Grace .

I’m no angel.
I’m not a cherry blossom at Hanami.
I’m not a tender kiss.

I’m a gunshot at three am,
With your mother crying
Layed down in the kitchen,
Bleeding.

I’m a broken window in cold winter.

I’ve fallen from grace,
with the elegance of a maple leaf,
A broken neck,
A silent cry.

Yet thee finds me lovely.
He sees through the rain and thunder,
A frightened child.

I can’t see the sky
Through the storm within
But you will hear the echo.

Yet he would hear me.

Mine .

You are not mine
Yet i’m yours.

I’ve been in relationships
On and off with myself before
And it sucked.

I try and i try,
‘Cause i know (i wish)
That if i work hard enough
You will see me as i do,
That you will care for me,
Same way i do for you.

That you will cherish,
Stand for me,
Be proud of me.
And above all, be grateful.
That of 7 billion humans,
I choose you.

To love you.
To respect you.
Everyday.

And yet to be heartbroken by you,
Willing that you’ll never have to,
Even thou
you keep on working in that.
Even thou i know (i wish)
You don’t try to.

But you are not mine.
Yet i am yours.

Voice .

I haven’t slept in 30 hours, and i don’t see it coming soon.

I cannot sleep, and i’m barely eating.

I feel like my whole body is made of wet sand,

and my skin is some cheap balloon,

electrifying static.

I can see how my thoughts start,

like a spark in the middle of nowhere,

and end up right there, being less than nothing.

Insignificant amounts of wasted energy.

I feel the heaviness of sorrow and loneliness

on my back, like if i were carrying some cripple.

I see my patience like a wast field of absolute nothing.

I can feel how my voice breaks,

before it’s able to reach out.

Like a tree falling when noone’s listening.

I trade my voice for sorrow.

I let myself fall in love with depression.

That sweet, perfect, kind, seductive lack of dopamine.

It’s funny though…

It’s suppose that i should feel sleepy when i’m out of it!

But between you and I,

is that voice, HIS voice, the one that doesn’t let me sleep.

Running .

I’m running.
The sun is up, the wind blows.
The perks of being human,
Are vanished.
I’m truly happy now.

I look back and you are there, smiling.
I stop, marveled.
Astonished by the glow in your eyes.

We stare at each other like there are nothing left in life.

And then

I woke up.

Heliophobia.

I have a great enmity declared to the Sun.

That’s no secret.

The Sun’s rays are stuck as venomous spines

to my eyes and skin.

I’m helpless.

His heat rapes me with eager and malice,

no matter how hard i try to escape,

he will always find me.

His light aches, and draws me numbness pain,

like a opiate to my soul and spirit.

It burns me like a branch on a Saturnalia fire.

It’s intoxicating,

it’s drowing.

Dissolves me.

It’s claustrrophic,

But outside the doors of my house.

After all,

i’m only Rain.

Special Needs

I’ve always wanted to be special.
Never actually knew why,
But it’s a need.
A carving need.

I need to be special,
To feel that i’m not wasted.
To feel that life as it is,
It’s worth it. Somehow.

I need to be special,
But really, really special for someone.
‘Cause i’ve never felt special just by myself.
I need it.

Never knew why.
But the carving need of being someone,
Worthing the time, and space, and love, and humanity…
It would probably make me feel a little bit human.

I need to be special to you,
Just the half,
of how special you
are to me.

About poets and weather .

He said,
‘Come wonder with me’
He said,
‘Lets forget about the sun’
He said,
‘Lets dance, my summer rain’
And i dropped,
Softly, sweetly, lovely.
He said,
‘You rain with the rain’, he said.
So i rained, all over us,
Like a kiss…
Softly, sweetly, lovely.
He said,
‘Come wonder with me, my love’
And i wonder,
Oh yes, i wondered, all over us.
But he held me silence,
Instead of poems,
Thrilling me with his words.
He said,
‘Come with me’
So i rained,
Cause thats all rain its trained to…
And he was wet, and angry.
Anger became distance,
And distance, make him forget.
One night,
I rained, without asking,
Softly, sweetly, lovely,
All over us.
He said,
‘Im wet and angry’
He said,
‘Forget about us’
So rained,
Cause that’s all that rains can do.
One night, a cloud told me
He was writing another poem,
But rain wasnt on it,
I wasnt on it.
“You cant fall in love
With the weather.”
So i rained, and rained, and rained.
Cause that’s all rains are trained for
And i swoon.
Softly, sweetly, in love
With his forms
Softly, sweetly, lovely,
Like summer rains.
And he wrote,
‘You cant fall in love with the weather’
So he bought an umbrella,
And like everyother poet,
He felt in love with the moon instead.
Just like everyother poet
As done before.
So i rained,
Softly, sweetie, broken
Cause thats all rains are trained for.
You cant fall in love with the weather,
We change, we mute,
We swoon.
You cant fall in love with a poet,
They change, they get borred,
And fall in love with the moon instead.

With french fries and cake .

No, and absolutely, no.
I’m not interested in listening
how much you loved me,
and all the things that you’ve done for me.
I just don’t care.
And I hate to break into you, but
there’s no way back.
I hate this part the most
when you puke your feelings like
a big ball of mixed melodies
like when you spew away your sympathies
in a golden violin.
And the thing is, I hate you.
You just mess up,
each form of perfection
Is jarring
Shaking
Disruptive
A broken piece
I know it happens
Over and over
Our circling cannot be stopped
And I hate to break into you.
I’m drinking an Earl Grey tea,
and thanks to you, it’s getting cold,
so please, go away, and don’t
ever, dare to came back.
I hate to break into you,
life is complex,
and the fear can be hard to wash off.
But whit french fries and cake,
the world would actually improve.
So take your golden violin off the flat,
and just go away.
I’m naked, and a bit sleepy,
I’m afraid is over.

Curious .

I wish I didn’t want to
talk to you.
At least not that much.

It makes me feel needy,
am I needy?
No, I’m not needy. I’m Curious.

There’s a way in how you
held things back.
On the aloof you mastered,
even in the apathy you show.

How can such a small person can
contain such an old soul?
You held the secrets of men
and protect them like if you were
carrying a whole universe
on your bare hands.

You make me feel small.

Not worm kinda small.
But your being makes me
conscious in my insignificantness
on a higher level.

Who could possibly be,
a girl like me,
to the history of mankind?

The world is full of poets, we don’t need anymore.

But the chatbox screams your name.
And it feels familiar.

It makes me feel needy,
am I needy?

No, I’m just Curious.