[x]

Does that make me Different?I wear make up. Does that make me fake?
I cry. Does that make me emo?
I have male friends. Does that make me slutty?
I smile a lot. Does that make me weird?
I laugh loud. Does that make me preppy?
I have anxiety. Does that make me a freak?
I have Bipolar Disorder. Does that make me abnormal?
I respect people. I change for me, and only me. I have a past, but I know I have a future.
Does that make me different?
Maybe.
But at least it makes me
Me.

FrostbiteNumbness
I can’t feel my toes and at first I think
It’s just my toes.
I can cover them up.
I can warm them.

It spreads, like fire,
Like ice.
I glance away for a second, it seems, and my feet are cold
Pat –pat
That’s funny, I didn’t feel that
Maybe I’ll cover them up too
I’ll warm them up.

I’ll take a nap
Maybe a short rest will make it all better, warm them
Up…
What’s that? How long has it been?
My legs… are you still mine..
Why has my breath left me, short?
Has everything but deserted me?

What about you, are you still here?
Are you still with me?
Hello?
And before I can say goodbye, I think my thoughts are leaving me too –

RelapseIt’s like counting
Saturn’s rings,
hash marks
along your limbs -
remembering a time
when

‘just one more’

made you feel better.

- & you’re sitting there
wondering why
Draco, stuck in limbo
always looks like he’s

falling.

Sleeping Beautyshe’s in love with a character who
never existed but in the labyrinth of her head:
a patchwork composition of beautiful, lengthy words
she’d heard in her catatonic state; coma living
day in and day out, reliant on the salvation
of a man made of foreign wishing
and imperfection and necessity – an ignorance
of the less than ideal perception of self she’d
come to fear, absention stained romantic to the point
where daydreams were a standard for survival

(real living is for the purposeful of heart,
he loves her in her sleep)

UneditedWe cry.
We scream.
We fight for our dream.

We scream.
We cry.
We're just waiting to die.

The same emotions
with a different drive.
Sometimes dead, sometimes alive.

The same in one way,
different in another
brother and sister, sister and brother.

So close in feeling,
so different in the end.
Falling apart, or finally on the mend?

Which am I?
Will I ever know?
Fighting to stay or ready to go?

Maybe I'm both,
in some impossible way.
Emotions oddly mixed everyday.

Wouldn't surprise.
I'm such a freak.
Excuse me, I laugh, I should call it "unique"

Happily AloneHonesty,
She does not have,
Personalities,
She has many of them.

A million shields,
a million personalities,
She's always changing,
to fit every person around her.

If one were to ask why,
she would answer with,
I will never reveal my weaknesses,
because she's evil.

She hates everyone,
stupider than her is barely tolerable,
smarter than her is too scary,
She hates it all.

She leaves the world behind,
To one she has dreamt of,
No color,
nobody else.

Then,
she will smile,
why,
because she is truly happy alone.

She is not evil,
She does not hate you,
She is not dishonest,
She simply wants to be alone.

We are the King and Queen of Broken DreamsStanding still in a mine field, staring at all we have left.
We were so young, we didn’t stop to think.
Now we’re in a car crash, teetering on the brink.
If you were to leave me now, I don’t know what I’d do.

It was a whirl wind romance,
A light when all was black, a spark of something when all was bleak.
You swept me off my feet and made me feel brand new.
I thought we could live forever and I’m certain you did to.

We built a house without foundations
And now we’re falling down,
Everything’s crumbling around us, time slipping through out fingertips.
People used to walk past us but they were to drunk to see,
That our lives are coming apart around us, there is no light as far as we can see.

There was no fire to start with,
Just two broken things, the world had left behind.
The casualties of other people’s dreams of power, money and control,
Spat out onto the curb to rot away and die.
We never stood a chance or so

wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,
swollen around the words she never said;
dark rings around her eyes
like planets unremembered, and
a staleness to her touch,
the crystalline Dead Sea.

she's living like a story
that's already been told
"if no one loved you
would you mean anything at all?"

in that moment,
we forget to exist.

lifelinesI fear the sound of sparrows
and the density of leaves
against dew-muffled blades
of grass,

and I'm drowning
in the sky.

My skin has learned how
to peel itself off
without causing a commotion
in my marrows or
even show the slightest hint
of pain,
and my heart has learned how
to hush the stars in their wake
and keep it all a secret.

There's a sea in my mouth
and I can't swim.

There are lifelines
cast like these and it will
all end with the same tragedy.

Falling off the EdgeDo you know what it feels like?
To nearly fall off the edge,
but not quite...
just so that you're dangling;
clinging for your worthless life
lest it fall into the sea of loneliness.
Your callused, pink fingers turning
to a shade of purplish-red of pain
as it does it best to hold on.

Splash.

In the sea of loneliness,
everything is crisp, translucent.
There is nothing around you,
you are alone...
unlike other people,
you have no one
clamouring to save you;
you have no one
diving in to get you out.

There is no point
screaming for help,
you will only waste
the little time and air you have left.
You only have the darkness
of the sea envelop

of seafoam thronesFrom Atlas’ hands she wept to me,
atop Africas and South Atlantics;

this is one situation unaffected by
ember eyes and windy lashes
(it has no anatomy).

You are sparrows stranded
in tiny crevices and cliffside love,
though you rebuke flight
in the fear of chipping feathers.

So what do you do?

You reach for my soul,
coveting flight with shaking
dainty arms…

and perhaps I’ll let you:
With flytrap lips and
glass shaped hips…
you are unfit for anything but
sight.

(But beauty isn’t everything)

Honesty Written

from the

heart.

No eraser.

WorthlessWorthless,
the name that cuts like a knife,
Me,
it's all that you see inside,
My heart,
is breaking with every breath I take
The lies,
the only thing I can't seem to face.

Her SideTomorrow she'll be gone,
but what can you say?
Nothing can help her.
The pain won't go away.

But she would've stopped,
you could've said no.
That's what she wanted,
someone to say don't go.

That someone wanted her,
or at least would try.
That someone would grieve
if she were to die.

But you just stared,
nodding your head,
and she realized the truth
with a feeling of dread.

No one wanted her.
No one cared.
Not even you,
with the the love you shared.

So she said good-bye,
and you watched her leave.
She may have had the rope,
but now you can't breathe.

PerfectEver had the feeling where you can't stop looking at a picture?
Your gorgeous face makes me smile
Go weak at the knees
Makes me giggle like a little girl

Those morning texts
All day conversations
Random silly things like that
Make me smile

I see the led light flash the colours I've set for when I get a message from you
My heart flutters
My cheeks flush
I go deaf to the world when I'm reading a message from you

If your down
I'm always there for you
I know you don't want to worry me
I know you want me to smile
But I'm always here for you
No matter how you feel
I'd prefer to help
Than for you to be down

Your gorgeous eyes
Are mesmerising
You

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More from *Vagabond-Arcadia

RATIONALityWe are discontinuous,
reflections of a piecewise function
broken
by inequalities.

I don't understand mathematics.
I don't understand us either,
but that's what makes both
so temptingly coy.

The graphs in my notebook are
beautiful, but useless.
I glance at them and see valleys,
twisting rivers,
railroad tracks turned upside-down.
I follow, but I don't.
The graphs, my dreams,
your smile.
I follow, but I don't.

We're getting closer to infinity,
closer to the day
when the asymptote becomes
set in stone
and we are forever separate.

You rise left, I fall right.
Never the same page,
same chapter,
same unit.
We describe each

Star.searchInsurgents fire automatic
weapons
into the night.

The moon turns away,
and smiles.

She is proud.

Invocation - Watch Us CrumbleOur bodies fall away in flakes
of guilt
and frayed Egyptian cotton.
How long before we are nothing but shadows
lurking
in your heart?
We'll eat you from the inside, out.

The pastor at the church next door
has a spot in Hell
saved just for you,
and a few of your grieving friends,
too.
Don't you feel so special now?

Something about a cat,
and a rainbow.
He's waiting for you, or you're
waiting for him,
and all you have to do
is find the pot of gold
and jump.
DISCLAIMER: I probably misheard.

He saved two people that day.
I hope he's satisfied,
because the rest of us
are beyond saving; throw up your hands,
call in the cava

Those Good Christian GirlsOh, God, please have mercy on this sinful nation.

The hairdresser tilts her head and purses her penciled-on lips, shears in hand. The client is going on about something or another; stocks, or children, or the relationship between black people and organized crime. Inconsequential babble. The hairdresser nods furiously and clucks her tongue and gestures wildly, just as she does for all the privileged women and prissy men who make their way into her salon. They come from gilded houses with crystal staircases, looking in part for a haircut, but also for solace and sympathy to which they know they have no right.

EcophobiaHome;
Wasteland acreage and barbed wire truths.

Sometimes
aphids chew through knife-leaves,
choke on sweet chlorophyll nectar.

Often
neighbors chirp and bluebirds murmur,
just a moment,
then turn to sand.

Sometimes
eggshells crack,
daisy cores on melted opal.
Precious breath cut off
for lust.

Home;
You'll never be at peace.

I am _____.It was somewhere between sun-kissed
concrete
and late night viewings
of Donnie Darko,
of that much I am sure.
The blood pounding in my ears says
"Look, a distraction,"
and I fall for it every time,
abandoning my search
but never altogether,
never ever altogether.

Or maybe it wasn't.
Sometimes I feel that it could be
right beneath my feet,
but the calluses formed
from shards of sand and ravens' bones
mask it;
keep it's shallow breathing hidden,
buried
under the teeth of dragons
and red-gold phoenix feathers.

No, it must have been the sky,
for the sky is what
I fear the most.
I can fly in all my dreams,
you know,
bu

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Submitted: January 18
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Plea Bargain

by *Vagabond-Arcadia, Jan 18, 2013, 4:25:39 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

If I trace my fingertips along blood lines dripping
from scars in cement
blocks. If I trace them they will run.
If I trace them they will stop.

If I am high off bathroom cleaner fumes,
settling in my hair, and if I inhale just enough
(not too little, not
too much, just enough), and
if I do it all for one crackling smile (yours, mine, who's
to say, really?)

If my layers blow away into worse
than nothing. If I smoke until my lungs are black
as cancer, dry as lecture,
sore as death.

If I hate myself. If I become
myself.

If I do it all in the name of the poet's God, a figure
more distant than yours, stone-hearted,
earthly. If I do it all for the sake of my own mistakes,
begging blindly to bodyless feet.

If it's all for a chance to be
beautiful, to be good at something other
than suffering. If I know I am wrong, but the other
half has been erased, eroded by glasspaper sand.

If I do it not for myself, but for everyone
who has ever stared, eyes and hearts
too empty for silence. If I do it for the children,
souls reaching out with
needy hands, snatching words of love from the storefronts,
the billboards exalted on high.