Us |A Poem

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We sang songs that no one heard.
Our voices choked up, they burned.
Sending flames up our throats.
Each note evaporated into nothing.
Each melody wasted away on a whim.

And we wrote poetry,
Words that fell from the sky,
Pages that screamed
Read me!
But our eyes were shut
Tightly like the insides of our minds.

Then when it rained colors,
We ran to find shelter in black and white.
To hide from what the universe needed us to be,
What we need us to be.-H

Your Last Breath

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How did it feel? When you chose to say goodbye to the world.
On your dying day, did your chest feel tight? Was your heart all the way up in your throat, was it hard to breathe?

Did you look back? Did your hands shake? Your body sweat. Did those oceans inside your eyes finally start to overflow, coming out the other side, did they brim with tears that slid down your face over the dimples carved into your very cheeks?

All the hurt that ran in your blood, all the pain that swam in your veins finally escape, spluttering out of your body onto the floor, did you scream? Or was it just relief?

Did you see them? When you took your last breath, did you say something?
I hope you never forget.-H

Things To Get Off My Chest, pt:1

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You live a hundred different lives. Each personality impaled into your chest, digging in like daggers thrust upon flesh.

I think back to the days you resembled something normal, when we could just sit at the dinner table, all four of us and we could talk about the neighbours dog, when making conversation wasn’t all that hard and sitting by you didn’t feel like the part of a job.

Now I pick the words I say, when I’m in a room with you I feel like I’m suffocating and the tension only rises from there. Zipped up mouths and every action is calculated, it doesn’t feel like a home anymore it’s more like an army camp.

And each day you come up with something new to fight about, something that shouldn’t matter at all. Accusations are made and fingers are pointed between you and her, I just sit aside not wanting to be caught in the storm you give birth to every night.

Flames dance on the ceiling of our house, the atmosphere always rigid. And I see you eating away at her brain and I wish I could say, but you’re too good at that game. How you twist it around and suddenly you’re the victim in this round.

And we’re not a family anymore, though we might have been long ago. We’re just a group people living under the same roof, simply because we have to.-H

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So I figured that every now and then there are going to be things that bother me, things that hurt me in my personal life. And keeping them buried in my body won’t do any good, but to have them sit in my drafts won’t either. That’s pretty much why I came up with this series type thingy called “Things To Get Off My Chest”. Here I’m just going to write about the things that I don’t want to weigh me down. And maybe this is the last time I do this or maybe this is a start to something great, whatever it is, all that I know is that I felt like doing it and so I did it.

All that I can hope is that you guys can find something to relate to, something take away. Even if it’s something small that really doesn’t matter as long as it’s something at all.-H

Paper Stars |A Poem

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You painted a hundred paper stars blue and hung them on my wall.
With cherry red lips, trapped between your teeth.
A bad habit you would call it.
Your vice.

Whispers felt like icicles down my spine.
Teach me how to dance, I know I keep stepping on your feet.
But it’s hard for me.

Under the warm summer sun,
Mud stuck to the bottom of my jeans,
You and your adventures
Will certainly be the death of me.

I lay in bed, stare at those paper stars.
Visible brush strokes and weirdly cut edges.
They look like shapes left undiscovered,

I’ll just have to pretend. Afterall,
You were never really good at art.-H 

Do Roses Grow Underground?

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My name sits heavy upon the tip of your tongue. And I wonder, do roses grow underground? Will sunlight breakthrough the blanket of dirt in which you sit concealed, hidden below our very feet.

The thud of your heartbeat, arms clenched around my small frame. With limbs tangled and lips attached like skin stuck to bone. Digging in deep, let’s see what you find. Fire, water and ice, let’s see what you find.

Secrets stitched in flesh, broken promises, empty thoughts. There are scars on my mind, would you like to see?
Time sits captivated in the palm of your hand, your eyes tell jokes, ones that are so deeply twisted I might never know what you say when you speak, what you actually mean.

And I prefer to hide in the shadows, the light you bring is just too bright. Your grip on me is way too tight. I fear someday I might just snap, but for tonight I sit in your arms and I wonder, do roses grow underground?-H 

New City |A Poem

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You took me to a new city,
A new home.
We stepped outside and you pointed to the sky,
A peculiar shade of pink.
Distant thoughts of calamity collapse.

Rolling down the windows of your car,
It’s cold outside, the wind blows through my hair,
Chipped nail polish, sun-kissed skin and mischievous grins.

We sit near the neon coloured gates, beyond them shine lights.
I can see how small I am, just another speck of dust.
Another light among the thousands that shine above.

Your car stops midway home.
We crouch down on the streets for some rest.
You hand me a cigarette and so the cycle starts.

A new city, hours of regret to forget.-H