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Melissa
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Bionic Ballerina

B

Bionic Ballerina

She has a few screws loose from the abuse from past years Never talks but always hears, the gears between her ears Endlessly twist and turn She is silent not because of something you did, nor is she stupid So tired, her body came with batteries not included And no fuel to burn The chunk of metal in her chest—her steampunk heart Has no spare part and a missing key is needed to start Yet the pistons still churn Past preprogramed chagrin and a phony porcelain grin Exists a soul untouched by sin trapped beneath synthetic skin So she will always yearn But she remains locked in her music box world Click click twirl twirl… my beautiful

The Wrong Song

T

The Wrong Song

I could write a song about all of the ways I’ve been wrong. But I’d need to search all over the atlas for a canvas as big as the sky. And I think I’d bleed an ocean of ink and drain it dry on my first try. I would write you a song but it would be too damn long.

Sylvia

S

Sylvia

You czar…You know who you are You knock her down, then lift her like a star You break her, then kiss her before she can scar Only to lock her away under a bell jar You fool… You and your schemes Screaming your silent screams Oh, destroyer of her dreams By all means, tear her apart at the seams You husband…She is your wife With a wandering hand you bring strife Your wedding band cuts her like a knife Yet you wonder why she can’t stand life You devil…You so full of sin Your evil words drip with poison Feeding her doubts with shouts and strokes of your pen You strip away the skin Peel back the flesh to reveal t

Saturday

S

Saturday

The Saturday morning sun slips through windowpane glass, illuminating the spaces left vacant by you as you pass me by, where I lie contemplating the many reasons—why? Why do Saturdays now hold for me a strange symmetry? And how can our chemical connections defy the rules of chemistry? And why would the laws of physics disappear when you’re physically near me? All of these things have remained an unsolved mystery. Until now, as I silently surrender to my Saturday and know that while other's spend Sabbath searching skies and gathering in places where the only sound they hear are lies—I have found that god was within me all a

Release Me

9 to 5

t

9 to 5

 You steal from us—blood, sweat and tears, as we trudge through the dust of our lost years. You take and take but never give, while forcing us into the slavery of—must do to live. So… take my broken back and my knees that always crack So… take the hours in my day, held as ransom for my pay. But, know this now before I part— You cannot have my head, hands or heart, for those are the precious vessels for my art. Do not sacrifice your soul or ever submit for a work permit. Sometimes in order to make it, you have to know when to say—I quit

Break the Silence

B

Break the Silence

Break the Silence Beware those in power at this very hour, They wield syllables as swords at the silent hordes. Words like weapons can break your protections, Could also create and make others awake. So scream out against the regime. Use your voice like you don’t have a choice. Speak for the weak and those without tongues, Like you’re breathing for someone without lungs. For there is no sound more profound Than the silence of a slave or a grave

Love is an Ocean

L

Love is an Ocean

Love is an ocean, while I seek high ground, holding a shell to my ear to hear the sound- of your goodbye. My heart like glass lay broken on the shore, crushed into sand by those that search for- their first kiss. I watch the lovers wait for the tide to turn, afraid to join them because I never did learn- how to swim.

Writers' Block

W

Writers' Block

I stare at the glare, of bright white light The cursor flickers, blinking, thinking- You have nothing.

Meteor Shower in Siberia

M

Meteor Shower in Siberia

Your words, like meteors-                        You are burning through my atmosphere                        You are leveling my inner landscape                        You are a crater in the core of my Siberian soul.
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Bionic Ballerina

B

Bionic Ballerina

She has a few screws loose from the abuse from past years Never talks but always hears, the gears between her ears Endlessly twist and turn She is silent not because of something you did, nor is she stupid So tired, her body came with batteries not included And no fuel to burn The chunk of metal in her chest—her steampunk heart Has no spare part and a missing key is needed to start Yet the pistons still churn Past preprogramed chagrin and a phony porcelain grin Exists a soul untouched by sin trapped beneath synthetic skin So she will always yearn But she remains locked in her music box world Click click twirl twirl… my beautiful

The Wrong Song

T

The Wrong Song

I could write a song about all of the ways I’ve been wrong. But I’d need to search all over the atlas for a canvas as big as the sky. And I think I’d bleed an ocean of ink and drain it dry on my first try. I would write you a song but it would be too damn long.

Sylvia

S

Sylvia

You czar…You know who you are You knock her down, then lift her like a star You break her, then kiss her before she can scar Only to lock her away under a bell jar You fool… You and your schemes Screaming your silent screams Oh, destroyer of her dreams By all means, tear her apart at the seams You husband…She is your wife With a wandering hand you bring strife Your wedding band cuts her like a knife Yet you wonder why she can’t stand life You devil…You so full of sin Your evil words drip with poison Feeding her doubts with shouts and strokes of your pen You strip away the skin Peel back the flesh to reveal t

Saturday

S

Saturday

The Saturday morning sun slips through windowpane glass, illuminating the spaces left vacant by you as you pass me by, where I lie contemplating the many reasons—why? Why do Saturdays now hold for me a strange symmetry? And how can our chemical connections defy the rules of chemistry? And why would the laws of physics disappear when you’re physically near me? All of these things have remained an unsolved mystery. Until now, as I silently surrender to my Saturday and know that while other's spend Sabbath searching skies and gathering in places where the only sound they hear are lies—I have found that god was within me all a

Release Me

9 to 5

t

9 to 5

 You steal from us—blood, sweat and tears, as we trudge through the dust of our lost years. You take and take but never give, while forcing us into the slavery of—must do to live. So… take my broken back and my knees that always crack So… take the hours in my day, held as ransom for my pay. But, know this now before I part— You cannot have my head, hands or heart, for those are the precious vessels for my art. Do not sacrifice your soul or ever submit for a work permit. Sometimes in order to make it, you have to know when to say—I quit

Break the Silence

B

Break the Silence

Break the Silence Beware those in power at this very hour, They wield syllables as swords at the silent hordes. Words like weapons can break your protections, Could also create and make others awake. So scream out against the regime. Use your voice like you don’t have a choice. Speak for the weak and those without tongues, Like you’re breathing for someone without lungs. For there is no sound more profound Than the silence of a slave or a grave

Love is an Ocean

L

Love is an Ocean

Love is an ocean, while I seek high ground, holding a shell to my ear to hear the sound- of your goodbye. My heart like glass lay broken on the shore, crushed into sand by those that search for- their first kiss. I watch the lovers wait for the tide to turn, afraid to join them because I never did learn- how to swim.

Writers' Block

W

Writers' Block

I stare at the glare, of bright white light The cursor flickers, blinking, thinking- You have nothing.

Meteor Shower in Siberia

M

Meteor Shower in Siberia

Your words, like meteors-                        You are burning through my atmosphere                        You are leveling my inner landscape                        You are a crater in the core of my Siberian soul.

Spotlight

Badges
Llama: Llamas are awesome! (1)
My Bio
I am a writer of fiction and poetry. I also dabble in nonfiction whenever the activist in me feels inspired.

Favourite Movies
Boondock Saints, Exit Humanity, World War Z, Night of the Living dead series, KickAss
Favourite TV Shows
The Walking Dead, Lost Girl, Parks and Rec, New Girl, Supernatural
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Krewella, Dangerkids, MsMr, Birthday Massacre, InnerPartySystem, Linkin Park
Favourite Books
Wheel of Time series, Sword of Truth series, The Talisman, Fingersmith
Favourite Writers
Robert Jordan, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Sylvia Plath
Favourite Games
Mass Effect series, Final Fantasy series, The Last of Us, Fallout, Borderlands
Favourite Gaming Platform
Playstation always and forever
Tools of the Trade
Words
Other Interests
Activism "United as One, Divided by Zero"

My Inspiration

My Inspiration

I had Sylvia Plath in my head all day at work. I still remember the first time I read 'Lady Lazarus' in school. The words cut into me and I went looking for other work by her. Once I found her poem 'Daddy' it was an eye opening experience for me. I copied it onto notebook paper and carried with me everywhere that I went, until creases turned into tears and the words were no longer readable. The words were written by a woman no longer alive, yet she knew me better than anyone. I wanted to reach back in time and tell her- ME TOO!I knew that it wouldn't have saved her life, but it may have given her some closure. I wondered what would it be

War of Words

War of Words

    I fell asleep while writing again, only this time I ended up with ink on my face. Another battle scar in my fight to become published vs. my struggle of surviving yet another 10+ hour day in hell.     After I washed away the evidence from my face, I looked upon the page that I wrote before my slumber. In the chaos of my notes, a scene is taking shape. And my words are beginning to flow forward, as if the word to the right is a potential soulmate and they feel compelled to carry each other towards the ending punctuation.    There are wars won by inches and some by luck. But the war I wage for my dreams will be won by sentences dragged

My Life

My Life

My life is filled with a million self edits and its up to me to decide how my story is told. Only I can make sure it ends with the proper punctuation.

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Thanks for the fav! :hug: