Tag Archives: learn

beyond help

if there’s

anything i

learned

from you,

it’s that

some things

just can’t

be saved.

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Filed under Poetry

re-drown

we have wound back

to where we all started

zero degrees farenheit

the rain slashes torrents

of the heartbeats that slow

and the blood that boils

into the misdemeanour, as

unforgivable as my vice

.

we have drawn back

to where it all started

a hundred degrees celsius

the circles tracing our steps

of the nerves screaming agony

from the blood that thins into

an unescapable ocean wave

and if there was any way out

let me learn how to swim.

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[w]ill

is it bad

that i wish

you ill

just so you

would

learn how it

feels?

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See Jane

Jane was taught many things throughout the course of her life. Jane was taught to be a good girl to mummy and daddy. Jane was taught to say her prayers and obey what she was told to do. Jane was taught to clean herself up and clean up after herself. Jane was taught to do her straight auburn hair up in ribbons and pigtails, polish her red maryjane shoes into a dazzling shine, and wear her best cotton pastel dresses. Jane was taught to walk with proper posture, smile gracefully, speak in a soft feminine voice, and to go about with tasks in an elegant finesse. Jane was taught to learn her academic lessons well at the private all-girls catholic school she was attending, and as well as her weekly lessons about faith and God at Sunday class in the town church. Jane was taught not to play too roughly, never to join the bad flock of black sheep, and to generally stay out of trouble. Jane was taught to be polite, friendly, amiable, and to be approachable and presentable. Simply put, Jane was trained to be a perfect girl, and she was taught to love it.

What was wrong with Jane?

Jane was the epitome of nice. Jane was the classic textbook example of the girl next door; charming, demure, a bonny maiden with a beautiful appearance and personality, living a scripted, sterile, storybook suburban life. Jane was a starchild, excelling in everything and anything, always at her best. Jane was sociable, had lots of friends and could easily make new acquaintances. In the morning, among the company of people, she was quite pleasant, a darling sweetheart in the glossed-over, uncrutinising eyes of the faceless neighbours. See Jane greet. See Jane traipse. See Jane dance. See Jane laugh. See Jane wave. See Jane smile. See Jane happy. But alas, that was the full extent of their limited perception. To them, Jane could be summed up in positive words less than three syllables long. They could never see the actual Jane, dark and complicated. They couldn’t glare past the cracks of the well-practised façade, and take a gander at the real version that’s not made of plastic skin and porcelain eyes, refusing to see the truth of the perfect girl that barely sleeps at night. See Jane depressed. See Jane grit her teeth. See Jane scream. See Jane self-harm. See Jane feel empty. See Jane strut mechanically. See Jane do drugs. See Jane muffle her crying on her pillow. See Jane as a complete fucking mess.

What was wrong with Jane?

Jane was taught many things in the course of her short life. Be this, be that, don’t do this, don’t do that, Jane never learned to think for herself. Simply put, Jane was brainwashed to be the perfect girl, and she absolutely hated it. In the end, it was not Jane with the fault, she was only the innocent victim. Rather, it was her guardians, her teachers, who missed a crucial lesson that might have saved Jane from self destruction. For Jane was only taught to exist, but she was never taught to live. Teeming alongside the controversy now, the very same life enveloping death that the multitudinous attendees are currently buzzing with. The haughty crowd, all clad in black garb, then proceeds to judge Jane with whispered huffs, gossiping under thin walls and blabbering behind paper fans hatefully, shaking their heads condescendingly with a chorus of tsk-tsk’s, saying stories and telling tall tales about how Jane was such an amazing girl, it’s such a waste Jane had to go this way, Jane always seemed cheerful and no one ever saw it coming, I remember that one time Jane…, Jane will be missed, nothing but senseless argot and unapologetic bereavement. Today, everyone mourned. But today, everyone also saw an accurate glimpse of Jane for the first time, and unfortunately, for the very last.

See Jane die.

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451

Fahrenheit 451—the temperature at which book paper catches fire and burns…” ~Ray Bradbury

~*~

4 days…

Dandelion tickles her soft chin

Montag, are you in love or not?

Childish star girl of evergreen

Dial watch face and whatnots

Life with you, in pretty whims

Until a beetle ran you over flat

.

Her liquid mercury eyes staring

Where did we first meet, Millie?

Her snowless island, yet hailing

Faux laughs of a parlour family

Life, with you, lacklustre feeling

Until a snake expunged toxicity

.

5 hours…

Mechanical hound, metal growl

What are fires, but clean lauds?

Captain, with a solid-set scowl

His knowledge, logically sound

Life with you, exhilarating goals

Until a dragon melts your ground

.

Brittle bones creaking with age

Books bleed pores, do you see?

The clever professor assuages

With green thimbles, philosophy

Life with you, easy plans staged

Until wolves chased relentlessly

.

1 lifetime.

A silver salamander button melting

Fill this sieve with sand for a dime?

A fireman with his joys misguiding

A forbidden hobby to pass the time

Life with himself, scary, confusing

Until books made him feel sublime

.

In a monochromatic dystopia, a future glowing bleak

Yes. Chicago. Beauty. Yes. Can’t. Answered his insights

Wars waged in twenty seconds, and families of static

Watching butterfly pages curling, words burning bright

Life as Book of Ecclesiastes, walking with his fellow literaries

I’ll save this passage for when we finally reach the city lights…

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Ponderings and Preludes V

~*~

ON FALSE HOPE

She thought the shooting stars

Were all just simply for her

But it collided hard with her heart

And left a gaping dark hole.

~*~

ON ELUSIVENESS

Perhaps I’m not the killer

Perhaps I poisoned the wine

Perhaps I wasn’t a stealer

Or perhaps I’m simply lying.

~*~

ON LEARNING THE HARD WAY

I learn my lessons very well

And stab my quill quite hard

Watch the crimson ink swell

Punishment deserved scarred.

~*~

ON TAKING CHANCES

I lost all my hard-earned money

In a bet against your hate

And I’m prepared to bet eternity

If it means I earn your faith.

~*~

ON DEPRESSION

Slam a knife against the wall

They deserve it they deserve—

Echoing screams until you fall

Heard can I please be heard…..

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