word_eyes

Daddy's little girl had so much fun with her imaginary friends, but everytime she got a new toy, she'd stop playing with one of them, until she had so many toys, she just lost track of time, she had so much to do now, they never crossed her mind, so they vanished into her closet. Daddy's little girl is so beautiful now, she's growing up, she's going out, she's got so many new outfits, she threw her old toys out of the house, all of her pretty dolls and the ditry brown bear with the missing eye; the brown bear that her daddy gave her, when her mother died she's got so many "real" friends now, she threw the imaginary ones away, she has no faith in things you can not see, and she could use the closet space. Daddy's little girl got a great paying job, a son, and a new husband, she hasn't seen daddy in a while, because she was too busy for him, she didn't write, she didn't call, she didn't know he passed away, she couldn't make it to the funeral because she had to work that day. A few years down the line she realized how unhappy she was, thinking about the things she'd kept, compared to what she'd given up, crying to herself, because her "friends" weren't there to listen, when she moved away, she stopped contacting them not even to say hello, or to tell them she was doing okay, not a damn thing in the world, to fill the closet space.

thanks for the feedback... I've been working on this poem for a while. I liked it, but I found the same problems, I just didn't know what to do with it or how to improve it. I still don't know what to do with it. Some suggestions on how to re-word it would be helpful.

I was walking down the street, kicking a coke bottle frustrated, I picked it up, and threw it against a wall, I threw it so hard that I cracked every brick, but the glass didn't break at all. Even more frustrated, I threw it again, so hard, the ground shook and set off 10 car alarms, I had torn the C and E from the paper of the COKE label, but I had done the bottle no harm. By now I was pissed, so I picked it back up, but this time I couldn't let go, I ripped the rest of the label down, and revealed the words, "DO NOT THROW!" Amused a bit at the irony, I said fine, I'll crush it slow I sqeezed that bottle so damn hard that 16 fingers broke. A bit more withered now I'm sure, I figured this was it, I pulled the trigger 20 times, and off bounced every bullet. I give up, you win I said, and I took the bottle home, put a flower in it, and stood outside your window, I was wrong. You threw the flower to the ground as if it didn't matter one of your tears rolled down the glass, and in my heart, it shattered. I fell to my knees in agony, and you cried as well, placing your lips upon mine as the bottle fixed itself. You said "I forgive you, love, but we just cannot be, for what you tried to do to that bottle, you have always done to me." Realizing that I had lost, what I never knew I needed, I swallowed the bottle whole, and we all fell to pieces.

amber girls, oh how they play burned from neck to thigh never asking how they got that way or answering the curious eyes. charcoal boys, oh how they swing with chartruce men on their backs as flamingo women point and snicker they reflect and laugh. Orange old ladies clear faced strangers, yellow bellied thieves what if we were all the same, with different lives to lead? while gasping for air, I swallowed the sun or naked eyes shiver as the rain begins to dry

warmth and strength, touch and feel a kiss that makes my body peel a love forbidden, well, but wrong cold and young, loved and gone age and boundaries, one more night fantasies and you, reality and I. the "warmth and strenght thing was kind of hard by the way. I know I'm late in the game, but how about: I drink until the water is too shallow for me to drown, or clean names on dirty bathroom walls.

Walk the path backwards in a straight line jump downwards as high as you can on your next birthday, give birth to your mother, have the cow eat medium rare pieces of you. Go back in time, never regret. Be the seed that grows after being watered by the rose, and have your hair ripped from your scalp, when that flower falls in love, be smoked by the same cigarrette that gave you cancer, and give cancer to that same cigarrette. Go back in time, never regret. Be shaved by your mustache and come back as stubble, let difference conform into you, let your blood be the ink that runs as the pen writes it's poems, bury the gravedigger. Go back in time, never regret. Fire your boss for being on time, let the bullet pull the trigger so that we can say, "people don't kill guns, guns kill guns." Be your penis' erection, and never stay hard, live the perfect life as the eye-shadow on your lipstick. Go back in time, never regret. Never regret the life you lived never regret the weight you gained never regret the lies you told never regret the people you hurt never regret the friends you've lost never regret the money you spent never regret the tears you cried never regret the arguments with your parents never regret losing your job never regret the baldspot never regret lusting after your teacher never regret being wrong never regret not being able to go back in time, regret the time you wasted not knowing that regret is going back in time, regret is the only way you could know that you've made a mistake, the only way you could ever change is by knowing that you can do something different, next time, so that if you don't want to, you'll never regret.

I am bleeding in my sleep grieving in my dreams screaming in my own insanity It certainly was an accident that devestated the containment of death in its own cynical chamber and deepened the sincerity of a sinner. It certainly is the reason why I'm kneeling at your grave. Captivated by a moment of youth that by the perserverance of time just won't swallow the past and let me be rekindling my sorrow, my regret, my solitude, my sanctuary. It replays in my head, that unforgiving night, how we used the music as our guide to sobering the hours and I let the moon be our map to security playing for our ages speeding for the adreniline forgetting to slow down we came across that bend of concrete that ungracefully claimed the life of you three drunken souls two survivors one in a wheel chair and me. And we disguised our guilt with the reassurance that it could have been any one of us we lay in our lies, masking the truth, referring to the fact that we collaborated and fabricated a sequence of events and left your broken body on the side of the unlit road. We paniced, and no one trully knew between us, if you died in my arms or on the ground near the crumbling hill, we just knew that neither one of us wanted to take the blame, so we left you there, we were too young to be mudereres; we were too scared to tell anyone. We showed up at the funeral all dressed in black the next week, as your family came over to console our sympathetic hearts shaking our trembling hands, our sweaty palms. And it was all fine until I arrived at your casket and I noticed the friendship bracelet that I had made for you in the sixth grade and I thought, "What a friend I am," just feeding you to the darkness, handing you to the ruins, knowing that this was our final hour my best friend lay here; pale faced, blue lips And I accomplished my tainted goal by locking the truth between my shame and not saying a word. I couldn't even cry, the motion-less expression on your face suggested all too much for me and then my mind went blank and I could hardly feel the left side of my body surely numb and leaning to the right to keep myself from completely fainting and everyone in the spinning room circled me and began to look like you slowly fading but staring back at me as if they knew what I feared they'd find, caged in my brown eyes, our stories, and the truth. I wanted to strangle my own illusions. I wanted to cry, but my passive tears belittled my existance and began to play around with my suffering. And I was annoyed with everything even the thought of suicide could not comfort me. The silence began to manipulate the situation and I finally worked up the nerve to walk up to your mother who was trapped within her own reality; she would never see her child again only the heading of your stone and the moss that grew six feet from your bed. This was the only chance I would ever have to relieve my burdens I could hear the heavy breathing of my nervous accomplice as he trembled like a coward in the corner. I reached out my hand to her and again, I selfishly said nothing I just dropped your obituary at her feet. And it is today that I confess, at least to you if no one ese tell me that you understand, that I love you, and I miss you, and I never meant to hurt you, If an apology could bring you back to me, I would be sorry a million times. You do forgive me... Don't you?

Liquid sky pouring down the yellow rain against the purple pavement tonight, broken angel, a child with two unseeing eyes searching for the places where she may have hidden sight, dying man, falls into withering hands, victim of another man; his love, obsessive fiend, mother's favorite wasted scream think of all the things she's given up. No, dreams aren't the only things imaginary, look at us. He lies to them before they go to bed they die amongst the living, and sleep amongst the dead, children shouldn't play with severed heads not knowing that the bodies lye behind what their parents' said. No, dreams aren't the only things imaginary, look at us.

I'm trying to start something. You know how words like "Fo shizzle" traveled across the country? yeah, I want to spark a new phrase or whatever I'm going for.

There is no u in like but there is an I and I like u so that should count and counting involves numbers, so can I have yours?

It seems you've stolen more from me than I could ever take I cannot be a crutch for you the more you lean, the more I break, I tried so hard to help you I never left you alone I never took a friend from you, they all left on their own, as did I eventually when my pain became your hobby, you became predictable, as if your mood was photocopied, I never meant to hurt you, I said I'd never leave, I've always stood beside you, you started leaving me. But still I tried to follow until the distance was too great, I waited in your shadow like a good little mistake, We used to fight this battle with ammunition in our guns, but when the war began we both dropped arms and tried to run, we did this to ourselves, you, made me not care I, made you forget that I can't always be there, I said I needed space I never said goodbye years carry us to waste but true friends never die, I just wanted you to see that throughout this storm, every time you fell I picked you up and carried on, but then my back got weak and I had to put you down, then I watched you walk away leaving me for dead on the ground, letting me drown in your dust like I drowned in your "Pity me" stories so this is just another time that you weren't there for me, but still I pick myself up, and dust of the sand, run to catch up and hold your backstabbing hand, but you've unmasked yourself this time, I 'm not sure if it's really you pushing my hand away, knowing you'll regret it soon. Who do you think I am? Who do you think you are? that I have to drop my life beneath yours so if you fall, I get the scars, this time is the last you were never worth the struggle, if you still refuse to give a damn, then, f@#% you.

We learned standards of beauty from supermodels and Hitler Discrimination= women not getting equal pay for equal work how to lie= watching our mother's put on makeup avoid our problems= caller I.D. Confidence= Old Navy Commercials How to love= repetetive episodes of Barney and living as a child of divorcing parents We learned how to steal from having empty pockets and everything else having a pricetag Independence= Our parents getting jobs and leaving us at home with 20 dollars to order pizza Feel uncomfortable= minorities being followed around in the 7-11 Injustice and guilt= the rabitt not getting any trix self destruction= somewhere between "nigger" and "nigga" how to listen= everyone who has something to say owning a gun. how to obey= the first fist to the face. we stopped caring about the difference between right and wrong when we found out that Santa Clause wasn't real. we learned how to need, when we learned how to want, but where did we learn how to think for ourselves?

A dark frost where I stand a cold celcius, degree of who I am broken temperature has me frozen to that feeling of alone, so far below sub-zero, that no one will ever know. Lost, in this black hole, I am swallowed no cure for distanced nobodies, no candle lit path to follow get me out of this bottle, or I'll break it with my wrists, so far below sub-zero, that no one will ever find it. I can hear the music, thudding against the ground and then the silence when they all get tired of the sound I used to live up there, way before I was knocked down trying to fit in, now, so far below sub-zero, that I actaually fitted out. Ice cycles string from my bloody eyes when I try, to move, to stumble, to crawl a little closer to the light, 2 inches away from society finally hearing my screams so far below sub-zero, that their feet continue passing. Hell is not made of fire, but the sting of glaciers burn, I was trapped beneathe one once, until I cracked the frozen skin from my bones, the flesh was ripped from my torsoe, and to my mass of solid tears, it dried so far below sub-zero, until I realized I could fly. And with my wings, I traveled miles to reach the humid air, I took a deep breath and hard look around, and found nobody there, remembering how betrayed I felt, by myself in that pit, so many below sub-zero now, that I could never fit. So here I am, above them all, fianally where I wanted to be, my feet on solid ground, but once again, no one beside me, alone is such a sadder place, no matter where you go, so far above sub-zero, that I miss being below.

Interesting... I love your word choice. I'm curious to know where the number 61 is in all of this. The number in spirit, placed into the poem made me think of the sorrow age brings; that feeling of alone. When I read this poem, I thought about an old man, around 61 and in a wheelchair, stairing out of the window of an old folks home. The only thing he has to look forward to, is that every morning, the birds chirp, and sometimes, the shadow of his son casts over the ground; but never his son. I thought about that road he wished to be on, being to see his family one last time. Little does he know, at the end of the highway, there is a dead end. Literally though, since the number wasn't incorperated, I saw it as someone who barely gets by.... Like... poverty. Unless you're walking under a street light, you can rarely see your shadow at night. Like, this person struggles, doing for themselves, trying to survive, and no one notices them, no one see's that this person is in need of help, yet still they're not helpless.... At any rate, good poem. Do me a favor, tell me what you meant it to be.

Ghosts knock every now and then the spirits of forgotten friends gathered at your doorstep but never invited in. You feel the patterns of their breath as hair rises from your neck they watch you closely knowing you could never speak again.