
she'll be positive and friendly, and you'll feel like you can trust her with your most-prized possession.
you'll want to tell her things, even if you're not a very open person.
she has that effect on people.
after a while, though, she starts to seem rough around the edges.
she'll go through very dramatic
mood swings-
she's a bit like the weather in NYC.
sometimes she'll be cheerful
and she'll laugh at the most
random of things.
those times, she'll be like a fresh spring day, around 72 degrees.
other times, she'll be the most pessimistic person you know. it'll feel like she's draining the positivity right out of you. those times, she'll be like a bitter winter's day, below zero and freezing.
on occasion, she'll change
back and forth between those
two seasons in a day.
it'll get to be very tiring for you,
trying to keep up with her many moods and feelings and attitudes.
you won't really know how
to handle her.
and eventually, it'll feel like she's
not really handling you.
she won't talk to you as often as she used to. she wont know what's happening in your life anymore, and you won't be able to remember the last time she told you about anything happening in hers.
eventually, you'll be the only one putting effort into the relationship.
but you'll continue to see her with other friends, laughing and sharing inside jokes and telling stories.
and it'll be so painful for you, because you're technically
still friends with her- it's not like
you had a fall-out or anything.
things will just be different between you two. she'll be distant, and so will you.
eventually, you'll just stop trying
to talk to her. all you'll do is smile briefly at each other in the hallways, sometimes talk for a few minutes about classes.
and it'll almost seem like you're strangers again.
so if I were you, don't bother with her. find someone worthy of your time and love and affection."
this isn't really a poem, more of a rant. people that I used to talk to for hours haven't had a real conversation with me in a few months. I know they're falling apart, and I should be there for them, and I'm not. so this is kind of an apology poem.
  Mar 2015 heather leather
Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
  Mar 2015 heather leather
M
“Some men never recover from education.”
― Oliver St. John Gogarty
  Feb 2015 heather leather
n o i r
Baby, there's a
white chalk outline in the street tonight
for the boy down the road
who didn't have a chance at life.

There's a lady working down
at the truck stop on Third,
and she's racing home tonight
to confirm what she's heard.

That's her baby in a casket,
not the usual sort,
and his mother's screaming in the storm
begging God to take this hurt.

There's a girl across town
who lost the things she had,
and the only thing she knows now
is the fright that's in her head.

Her father's in the living room
where he loads his shotgun,
almost hoping that the
**** from prom will
show himself again.

There are children in the desert,
in the city, in the streets
and they are dying every day.
All we do is argue
over what is best to say.

The journalists and soldiers,
those who worked a mile high.
Honest folks are turned to martyrs
and their names are used in vain.
No one considers rationale,
only how to profit gain.

We're political, tyrannical, existentially obsessed;
we haven't got a thought for those
who haven't even dressed.

"They aren't here; they're there;
we haven't got the time."
But if there's anything I know,
it's that my time isn't even mine.

"Jimmy wouldn't take me out tonight."
"Martha never called me back!"
"I wish that Art had never talked to me."
"I hope you have a heart attack!"

People dying every day
and no one seems to give a ****.

We are vain and we are damaged
and we will never be the same.
It seems that all which matters
is just how well you play the "game."
#JeSuisCharlie
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