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VanishingMy throat is soar,
my skin burned,
this sand is hot and rough.
Still, I can't move.
Where did he go?
Even after I was
beaten down, abused, drowned,
I still can't run away.
I just stay, lying here.
He left, you came.
You help me off the sand
back on my feet.
But you leave
before I can say a word.
Where did you go?
I always ask
while I wander and endless desert
looking for the one
who gave me hope.
Looking for you.
Helloit's time for goodbye
but I scream, "hello"
for every time I was silent.
you don't know how badly I ache
to change all our exchanges
into long conversations.
I stayed away but now find
we're out of time without warning.
even now I can't speak
afterall, how can you say "goodbye"
without saying "hello"?
I'll always dream of what could have been
while you'll never know.
so let this be my first and final
"No"I glance off to the side, catching her eye for just a moment. That's the girl I can't stand, but also the girl I think I love. I can't stand the way she refuses to greet me when we pass, or how she smiles with others, but never with me. Why can't we share a moment like that? I love her so much, but I can't go near her. I hate how she ignores me like I don't care for her more than anyone, like I'm a faceless stranger just passing by. Not that I've told her anything about my feelings for her, but it still hurts. Sometimes I try ignoring her, just to get her back, even though she doesn't care. It helps me feel microscopically better. Still... every time I look at her it's like someone squeezes my heart. And anytime she smiles it's like a punch in the chest with a giant fist of emotion. Irritation, sorrow, anger, joy, admiration and finally regret. I want to run after her dramatically like in those cheesy flicks, but I can't bring myself to do it. It'd just be embarrassing, inappropriate,
Four o'clockThere she sits quietly on a bench, just watching and waiting. She wears a plum knit hat pulled over her brown bushy curls, wraps a gray scary round her neck and covers her round freckled nose. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, she has her coat, hat and scarf so she is warm enough. She has to wait until four o'clock anyway, for that is the time he'll pass on his way home. Sometimes he takes the subway, other times the bus, but it doesn't matter; he always passes this bench. She smiles beneath her scarf as he strides past, he too is bundled up in a thick peacoat with a scarf and gloves. She smiles at his near perfect posture, his relaxed carefree expression, and the way he looks about. He's not an observer like her, but he likes to look around. He looks at her for a moment, his smile still dancing on his face. She looks at him still, their eyes are locked, but then he walks on. He always walks on, she knows this too well. She would see him again perhaps, tomorrow at four o'clock.
Smirkfierce eyes stare up
underneath those shaggy locks
cruelly you smirk after
killing any happiness left in me
and finally I can see
Pinball WizardYou have more to say than anyone,
stories and beautiful thoughts
swirling around in your head,
but you can't give voice to them
every time you open your mouth to speak
you catch yourself and keep silent
You're an observer
you take in the world and see its beauty
you notice what others miss
and know more than you should
but no one can see like you do
so you pretend you can't see either
You hear the music of the world
noises lost to the background
you're so stunned by its beauty
you tune out the rest of the world.
So much is trapped inside you,
your brain is ripping at the seams
and when you leave this world you love,
no one will know how great a loss it is
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More