you know what hurts? filling your head with ideas and fantasies of a perfect love and dreams come true... and finding out that just because you wish on stars, doesn't mean those burning orbs of gas even hear you.
what hurts is knowing that your world is falling apart. that it is crumbling away, piece by piece... and no matter how hard you try, you can't put it pack together, because the "fix instantly" glue won't stick.
what kills me is this need to be someone, to change something... but never knowing exactly where to start.
i know where to begin.
i need to change myself before i can truly accomplish anything else. the problem is, i'm so used to being me that i'm unsure of how to be someone else.
or maybe i got that all wrong.
perhaps i'm so used to being someone else, that i don't know how to be "me" anymore
it's almost a habit to pretend that the girl i see in the mirror every day is me. she has my eyes, and my hair and sometimes, she even wears my smile.
but there's something missing.
her eyes seem so hollow, and cold i often wonder, if she has a soul at all.
and her smile, the corners of her pretty mouth lift,
but smiles indicate happiness--and i know she's not happy.
the real me is always happy. her genuine smile brightens everyone's day her laughter resonates in their ears, like joyful music without words. she is beautiful.
maybe i am both of these girls.
perhaps somewhere in between.
or maybe i am someone else entirely.
i live in such a mad world, that i don't know how i'd ever know. maybe i'm just as mad as the rest of my world.
i. The voices of the people around you started to sound like a cassette tape in fast forward. You couldn't understand why they were talking that way. Alltheirwordsstringingtogetherinunrecognizablehighpitchedgarble.
ii. When you saw your reflection in the looking glass, you began to see someone else. You couldn't recognize the face in the mirror. you reached out to touch who you thought you were, and your hand slipped through the surface like a hand submerging into water. And that was the last you saw of your face (or at least, what you thought was your face)
iii. So now, you became a faceless creature. You saw without eyes, hearing only static and white noise. You walked on abandoned sidewalks, tripping over broken glass and getting tangled up in withered weeds. It is there where you completely lost yourself. And no one saw you slip through the cracks into the crevices of shattered dreams and empty promises. No one saw you fall through paved over lies and stomped out wishes.
Somewhere along the way, you misplaced what it was to be human. You became something else entirely.
On long drives, I like the sound of tires moving over pavement It's like a soft humming, barely distinguishable if you've got the radio blasting, or if the people around you are talking up a storm I especially love the low whistle while passing over a bridge, it breaks the monotonous humming for a few seconds
In silence, I can hear things so much better Like now as I am sitting here at my desk:
I hear my computer, it hums too, but in a different way than wheels over roads It's a constant humming, unwavering
I hear my hand, brushing across the paper as I write It's a somewhat jerky sound, random and fluctuate in volume depending on my speed (or lack thereof) as I form these words
I hear birds, greeting one another just outside my open window Their chirps and calls repetitive (I wonder what they are trying to tell me over and over)
I hear my clock, the continuous "click" as the minutes pass by, giving the silence it's very own heartbeat
Right now I'm screaming inside, but no one can hear my cries Not even in complete silence Because there are some noises that aren't meant to be heard
Could it be that because you cannot see my face that you find me beautiful? I can only imagine how it is to live life in darkness To not be able to observe the world as anything more than shadows [What is it like to be blind?] I should tell you now that I am many things, but not perfectnot beautiful [So, why do you persist in calling me so?]
I think it is because you are perceptive in ways I can never be Unlike me, you are beautiful in the light and the dark You see what most are blinded to The inner loveliness that others somehow overlook You say the best way for me to see a person is to close my eyes [Will shutting my eyes really change my perspective?]
I wonder, why can't all of us be like you? Why is it that we identify a person only by how they appear? The outside is what one sees, but it is the inside that truly means something
In a literal sense, beauty eventually fades At least, outward beauty But you told me the beauty that you have come to noticethe beauty that you say lies within melasts forever
[Why then, do I only feel beautiful when you are looking at meand you can't even properly see me?] In the dark, I suppose I am pretty And in the light, I only have to close my eyes to be beautiful
WAKE UP IN THE MORNIN' FEELIN LIKE P. SLENDY, GOT MY SUIT, I'M OUT THE DOOR, I'M GONNA STALK THE CITY! 'FORE I LEAVE, GRAB MY CAM, AND A MASK THAT'S FREAKY, 'CAUSE I'M JUST TELLIN' ALEX HE OWES ME A TWENTY.
I'M STALKIN' STANDIN' ON CREEPY ROADS (ROADS) STARIN' INTO YOUR HOMES (HOMES) TEXTIN' YOU ON YOUR PHONE (PHONE)
YOU SEE ME STARING INTO YOU WIN(DOW) CREEPIN' ON YOUR FILM (SHOW) IN MY TOWER WITH PEEP (HOLES)
I COME IN YOUR ROOM YOU FORGET WHAT YOU DO
ALL NIGHT WHILE YOU FIGHT TRY'N TO ESCAPE MY SIGHT
I'LL WATCH WHILE YOU SLEEP AND YOU KNOW IM A CREEP, YO YO-O-O-O-O-O YO-O-O-O-O-O
My friend has been begging me to put this on DeviantArt, so I decided to go ahead and do it.
If you don't know what "Slender Man" is, I suggest looking it up on knowyourmeme.com instead of watching the videos - because they're kind of freaking scary. If you are interested in watching the videos, though, you can find them on MarbelHornets channel, on YouTube.
I clearly don't own Slender Man, or Ke$ha's "Tik Tok" I just wrote the parody for the lulz.
Her beauty while evident enough to passing glance, more subtly profoundly expressed through haunting depths of her eyes, through enchantment mystery of the smile not casually given.
Words silently spoken: her attentive listening presence, wandering memory of her countenance embody turbulent tempestuous potency; inspire poems too messy to share, compositions revealing the complete mess this poet is.
All that spills out my facades undone by slightest curve of her lips.
My soul haunted, inspired with hope for what can never be.
This poem is about a situation with which I seem to be all too familiar. This one has been largely inspired by someone I've come to know recently, although I don't expect she would ever guess that this were the case, and I doubt I will ever be in a situation where I can tell her.
"My last arrow's in your tourniquet," I say. "Make it count," says Peeta, unzipping his jacket, letting me loose.
So I free the arrow and tie the tourniquet back as tightly as I can manage. I rub my frozen hands together, trying to regain circulation. As I make it over to the edge of the horn and hang over its lip, I can feel Peeta's hands grasp my ankles for support.
At first I don't see him in the dim light and oceans of blood, but then Cato comes into view. The raw hunk of meat that used to be my opponent slithers underneath me, hardly recognisable. His body is so mauled and ripped; it is astounding he is still alive. A weak sound emits from the torn flesh, and I know where his mouth is. Please, it says.
Begging for my mercy. Pleading me to have pity. A wave of sorrow washes over me. Sorrow for my family, Peeta's family and Rue's. For everybody's. Sorrow for Prim, who has had to sit through this, witnessing my every move. A squeeze from Peeta's hands around my ankles brings me back to my senses. I am doing this for you, Cato - the girl on fire gives you your pity. I curl my stiff fingers around the bowstring and slowly draw it back to under my chin - poised and ready to shoot. Until someone else does the honours for me.
One of the muttations comes bounding out of the Cornucopia. It has glossy black fur and large brown eyes. The number 11 is wound into its collar. Rue. Perhaps it is vengeance, or perhaps there is not enough brain left inside her to comprehend her actions, and she is just putting on a fresh show for the Gamemakers. Whatever it is, it is quick. In two easy strides she is standing over Cato, a terrible mixture of pain, power and blood-thirst in her dark eyes. Her ten centimetre claws cut through his remaining skin as though it is butter, and Cato's death is instantaneous.
"Is that it?" whispers Peeta. The cannon fires in answer. "Katniss, we've won," he says hollowly.
But I still can't take my eyes off the thing that used to be Rue that is still slicing apart what was once just a child. How can this have happened? This was a girl whom I sang to when she was dying, a girl who trusted me whole-heartedly. How could these people turn such an innocent soul into a ruthless and violent mutant? And why hadn't they announced our victory yet? My question is answered when Claudius Templesmith's voice booms throughout the arena.
"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds ever be in your favour!"
There's a small burst of static, then nothing. I stare at Peeta in disbelief as the truth starts to sink in. It was never intended for both of us to live. This whole charade has been devised by the Gamemakers to guarantee the most dramatic Games in history. And foolishly, we bought it.
I turn away from Peeta's gaze and look back down at Rue and the remains of Cato. Suddenly, the disturbingly human eyes of the Rue muttation meet mine, and in a terrified instant I jump back, not wanting to be seen again by the beast that was once my ally.
"Peeta get back!" I nearly scream it at him.
We both scramble back from the edge of the Cornucopia, but it is too late, the muttation has already seen us.
I reach for my arrow, but my hand grasps at thin air as I realise it is still at the lip of the horn. I make a move to retrieve it but Peeta grabs my waist and holds me back.
"No," he says. "You deserve to live." And with that he pulls my face towards his and kisses me, and before I can control them there are hot tears running down my cheeks.
With his gashed and bleeding leg, Peeta makes a lunge towards my last arrow, and half hangs over the golden horn. The claws of the muttation appear over the edge of the Cornucopia, and make swiping actions at him. One of the claws catches Peeta's face, and leaves a gaping red hole in his cheek, his teeth visible through the wound. He screams in agony as his hand clenches my arrow. The tears are coming fast now, stinging the cuts on my face. Somehow, incredibly, Peeta summons the strength to throw the arrow back to me. I reach up in the air; I have to jump for it. I catch it. I land not thirty centimetres from Peeta. My right foot just moves forward ever so slightly and hits him, square in the stomach. I drop my arrow and bow and grab Peeta's hand just as he slips over the edge.
"No!" I scream. This is too much to bear. The muttation's hot breath is blowing in our faces. Rue's breath. I look into Peeta's eyes, and they are full not only horrific pain but also a strong sadness, so strong it makes you want to reach in and drag it from them.
"Katniss, let me go," he splutters in between mouthfuls of his own blood. "No, no, Peeta, no!" I sob. "Peeta I love you. I love you. Pure, honest, real. Not fake, Peeta. I love you."
But his hand and mine are becoming slick with blood, and it is becoming harder to hold on.
"Katniss, I love you," are the last words he mutters before Rue finally claims him. Rue, my ally. I'd compared her to my little sister. I cannot kill her. Killing her would be killing Prim. But no, this is not Rue. This is some hideous version of her, programmed to brutally kill anything that moves. So with my blood-coated hands, I ready my bow, and aim right at her temple. The arrow flies with graceful precision straight into its target. She yelps in pain before collapsing to the ground in a broken and angry heap.
I swing myself down from the Cornucopia and race over to Peeta. Everything is blurring. I can vaguely hear someone screaming, and I register it is probably me. I cradle his pale and limp body in my arms, telling him I am sorry, over and over again. I buckle over on to him in a hysterical heap, soaking myself in my tears and his blood. The cannon sounds. Peeta is gone.
OK, this is also for my English Assignment. THIS IS NOT HOW I WOULD HAVE LIKED THE ENDING OF THE BOOK. This is just what it is because I had to change the ending to a book, and I wanted something dramatic, and figured this would suffice
I'll start with this, a simple wish My long-awaited dream to fly When you told me forever, I almost believed you And I nearly let my hidden wings unfold But then I thought maybe you didn't mean forever, not really Maybe you were just exaggerating So I tucked them away, hiding them deep within myself again Flying would prove to be very lonesome, if I had no one to join me
The second was my inner desire to become lost, To somehow lose myself in search of uncovering who I wanted to be But to merely pretend, and fall into the masquerade of life was too effortless Instead I sought to be free, to find what made me different and never change That's where we clashed unpleasantly You always knew where you were going; you always had a plan I only drifted aimlessly, hoping that with a hint of serendipity sooner or later I would unearth what I was looking for Losing myself would be rather impossible, if I had nobody to find me again
The final was the most significant, but also the most strange My fear of letting someone in, to close the distance from stranger to friend Or even more so than a friend All my doubts and uncertainties revolved around you I didn't want you to discover my soul inside and be sadly disappointed Or maybe even disgusted with what you saw So I didn't let you get too close, I made myself think that I wasn't what you needed Nor would I ever be So you see, my dear It was very hard to be with someone, when all along I knew I was better off alone