#poetrybya

[a-dying-fallen-angel]

Who Are You?

How easily we forget

who we are.

For one tiny,

impossibly small,

but oh so significant second,

I thought I was breakable.

I wanted to be a silly girl,

like a porcelain doll

dressed up pretty

and ready to be played with.

But,

I am not made of glass.

I am stronger than an oak

and tougher than nails.

My roots are deep

and planted completely in faith,

as the storms hurl rain at me

I grow and rise, taller than before.

I could not be controlled

so easily by your charm,

like a snake rising from a basket,

to bend to your will.

I could never be swayed

so low to your cries,

so that my branches would touch

the ground so far below me.

I don’t care for your martyring

nor your pitty fest.

You will not gain my sympathy,

rather my contempt.

Maybe you’ve lost sight

of where you were going.

After all,

there are lots of pretty trees in this forest.

Maybe you climbed too high,

tried to conquer too much,

thinking you could chop me down,

or steal my fruit.

But,

whatever the reason,

don’t lose sight of who you really are.

I may have forgotten myself,

for a tiny,

but oh so significant second,

But

don’t count on me making such

a foolish mistake

again.

So get ready.

Take a long look in the mirror

and figure out your story

before you come crawling back,

because I’m not even sure,

if I’m even interested in who you are

anymore.

[a-dying-fallen-angel]

I See You

For Michelle

I see you down there.

You’re the dead rose,

Wilting and dying away.

The petals fallen

And the color drained.

I see you over there.

Hiding in the dark

With shadows growing taller

As the night stretched on,

And the blackness grows.

I see you under there.

Looking for shelter,

Struggling to stay afloat

As the storm rages around

And the rain soaks you through.

I see you out there.

Trying to survive

Through an endless and barren desert

And the sun sucks up the moisture

Leaving you dry and brittle.

I see you.

I see your pain,

Your loss,

Your battles,

Your sorrows,

Your worry,

Your agony.

I see you.

I see you want to give up.

But you need to know,

That after winter ends,

Roses bloom again in the spring.

You need to know that the darkest of nights,

Will never win against the sun.

You need to know,

That storms blow over

And rainbows come after.

You need to know

That no desert is endless,

And I’ll always be there with water for you.

I see you.

I see the struggles,

But I also see something else.

I see your joy.

Your beauty,

Your laughter,

Your hopes,

Your strength,

You passion,

Your energy,

Your loyalty,

Your empathy,

Your kindness,

Your love,

Especially your love.

Even though you may not see past the torment,

I do.

I see you.

Everything.

You aren’t alone.

Even though you may be stuck in the past

Or stuck in a bed place,

I see your potential,

And how great you already are,

And I can see that those things are worth fighting for.

I see you,

So please don’t give up,

Because I love getting to see you. ❤️

[a-dying-fallen-angel]

Breaking Point

Stuck in between the heart and brain,

ripping my soul in half,

feeling my mind going insane

and faking every single laugh.

When you’ve tasted the sweetest,

Or felt the softest,

Of had achieved the craziest,

How do you go back to mundane?

How do I hide all the pain

and suck it up

and wish the best for you

even if it’s not with me?

I’m walking on a tightrope,

pulled tight like my heart strings,

ready to snap

or throw me over.

A tricky game

where I am the poorer of players

and you are several steps ahead

always making the smart moves.

Only with me do you falter.

Only with me are you unwise.

Only with me are you brought down.

Maybe I should let this go.

A fool’s dream,

chasing down a rabbit’s hole

And when I reach the bottom,

everything is the more strange.

I need time to stop,

A bit of time to think,

A little time to breathe.

Or maybe those are all excuses.

I gave up hope a long time ago,

So I’d never have to hurt again,

Because if you never dream,

You can never come up short.

When did I get so soft?

Moldable like clay,

I want you to form me

And shape a future together.

But you are not for me.

And I am not for you.

And this truth

Will undoubtedly

Break me.

[a-dying-fallen-angel]

Sharing Lies

I have a new favorite game.

Sharing lies with you.

Our little secrets

That keep us close

And make our hearts beat faster.

I know you should never lie,

But there’s something so beautiful

And something so right in this wrong

That I can’t help myself.

But the best part of it is,

If this all comes crashing down,

At least we burn together.

@imperial-poetry-prompts

[a-dying-fallen-angel]

Unfinished Thoughts

White as snow

And soft as snowflakes

Drifting between a bridge

The kind of flesh and warmth.

Not knowing exactly how it started

Or why is was too hard to be parted

Each inhale was a breathe of adrenaline

And each exhale was harder than last.

Not even white,

Nor a full mellow

The color you bore

Was in between clouds and sun yellow.

With each breath in,

I could taste your spite

And with each breath in,

I always knew another would follow.

Your taste so melancholy

Drifting between peace and sorrow,

That fine line crushing

As I narrowly walk it.

You smell like a folk song,

The sweet verses of longing

And the cry of a lone wolf

Somehow made beautiful.

With each touch too hot

Like lava burning through,

Yet so cold am I without

The immense heat you brew.

Somehow I am no longer contrived

But rather a hazy daze,

Of something almost there

But not quite something.

Forever on the cusp,

Of something worth,

always a barely there

Of any.

Let the wind take me

In a quite whisper

And let the kisses stay

And quietly linger.

In the back of my memory you rot,

An almost perfect

A could’ve been

A never should have started,

A poorly written end.

[a-dying-fallen-angel]

The Story of How I Gain My Wings

A Sequel to “The Story of How I Lost My Wings”

Walking through the Valley,

deep green walls rise to my left and right,

then suddenly I’m in an alley,

where dark walls block out the light.

How long have I been walking

that I didn’t notice the scenery,

as I run from the darkness stalking,

change to city from greenery?

As if it were a flash,

never to be forgotten,

I still remember the clash,

a constant reminder from wings rotten.

When I fell from Grace,

I though Satan would protect me,

but He only wants me to know my place.

How is He any different from Holy?

Now I am left to roam the Land,

alone.

Despite the people who give me their hands,

I am worn thin to my bone.

I push everyone away,

because I am stuck between right and wrong,

a sorta gray,

that loses me in the throng.

“At least I’m trying”

I say to no one.

“At least I push through when times are trying”

I still say to no one.

My wings,

once black as charcoal,

the last reminder of once glorious things,

my wings are gray with no soul.

Too small for me to fly,

but too defining to join the ring,

they exist as I do, to get by,

and maybe never white again, my wings.

The Story of How I Lost My Wings,

was fierce and tragic.

The Story of How I Gain My Wings,

will be bland and dramatic.

The curse I burden,

self-inflicted,

torments me,

but still I will bare it alone,

as previously stated,

it has been self-inflicted,

and I deserve the torment.

[a-dying-fallen-angel]

Fresh Start

Underneath the willow

the cold whipped my face,

the rain soaked my back

And my brain began to unravel.

Sitting beneath the tree

I thought would offer protection,

but just like the walls I built up

none was given.

How can I breathe

when you are the universe

absorbing everything,

including myself?

It’s an inescapable sorrow

but an unbelievable rush,

living on the border of worlds of

unsatisfiable hunger

and unquenchable anguish.

What would the thunder be without lightning?

What would a canary be without its song?

What would the moon be without the stars?

And what would be my heart without you?

Bitter liquor burns,

as does the bitter truth;

I must give you up

and learn to live without

in order to live.

And you too must learn to live without,

though it should be easy,

as you’ve done so for so long,

whereas my broken soul

will maybe never know

something as glorious as your light,

ever again.

Live your lie of holy matrimony

and monotonous normalcy,

while I die slowly

forever faking contentment

with a missed opportunity

or, as I see,

a saving grace for you

from a life

with a girl

as untamable as the ocean

and as deserving

as Lucifer himself.

I’ll stand there as you say vows,

and smile as you savor your kin,

and hold your hand through life,

and ask nothing in return,

knowing with the smallest give

and I’ll start back over again.

Right back at the beginning

sitting in the rain,

writing a poem

about throwing away my heart

so yours has a chance

for a much needed

fresh start.

[a-dying-fallen-angel]

Masterpieces

Poetry is hard.

It is hard to take your pain

and turn it into something elegant and beautiful.

It is hard to take your excitement and love,

and trap it so perfectly on paper.

It is hard to take you anger

and feel it through the words.

The thing about Poetry,

that makes it so damn hard,

is that sometimes there aren’t words.

Sometimes there isn’t anything that can be said,

nothing that can be done,

to completely and

honestly

describe yourself,

or how you feel.

And some days the pressure of getting it just flawless,

turns my therapeutic escape,

into another torment of failure,

and somehow being just shy

of faultless accomplishment.

So this is for all the Poets,

like myself,

who don’t get it right,

or can’t find the words,

or beat themselves up when it doesn’t make sense,

or don’t use the proper structure,

or make a typo,

or take a simile too far it loses meaning,

or get too lost in one detailed thought,

or just don’t know how to say what they feel

that specific day.

This is for all the Poets still struggling to ensnare

their minds and make them something different,

something worth reading,

something worth believing,

something to consul

or something to lull.

This is for the Poets who choose to write,

even when it’s not right.

This is for all of Us.

Never stop looking for the words to say

or the courage to say them,

even when you’re short of the true masterpiece,

that we all are.