I was asked by somebody to write a poem for their website about animal rights. I put it off for as long as possible, because it's not a very poetry-inspiring topic, if you know what I mean. But anyways, eventually I felt bad enough that I just gave up and wrote it. It's not one of my favorites, but I guess it isn't as bad as it could be.

White horse runs before his legs are broken
And he falls, with crooked hooves that are put into
Your gummy bears for your pleasure, sir
Please bite the heads off slowly so that you can
Get your full satisfaction, as white horse falls.

You are savage, animalistic, unnatural but only
Nature knows that you were not meant for this
For tear-free products in your eyes, but they don’t work
Because the tears are there, you can feel them.

Please enjoy your filet mignon, as long as you can
Pronounce the name that to me still means dead,
Not elegance, rich, expensive, or any of those other
Descriptions, code words, disguisers that only tell
You that you are dead meat.

As a side note, the first stanza or whatever refers to how some types of gelatin are made from hooves of various animals (doesn't that make you feel great?). Obviously it's kind of a one-sided, angry poem, but whatever, I'm vegetarian, get over it. Basically, I posted it here half because I post almost everything I write here (except for fanfiction), and half because when I showed it to my mom, she said "What?". Which was extremely discouraging as a writer, and is much of the reason why I don't show her most of the stuff I write, along with the fact that most of things I write involve copious amounts of swearing, references to sexuality, and references to suicide, which would freak her out. But it kind of made me mad that she couldn't understand the fact that it was a POEM, not like, prose or something that would be insanely clear and easy to understand. It's abstract, okay? It's not supposed to be like, "Oh, I want to get this message across and so here it is." No, that's why we write poetry, because we express ourselves in ways that don't have to be understood. Okay, I'm done ranting now.

Insecurity

Written as somewhat of a sequel to Supernova...doesn't really make sense, but whatever.

We are the learners, we are the forgetters, we are the forgotten. We are the paradox, the read between the lines, the confused, the confusing. We are the strivers, we are the achievers, we are the imperfect. But most of all, we are the uncertain. Insecurity is a trick played on us by our own eyes, we trust no one, but we trust ourselves, and this was the one mistake. This was the apple that Eve saw, that she bit, that she dropped, she fell. This was the curse, this is our curse, and trust is a multi-faceted craze of passion that ends in nothingness.

Paradox

Paradoxically speaking, nothing makes sense
Or maybe we never wanted it to
Fluttering around in my head is the emptiness of
A thousand suns that are hollow spheres
In flames
There are marbles rolling across the table as
Hands reach out to stop them but it is
Artwork we cannot capture, and they fall
Dizzyingly beautiful is the deathly silence
When all that is visible is the whiteness of
I’m falling please stop me just give me your hand
I gave you my hand
You broke the delicate digits one by one
With your sinister smile that caused me to see
Finally
What you truly are

Supernova

Watch me as I fly away, she said. I turned away. Circles of life aren’t meant for mere humans, but she was a goddess, and I was forgotten. Is beauty worth it? The eternal question that asks us for forgiveness every day, but we cannot see past our jealousy enough to appreciate it the way it needs. We are the shameless, we are the mortal, we are the fragile beings that both take tenderness from others and turn it into our rage. We hate others for showing us kindness, but we cannot see past ourselves to give it in return. We live by other rules, and as she flies, I fall.

A/N Random spewing of thoughts. I like it enough that I will think about doing more, but here's this anyways...

She Runs

She runs, she runs, as fast as she can,
Run little girl, as fast as you can.
Tell yourself that he’s not following you.
But he is. They are watching you always,
When you eat and when you sleep.
She runs because she likes the feeling
Of the wind threatening to rip the skin
Off her face. Of her splitting dry lips
And her achingly tearing muscles as she
Keeps going, on and on, into the pinpoint
Horizon that is really never reached.
But she is only a little girl, and she doesn’t
Want to think too much about what will
Happen once the iron bars of living catch up
To her, when she is too tired to keep going,
When her legs are no longer beneath her and
She is flying.
Know not where you go,
Know not what you see.
She sees me.

A/N Woah! An update! Haven't seen one of those in ages...yeah, sorry guys. Well, I don't really know what I was thinking when I wrote this poem, because it started as like, a creeper poem, with the guy following her and all, then I decided that the guy should just be life following her, and then the end...I don't even know what that is. It just sounded cool I guess. So basically it's a bunch of ideas splooshed together, and I don't really know if I like it or not. I guess I like parts of it, but I've written better. The inspiration for this was basically the Gingerbread Man story, from which the line "run run as fast as you can" kept playing in my mind, because I realized it's kind of really rythmic (sp?) and cool, and it kept playing like a stuck record in my mind, so I was like, might as well write something, maybe then it'll go away. Wow, I'm rambling. Anyways, comment please!

forse

XVI and she’s alive.
With a lovely, detached feeling from those who know her.
And a slow, fragmented realization that she doesn’t yet know herself.
So what should she do, other than become a child of the darkest night?
What can she do but lose herself in cheap alcohol and stolen cigarettes?
A drawn in, choked breath through a filter can only make her feel better,
Even if it is with the awful taste of guilt because this might be the only (first) thing she has ever stolen.
But maybe she was meant to live this way, to taste the vicarious nature of life on the tip of her tongue as if it were her own to be swallowed.
And it is with this that she knows for the first time what it means to live through death, and see through the ghostly mask of something in your system that makes you feel and forget.

She’s so high…

It is with this that she knows for the first time the feel of someone else’s body too close to her own, and the helplessness that cannot be fully expressed through the burden of speech.
So she forgives and forgets, although she does feel regret at the sinking truth that she has just gifted away some small part of herself to someone who won’t even be back tomorrow.
It is now that she discovers that thrill seeking is not truly worth the result, because most of the thrill was lost in the seeking.
It is here that she knows what life is, but can only wistfully reminisce and wish that she had craved then what she craves now.

A/N This poem...has a very cliche idea and is not so unique, but for some reason, I really like it. The title is "forse", which means "perhaps" in Italian. Enjoy...all I want for Christmas is some comments!

For You

It's always better to be alone
Don't let anybody tell you differently
Maybe loneliness is the solution to your problems
Because you know it's not your fault you can't stand
The sound of her name
The thought of her face
The remembrance
The forgotten
Maybe it's because loneliness doesn't judge you
Maybe because loneliness will always be there
Waiting for you
Because it doesn't turn it's back on you like the day
Turns its back on the night
Because it doesn't discriminate against who it finds
Against the people looking for it, looking for something
Because it doesn't see you the way everyone else does
It sees past the fact that you have an ugly face
And at least pretends for a while that you are beautiful
Because it's always better to be alone