I Am Not Dead

And now I go to rest my head
In frozen ground amidst the dead
Where living souls, they fear to tread
As well they should, I am not dead

I sleep with those long lost and gone
With those whose memories drift along
Thoughts no longer linger on
With these I sleep, still breathing calm

No I am not dead but not alive
And I'll take your life within it's prime
If question me you dare to try
And purposely lapsed knowledge revive

Do not try to understand
I make no sense to a mortal man
Your mind cannot grasp just what I am
And ignorant curiousity damns

And you want no knowledge of hell
Trust me, on this I know very well
I would have done better to hide, to quell
Than to become this hollowed shell

Instead I rest in cold, hard ground
With the dead and rotting underground
Where nothing else can make a sound
And silence my companion here, down

Down in the depths of frigid burning
You think you hear the dead souls yearning
But they yearn not, they're gone and churning
Slowly into dust; I alone am turning

The screams you hear are not of terror
But frustration mounting at my error
Were cleverer I would not be the bearer
Of this news, I am the sharer

I am the proof of ignorant thoughts
Of the dangers that questioning wrought
Had I kept silent, I would not have been caught
And left to dwindle, left to rot

And now I go to rest my head
In frozen ground amidst the dead
Where living souls, they fear to tread
As well they should, I am not dead.

Hi, I'm bi

Hi I’m bi:

You’re wondering why?

Well I like girls and I like guys
It’s not just something I wanted to *try*
And it’s definitely not me living a lie

If there’s someone cute I spy
Then I might give them the eye

No matter the gender if I think they’ll reply
If I don’t play shy (but I’ll probably play shy)

And it’s not a phase by the by
I’m not straight and haven’t met the right guy
I’m not gay and won’t let my rainbow flag fly

You *can* like both genders (or all or none) fyi
And your ignorance just makes me want to cry

I don’t agree with what you’re trying to imply
It’s my rage that keeps me tongue-tied

So if you think to vie
What I choose to live by
Who are you to ask who am I?

I am a friend and I am an ally
Your expectations I will defy
I’m open-minded, sweet as pie (though sometimes wry)
And no matter my choices I will testify
I will not deny

I. Am. Bi.

Slipping Dreams

She feels it slipping through her fingers like so much unwanted trivials.

But she wants it. Wants to hold it and keep it forever.  Liquid dreams slip-slide through her flimsy clasp of hands and she loses her thoughts, her muse.

Were she to be able to pen these dreams before they fluttered from her brain like leaves in the winds maybe the world would understand her musings and see the poet’s soul within. Instead she is left with fragments and pieced together bits that do not tell a whole story and no one recognises the way the words fit but her since she is the only one that knows there are pieces missing.

Lyrical Rememberance

They say there is nothing quite like finally remembering a story. The intricate trappings, the details, every tiny nuance and then, like a soft flutter of butterfly wings returning to grace your body, the letters. The beginnings of the construct, the base you need to find your precious words. Those that resonated so deeply as to be ingrained on your soul.

If this is true, then so too, must the opposite be true. To never remember that story. To have mere gossamer strands of perfect prose smother you, suffocate you as you breathe in the half-remembered bits of lyricism. Cobbled bits and pieces that tease and torment you with their sheer beauty that you cannot seem to recall. It grates at you. It is no longer a precious butterfly, whole and perfect but a tattered and slashed leftover. A disgusting, revolting facsimile of something that once was everything and always would be.

You will never remember that story. It exists only in dreams and grips into your mind with sharp, piercing talons in the daylight. Mocking your memory and lack thereof until you know you will go mad.

You will never remember that story. Know this. Lament.

And die.

Glass

You feel continuously as though you’re made of glass.

Transparent and forgotten. That one dusty window high up that’s too small and angled just wrong so as to never let in sunlight, and you never clean until it gets really filthy and then you bitch and moan about how useless and trouble-making that one bloody window is.

You know the window is there of course, it’s a window, but you ignore it until you can’t anymore.

And it’s worse because you’re not the window, a sum of parts. You’re simply the glass. You don’t really have a function even. You’re a window in a sunny country. One that never sees rain or snow to keep out, and is still, is still too high to give a glimpse of the sunlight. So what use are you?

And you are transparent, you can see right through yourself. And you am not a piece of the puzzle, you are easily broken and replaced. And you are not useful.

You are glass. And you are worthless.

Introspection

I haven't posted in far too long, so I'm basically posting the strange little stories that come to me when I'm half-asleep/half-awake. These are all saved under 'Introspection' but I felt maybe I should've given them titles? At least something to break them up. But titles weren't really appropriate for all of them, so...

Also, I don't pretend to be an English major. So I don't expect this to make sense in the way of poetry writing, or in the way of actual storyline. If some don't make sense, well, they're part poetry, they're not *supposed* to.


I have dreams sometimes
Dreams where my words flow like rivers and meld like melted chocolate
Dreams where what I want to say, need to say, have to say, are said and are said in such perfect prose that the world kneels in awe at my collaboration of consonants
Vowels may exist, they may not
Egyptians didn't need them after all, and they live forever through history
Words float and drift like prismic bubbles and they never ever pop, each one perfect and necessary and *there*
Each reaches the ears of the masses and passes through the brain and melts on the tongue like crystallized honey
Every single syllable a medley of textures, of harmony and of flavour so beautiful the world weeps
Salty tang of tears that feed my muse and sometimes turn my words to sorrow, unending, yet still...
Everything
My words are perfect, flawless, unending and *there*, no stuttering or stammering, no sharp halts of dissonant screeching like freight trains crashing in the night
No real life
Just sheer utter perfection
I have dreams sometimes


I stand in a river, rocks under my feet, molecules between my toes
Phosphorescent moonlight spills sparkling rays upon me,
I am made a backdrop on the water
For moments I am an inverted angel, archangel, nothing but shadows
Surrounded by light. The only connection to it and me the ripples that merge us two for brief moments

I stand on a mountain, higher than the highest heights and I wonder if I fall, should nothing break my fall, will I reach the ground?
Splatter into individual molecules, or will velocity and resistance simply
Vaporize me?

I stand in a golden field and am reminded of you
Bright hair, shining of sunlight molecules and starlight gleaming
Long as unending oceans, eyes as dark and giving as the soil beneath my feet

You are beauty and you are perfect
And you are my first stirring of love between two young girls
Though many years before a recognition of what it was; never admitted to you of course
I do not presume to presume, but I do fervently believe of feelings unmutualized

My fingers thread through honeysuckle dew and wheat
Remind me of early happier times of childhood play where my fingers ran through your hair instead
Simple silly messy braids of my making
But I would continue all day if I could have

Start, stop, undo, begin anew, brushing every snarl and tangle created by my hands
I never could touch your perfection and not spoil it
But could not help myself either
For again and again I begged to touch, to tease, to love

There is no shame till years and wisdom and others shame
Created my own complex feelings of terror
Emotional overload unexperienced before
That swamps the simple unhindered childish love and bogs it in despair and restraint

I long for that childhood
That time of innocence

But we've aged, boundaries upon boundaries between us
Still terror, still fervently belived unmutualism
I will never admit, never confess
My childhood friend lost through time
Lost sooner if in confession

So silence
Silence
To give me time to revel
Now time to deny
No possibilities
No hope

In my dreams, I find you again, you and courage unknown,
And for hazy sunlit perfect moments, I run fingers through honeysuckle-shining wheat
And drown in kind soil and am content

If only. If only.

Falling In Fall

Falling in Fall
Sweet sacchrine Kisses
Like spun Sugar
Like spiders Webs
Of glistening Silk
Glitters in the Morning
Love shines like a Firefly Flickering
Falling in Fall