So...

So I posted a lot of "old" poems, so that should be enough to keep this blog updated for a while. Typing up poetry isn't nearly quite as much fun writing it, even if you cry while writing, like a baby. I hope you enjoy my poems, as you can see, some are from, well, the heart. Others from the brain or my invisible muse. I will post more later. Yes, I know, some have a weird format; deal with it.

Written February 6, 2014

Shining scales glimmer,
Passing in the winter,
Yellow gold of the sun.

Dark emerald,
Shimmering sapphire,
Along the shapes and curves.

Filled with an unknown desire,
I reach out to touch it
And am surprised by its gentleness.

No longer fearing the worst,
I touch its head,
Its slit eyes staring at me.

Morning dew
Glimmers like snowflakes
And they drip down in drops.

Long teeth made for crushing,
Made for killing,
Do not harm me.

There is beauty in this beast
And I am not surprised
That it's just out of my reach.

The Butterfly Project Written February 25, 2014

They flit about
On my wrist
Flutter
And clutter
Black
Flesh
Wings and antennae
Flit
Flutter
They cover my arm
And protect me from harm

Written February 25, 2014

You do not know how I feel
I do not know how I feel
      I cannot know how I feel
              I will not know how I feel
I do not know how you feel
Do you know how you feel
I do not want this to end
      I will not want this to end
             At least I do not think I will want this to end
To know
To feel
To end
How, will, why
I do not know
Do you know?

Written February 25, 2014

Black blotches on my fingers
Blue smudges on my hands.
A splash of colour on my wrist,
Streaks across my pants.

Written February 25, 2014

It goes across the page
It makes a mess.
It smudges and smears
And gets all over me.
Its colour is vibrant,
Its smell is strong.
Covering my hands,
I show it to everyone.
A book full of it
Or two or three.
Flip through its pages
And you will find me.

Written February 25, 2014

Ink touches the page,
It is my blood.
Words scrawl across,
They reveal my heart.
Lines curve and dance,
They are my soul.

Written March 7, 2014

I'm never okay,
I'm always fine,
But sometimes I'm alright.

Written February 25, 2014

Being alone
Is what's going to happen.
How can I make this not happen?
I cannot.
I can only hope this will not happen.
Hope is futile;
It will only crush you.
Pain is unbearable;
It will teach you
To hurt
The ones you love.
Love is impossible
For someone like me
To obtain.
And not one person
Can possess it.
Possession is not here,
Possession of love,
Possession of hope,
Possession of never
Being alone.