Vivid white paper
Stands out against dark lines
Waiting to be written upon.
Words may come
Words may be erased
But thoughts are never ending.
This time,
Write in pen
To immortalize your intentions.
Take action to show improvement-
As all living things
Are a work in progress.
Spinning in circles
Momentum increases
Coils tighten
Until you make impact.
Hitting a wall,
Take a deep breath
Trace your steps
And unwind.
I want to tell you
How I’m feeling
But don’t want dependence
To weigh you down.
I want you to see
That I’m hurting.
It should be obvious
Without words.
I want to know
Why nobody is around
When I’m hurting the most
But I don’t want an audience
For my tears.
I want to be heard
But can’t help
Soldiering on in silence.
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I’m holding on to you,
My dear,
I’ll never let you go.
But what if space
Is what I need? I may be
Here, physically,
But my presence isn’t present.
I love you
Don’t you love me?
Yes, but I
Love myself more.
A white Victorian dollhouse
Sits on the playroom floor
Untouched.
The children run around outside
Playing games they’d get in trouble for playing
If only they weren’t
Unsupervised.
Inside the dollhouse
The parents are cold and
Unwelcoming.
They have grown out of love
From constant fighting
Lying
Cheating, and being
Untrustworthy.
After many years
The dollhouse is falling apart.
The roof is collapsing
The support beams are cracking
Termites have destroyed the foundation.
And all the while,
The kids are playing outside
Unaware.
She swings and she sways
To the trill of the piano,
With a facade of blonde hair
And the red lips of a vixen
To hide the fear held in her eyes
Of the terminal illness
Dancing in her veins
From dusk ’til dawn.
A generous offer- but for who?
Is it for me, or is it for you?
“I’m sorry, I cannot go” should suffice
But what shall I saw when you ask me thrice?
You see, though we live side by side
You and I do not walk the same stride
I walk to my own self-satisfied beat
While you walk as you suck on your cult-like hive-minded teat
As you tell me why you’re right and I’m wrong
But it seems like you were wrong all along
Because you are not the rule-maker, decider or king
For maybe if you were, it might mean something
But since you’re not, when you speak, it is quiet
I don’t hear a thing, but keep talking- it’s a riot
To think that you’ll never truly know
What’s up above you or even down below
For there’s no room for your high-horse where I’m sure you’d like to be
And I’m sorry we won’t be in the same place for you to see
That the only “right” way is the one that’s truly your own
But maybe when I’m in Heaven, I’ll throw you a bone.
Self inflicted punishments
Punishing a wounded soul.
Soulfully devoting kindness
Kindly protecting others
Otherwise left forgotten and alone…
Alone in abandonment…
Abandoned, with long forgotten hope,
Hopelessly she falls
Falling toward an invisible self.
Lines provided to me
On sheet white skin
To inscribe words upon.
Let me dispose my
Thoughts at my will.
Let me scribble, scratch
Or possible erase them;
But you may keep
The ones you like.
I hope my pen
Is as kind to
You as you are
To my general well-being.
You deserve a life
Of decent words passionately
Filling your body with
Their grace. But do
Not let them possess
You or overcome you.
For your beauty and
Potential are of one
That deserves to be
Shared with the world.
It drives you
Moving upward
And onward
Fueling your energy
With enlightening ideas
On greatness
As you grow
And grow
Until the day
Your high spirits are so large
You can’t fit in your wallet
And you move onward
And outward.
http://www.napowrimo.net/ prompt for day 28