PoetryCat

We are two lovers unloved, in a cruel Shakespearean tragedy. Whose stunted bud may never bloom, but whose existence still remains. We are a myth, a story told often but never consistent. We are a part of each others beating hearts, that we dare not show on our face. You are a kiss in my dreams, a taste I find only in sleep. And we, my darling, are fools, but happy nonetheless.

I sat on the ledge, wondering how exactly it is I got here. My childhood was hard boiled, my memories scrambled. My mother was over easy and soft as my father constantly beat her. Not everything was egg-cellent in this town. The drop was high enough, the wind slightly blowing, the ground-- promising. All it took was one leap, on minor slip and the pain of my past would be erased forever. I recall how I made my way up here... I was at the All The King's Horse's Bar with all the king's men, discussing casual things such as work, our children... but then we turned towards the subject of our childhood. I was assaulted and peppered with questions;

Swollen like a pregnant woman, Like a body in the river. Growing into something unrecognizable, With life sustaining fluid. Fetal like a nearly new born, Like an animal struck in the street. Brought into the next unknown By a primeval scream of agony, escaping panting lips. Ripped away like a child from the womb, Like life from a body. Both gasping for air, crying out For the first, for the last, for the moment.

I haven't broken in my sea legs, But everyone's standing tall. They appear mechanical almost... All the while I fall, fall, fall. I fall, I slip, lose my grip. Tell me how that's fair. I crawl, I trip, rise and dip. All they do is stare. I'm getting younger, I think, Everyone's getting older but me. They smile and wave, I ask what's on the horizon they see. They get taller, I get smaller. Standing on my toes, I shout. I tell them they're racing for letters. I can't seem to get out. Everyday I die a little more-- They all don't seem to care. We started dying the moment we're born... They continue to sit and stare. It's in t

To acknowledge me is to recognize human flaw; characteristically failing. Fragile under feigning effort. Forgetting (yet another folly) To call me intelligent is a mockery of every societal advancement. Sometimes secluded, I sulk. I am satire in the skin; sarcasm and stats (with a suicidal semblance) To call me confident is to hold back progress. Of everything perhaps! Perfectly picked at, I can tell you personally that I am no person.

She came to me in my sleep. Strange, because I couldn't recall how and suddenly she was there. Quietly, she spoke like her words were smoke. Seeping from her parted lips -- stinging my eyes with tears. The topics she spoke about were foreign to me and it seemed as if she had been crying. Her under eyes were red, swollen; black around the corners. Still. She smiled stupidly, acting as if she know the way of the world. Acting as though she forgot. Her eyes observed me, everything about me in seconds. You could tell she had already made up her mind from the start. I couldn't slow her, couldn't distract her long enough as my life flash

In our vessels where we live, it's hard not to wonder-- are we trapped? We're against ourselves. Always. Competing, fighting, fleeing. In this vessel, where I reside, I feel limited, compact... alone. Disassociated, I see the world enshrouded in a fog of hate. I hear the thoughts of my peers, questions and fears written across their faces. I see in textures. I smell in time and I feel in colors. My empathy tastes like love, my anger... like paranoia. My surroundings haunt me like loneliness, creeping in the shadows like something tangible. The smile on my face is tugged at with constant thoughts. My mind compressed with anxiety. My fingers fe

I am a dream, made up by someone else, trapped in a story. My life, predetermined, yet unknown to me. I am a thought in someone's head; a collection of other random, outside sources.The right combination of strangers make up my face and my gestures. I am something unreal, though I feel tangible. One day, someone will wake up and wonder who I am, as my life is snuffed out like a candle. My hair will remind them of the girl that sits in front of them in their old fifth period math class. My face, a semblance of their mom's great aunt. My voice, like that of a well known and repeated advertisement played on the stations. My world, nothing but sy

An army of one, a vision of one, a suicide of one. Tell me, have you thought of us, as lovers close, enemies apart? Two too many, a few too many; to drink. One hand clapping, two clasping, another on the hammer of a gun. So tell me lover, do you love another? When three is too many, one is not any, Where am I left? In the scheme of things; the plans laid out? I'll scream and shout So long as you don't forget me. So tell me lover, do you love another? When once I say, please go away. I am left alone twice over. Don't fall for the front, my two-sided face, For once it is just a cover. So tell me lover, do you love another?

I am my own self-deprecating image of self-awareness. I am my own paralyzing fear and inhabitation. I am my own restrictions, limitations and contradictions. I am my own lover and hater, my own yearning for another. I do not know anything that I am not. I am my own bruises, unfurling like flowers beneath my flesh. I am my own voices and shadows at night. I am my own made up insanity. I am a compilation of my own weaknesses and strengths. I am a lot of things, to a lot of people. So why don’t I mean much to me? I am my own pumping heart. I am my own inner child and outer responsibilities. I am my own lips feeling passion. I