Little Bird Poetry

You’ve been missing from me for too long, Yet not long enough you bastard, Leave me be, leave me be, leave me be, You’re a monster from a child’s nightmare, You’re a gilded golden snare that seeks to entangle me, You’re a roaring flames that burns like the sun that desires to engulf me, All you want is my flesh, my body, my looks, No desire for my heart, Or my thoughts, Or my soul that hums with reverberating waves of ceaseless energy, I simply don’t understand how a sight, So desired to see, Can stab me, Cold in the heart, With daggers forged of ice.

I love people, All people, The well-loved, The wallflower, The athlete, And the ones filled with religious zeal, I love all people, As I do not believe any of them are truly evil, I do not think that anyone is born to be cruel, To be cold, To be heinous, Although my love for people does not waiver, My hope at times does, The thoughts like, “He said that…?”, “She really feels that way…?”, “They actually did it…?”, Seep through miniscule cracks of my subconscious, And taint the pure waters of waking thought, My love grows each day, As I meet more and more people, As I learn and grow with each occurrence, As I roll with each punch, Yet there is fault in this love. A cold hard pavement that wakes me up after falling from such highs. I love people, Yet they do not always love me too, I’ve given all to those who receive little, I’ve given all to those who receive a lot, I’ve been told not everyone deserves love, But how ca...

I don’t understand the cruelty of people I don’t understand how one could look upon their fleshly brother and see nothing Why is it I could walk into any school And find those who are unloved Find those who are forgotten Abused Unknown There are many people who are kind and genuine and amazing Yet will always fall short in the eyes of most I love these types of people The ones who are jewels in plain sight They are always more unique as a fingerprint Or beautiful as a setting sun

It streams in his veins like all the liquor he drank It dances through the words he screams It pulsates in the air around him It glows a fiery red in his fighting hands It slowly seeps into me It takes over my mind

They whisper my name I hear it in the halls I hear it ring Giggles Laughter Crooked fingers pointed to me Like guns ready to fire Please just kill me

I'm surrounded by people Yet I'm just alone No one to turn to No one to speak to I'm alone in a crowded room On my own island of existence I linger and sigh As I look at the massive waves around me I so desire to leave this place To venture out To find someone I'm just so alone In a room full of people

I think of you during all hours, you, and your seductive powers, that sly smile never turned towards me, and it never will be, so into my mind I turn into the place where my passion burns, thinking of things, giving my love wings, as I daydream you'll come back to me, I know it'll never be, but inside my head anything can happen, so I stay inside when I can.

Love and pain are eternal wolves, Forever circling one another, Their eyes aflame and hungering, Their claws sharp, Ready to defend their folly, On the occasion one will strike, Attack and obtain a temporary victory, The wolves, As they were both nursed from the same bosom, Look most identical, Making them nearly impossible to distinguish, One is always followed relentlessly by the other And allows no man chance of escape.

There was once a little bird, With plumage like deep navy, When dew dappled her feathers she looked like a set of lost constellations, Displaced by the night, By day she enjoyed dancing among the clouds, Weaving through wisps of soft white tendrils, She pulled joy from the thundering of the river, the crackling of lightning, from the cries of the wild in the night, Yet, there was one problem, The little bird was alone, She was a bright blue jay amongst throngs of mourning doves, Everyone once and again one appear to be the shade she sought, But it was simply wishful thinking, She was tormented by the eerie calls of the doves, By the whistles as they took to the sky, Doves called to the little bird, Questioning how she could be a bird but not a bird like them, Why her song did not sound soft and sweet, Why her feathers were shades of sadness, Why her song was not the same, She had no answer, As it was how she’d always been, Feeling odd, A...

Him. I want him. I need him. Or is it just want? What is want? Is it the surge of longing when he left me? Is it the late nights looking over photos of long forgotten adventures? Is it the urge to curl up in his old sweat shirt breathing in what little of him remains with me? Is it the act of going by him everyday, seeing him happy, knowing I am not the cause, and that I will likely never be the reason for his laughter? Is it want, to miss him, to still love him, to feel the hollow of my own chest as I sit up in the middle of the night wondering where I went wrong? What is need? Is it the sudden drowning in the sea of depression that his love once kept me buoyed above? Is it the empty space next to me on my bedroom floor that he once filled while I expressed my private thoughts? Is it the quiet rides to school in the morning, listening to music, while I sing a one-sided duet? Is it the empty conversation left to be swept under the rug, the one that I st...

Why? Why is it we don’t see the signs of the willingness to die? Why is it we don’t give compassion to those who deserve our passion? Why is it we avoid the things that hide quietly in our mind’s wings? How is it that we are put in a place where discomfort that holds our words hostage? A place where systems of sadness and overhanging malicious intent is allowed to grow like black mold? So deadly to those exposed to it yet, not annihilated by those who know it exists? Why is it life has become so bad that suicide is the option? That it is casually thrown to the wind like laughter at a vibrant party? What has driven us all to the point where we may not try to kill ourselves, but we won’t move if the train is coming straight at us? How is it we’ve become so numb to our own suffering, that we ignore that of others?