Hold Back to Hold OnTonight, I sit here
blinded by my own words,
as they crawl across the screen
giving life to my inner scream.
Now neatly stacked in a stanza,
trapped between lines
and hasty rhymes.
A begining to a poem
written for you, but not to you
the way a subtle hint is dropped
with no one to catch it
I love you.
I say that too often,
and a convincing lie most of the time.
Save the moments those words are for you,
like now, stop the clock.
Hour, minute, second.
I count, each one away from you
the way this stanza falls away from
Wish I could go back,
but the third stanza.. act
is already underway and who am I
to halt the play.. stage.. pain.. rage.
I rage against myself,
Always the same answer resounding.
I can't tell you how much you really mean
to me, because if I lose you
I have nothing. Not even this poem.
Parential Karma My daughter was a charming girl with long brown hair and rosy cheeks which pink matched her thin lips. She was always dressed in the most beautiful puffy dresses and hair done in the most complicated elegant hair styles that I could perform on her delicate head.
I was envied for having a perfect child, for raising her to be so obedient and smart. Everywhere I went I brought her with me to show the world the gift from above that I gave birth to.
But what made me love my daughter the most was not the look of composure and bright eyes on her small framed face. It was her cries.
We’ve all make a child cry for fun at least once in our life. Like when you jump out from behind something to make them yell in a high pitched voice. Or maybe you’ve told a kid a little scary story that made them come crying to their mother at the depth of night rambling about a monster that will get them.
I always spoke to my daughter
Into the Woods [Fae!Canada x Child!Reader]One must never venture too far into the woods. The adults tell the children that there are monsters hidden among the shadows, waiting with bated breath to devour an unsuspecting little boy or girl. But (name) has never cared too much about the scary stories; the forest is where she always wastes the day away until the sun sets sleepily in an orange horizon.
(Name) is lost.
One moment, she is skipping along a well-worn path more familiar to her than her village's own roads. Birds chirp peacefully, the sun's soft rays of light filtering through the mass of green leaves, and her (e/c) eyes are taking in the lovely sights of vibrant flowers strewn along the forest floor.
Then (name) hears something. A single musical note, more pure and more strange than anything in the world that has graced her young ears. It promises sweetness and adventure - a combination too tempting for the child. Something happens then. Rather than her feet being on the dirt path, they are stepping throug
.brother sandman please
come here and take him from her,
lead him out into the night
with pitter patters of his feet,
just take him by the hand
and don't let go,
won't give up his ghost
won't accept that visitation
bridge i think that it's been
too long standing anyway and i've no desire
to cross it but i'll leave it there
for now, won't burn it down -
the plants and animals
the spiral of rebirth,
the fossils breaking outside
of themselves and life,
they take it with a great big pinch
of salt, well
i'm over-seasoned now, i guess
that's death right at the end,
they must be weaved so tight together
and untouched by human hands,
don't talk to strangers,
prowl the alleys,
the underbelly of the world don't know my blood
type but i'm sure as hell it's sick and not
in that way,
i hear the cat crunch on the legs of a bumble bee
(still at it even from the inside)