Questions.

Skin

Bones

Face 

Clothes

They're distracting me

Pain

Cold

Frail

Old

Why do I still feel

Awkward

Shy

Bitter

Cry

Longing yet alone

House

Home 

City

Roam

We do not belong

Stress

Give

Spend

Live

I am waxing tired

Favor

Youth

Looks 

Truth

Fleeting fancy lies

Love

Hate

Kiss

Berate

Isolated souls

Deadline

Clock

Sprint

Walk

Time is running out

Hope

Fear

Blurred 

Clear

Yet, He holds me still

Dragon Girl

Eyes glazed
Apathy
Girl c-can you hear me
Move through life fast asleep
Never knowing
Inner beast

In the darkness
Starved for light
Born alone, spawn of night
Death-sleep… comatose
Never waking up
But your time has come

Something’s stirring
Can you feel that
Burning in your gut
Scales a crimson glow
Baby light it up
Cry, roar,
Find out what you’re made for
World ablaze
Gone crazed
You’re the dragon girl

You kept it in so long
Silent cold and dark
Wake up wake up
Flash glassy eyes
Girl you bear the mark
Of destiny this is your time
So rise on wings of fire

Iron-sides, muscled out
Liquid flame within
Shining, rippling flesh
All this time
While you just slept
You had the power to win

Something’s stirring
Can you feel that
Burning in your gut
Scales a crimson glow
Baby light it up
Cry, roar,
Find out what you’re made for
World ablaze
Gone crazed
You’re the dragon girl

Illogical.

Poem about feelings of frustration I have with my INFP personality and ridiculous inability to compromise or concede in romantic endeavors:

•••

I fight for logic.

I'm reasonably reasonable

about almost any thing.

But, I cannot apply that to my heart.

I am an idealist

despite my protests

against my daydreaming,

emotional, overly romantic

self.  

In my heart of hearts 

I want nothing more 

than understanding, affection,

and mutual oneness with

another.

But these are high demands...

Though they might seem 

simplistic, the combined criteria

is quite possibly

unobtainable.

I long to give logic reign;

let it "give and take..."

...Weigh the worth of 

hopes and dreams, and then, decide.

...Decide to give up

ideals; expectations; desires... 

Decide to compromise:

to meet its needs and find

contentment.

But logic cannot beat 

a fiercely beating heart...

No, logic cannot fight

determined souls and 

win. 

So, I will live, likely, alone: 

longing, searching, trying...

Experimenting; crying...

Faking fulfillment, but never feeling

love.

He Says

He says my name.

As a humble cashier,

I've oft known the irks

of manipulative customers

taking advantage of name tags. 

I've come to detest 

the sound of my name

from their lips.

But he says my name.

I don't mind it from family,

but it won't give me chills...

Not hardly.

Besides, they rarely use it.

They can simply gesture; 

it's implied...

They know me well.

Yet... He says my name.

I noticed, because,

the first time he used it,

it wasn't a necessary component

of his very precise 

sentence structure.

The sound ran through me

like pop rocks.

He says my name.

It still gives me

happy feelings

every time.

I've no idea why this simple thing 

has such power...

But it does, and I love it.

He says my name. 

Like-Minds.

Drip drop 

no, a flood --

You've op'ed the pump up wide --

Once you start I cannot stop; 

you awake my mind.

It's simple, then, evolves in minutes

from generic to highly intriguing.

I will talk to you for hours,

if I'm not a bother.

Let's talk, for hours.

It's only fun when I know you're happy,

so when you are, 

I come alive. My very soul blooms 

when it's with you.

But distrust

or disfavor,

perceived or in truth,

slays me -- crush my heart;

I will shrink like a flower 

if you do not give me water.

I do not know how to navigate

this new and frightening field,

but I'm excited. There's fluttering in my chest --

Just take my hand and hold it; I'll be fine.

Yearning Heart

So, my heart's hurting, and I'm questioning where I am in my walk with God, since I'm not really /walking/ anymore and I feel like I'm useless as a Christian due to comfortable apathy and yeaaaaahh I need prayer and stuff. Thanks. Also poem. Yay. 

It hurts, 

self-awareness.

I think that's why 

we love our distractions

our apathy

our pretty little lies

I think that's why I'm searching

I think that's why I yearn

I think it's why our love fades

why there's fear behind our eyes.

It hurts, 

self-awareness.

Hurts to know,

to realize

that your passion,

your resolve and dedication 

is only crumbled memory

I'm grasping, I'm clinging,

like a fool to broken ropes

not wanting to know

but still glowing with hope

Like embers in ashes

like a star in cityscape

the hope glows, but it's false;

I've lost what I once knew.

It hurts, 

self-awareness.

Dear God, my God

I'm still clutching 

at memories of you

and in the still moments, 

I ache to know again

But I can't 

at least not right away.

It's hurting, it's part of me, 

but it's dimming, and now...

Now I don't know where to start. 

Idealists and their Umbrellas

I'm a walking contradiction

a flip-flop or a wind

Unpredictable as magic

and yet; it all makes sense. 

I am at once

a cynic

and dreamer...

Relativist,

yet moral.

I hate the world

and people

Yet adore them,

flaws and all.

I am beautiful

yet plain

Highly intellectual

while painfully thick.

Introvert --

I'm quiet,

Or I'm chatty as a squirrel

but that depends on you.

I'm not sure 

how to deal with me

or predict 

my brain's whims.

I suppose it's like 

the weather:

If it's sunshine,

bring an umbrella.

Ode to my Toopid-Face Brain

I hate my brain for doing this
the insensitive little nut.

Every time my heart breaks, it churns out art 

like malfunctioning machinery
in a haunted, abandoned factory

It can't fix the hurt
so it gives up, leaving the task to time
I may not sleep for weeks, but hey, it's telling me I'm fine.

So I'll turn out a novel and tune out my heart
I'll paint a picture of you
I'll churn out some music, I'll focus on art
I'll manage to live with the pain

They say an artist's greatest works
come from his saddest days
all I know is that this hurts
I don't care what art has to say

But I'll turn out a novel and tune out my heart
I'll paint a picture of you
I'll churn out some music, I'll focus on art
I'll manage to live with the pain

I hate my brain for doing this
but you know, I'm sure I'll be fine.