The Violet

Life is like a garden I am the frail and dainty flower And I am always disregarded by the hive of worker bees and their queen At least from my viewpoint on the ground, in the dirt Life is like a garden I am always looked down upon Tucked behind tall grass I am seen but overlooked 
I am of sweet smell, but seem to never compare to the aroma of a deep deep crimson rose 
I am bright, but seem to never compare to the brilliant shades of yellow in a sunflower
I bloom all year long, but seem to never compare to the graceful seasonal blooming of a tulip
I am poised, but seem to never compare to the sophistication of an iris 
I am unique, but seem to never compare to the intricacy of an orchid 
I am the Violet I AM THE VIOLET I am the violet I wear my heart on my sleeve, heart-shaped, scalloped leaves While the bees may ignore me The florists will always always appreciate my frailty

I wish things were different

This one is for the ladies

Call me a hypocrite, a fake, a two-faced wannabe,
a cheat, a masquerader, a lip server,
a wolf is sheep's clothing

But there is corruption within the 'girl world'
a decline in the concept that we are made of sugar, spice, and everything nice
the powerpuff girls are now powderpuff girls,
who only stick to cliques and go with the status quo.

I'm sick of this bullsh*t girls pull about 'kindness'
NEWS FLASH HONEY
you've got a twisted view on kindness

This is the nightly news,
 Tonight's topic: WHY ARE GIRLS SO MEAN TO EACH OTHER?
but first let's go to weather with bob.

Forecast is going to be partly judgmental 
with an 80% chance of humiliation 
A huge wave of rumors is predicted, 
with harsh accusations coming from the south,
which will lead to a decrease in self esteem 
and happiness. 
Now back to you Debra.

In local new, teenage girl tweets
"being nice is cool" 
Is being hypocritical the new fad?
stay tuned to find out...

I am skeptical of girls and their offer of 'kindness'
their peace treaty,
their surrender of petty behavior
because it is civil war out there
anarchy fueled by insecurities
WORDS ARE OUR WEAPONS
girls are dropping like flies

We are tearing each other down when we should be building each other up
We are more alike than we think...

What ever happened to girl power?
WE SHOULD BE STICKING TOGETHER 

Maybe I am a hypocrite, a fake, a two-faced wannabe,
 a cheat, a masquerader, a lip server,
a wolf is sheep's clothing
but I embrace honesty and strive to break the cycle of hatred.
I wish things were different 
I want things to be different 
Things will be different.

Exerpts from the poems I never finished

My heart acts like an organ less and less each day, it's a compass and I'm lost 

electric sparks like a radio dropped

in a rusted claw footed tub

I AM ONLY A FIRST DRAFT

Love is when you don't want to sleep in your own bed because they aren't there with you and no pillow will ever be a substitute 

the army of therapists and pharmacists deemed me unstable and depressed , unable to fight and unfit for ...

body heat radiates like a nuclear plant

they say "you're real and people are scared of that"

his touch shakes my ribs   DON'T TELL ME SOMETHING THAT ISN'T TRUE                                                                      JUST TO SET THE MOOD

I AM A VIXEN, A FOX AND I GET WHAT I WANT

I can feel the color spectrum when he looks at me

sometimes the best poetry 

can come from hurting 

feelings are not something you can copy and paste

and love is not something you can shrink to fit

cellophane heart, stain glass eyes, gramophone ears 

because he couldn't tell the difference between my body and his 

just because i am a size zero doesn't mean you have to treat me like one

i miss the grooves of your lips 

supply and demand, 

'factories' manufacture fake friends

NEW SHIPMENTS DAILY

My Life Is A Box Of Crayons

At a very young age the odd names of each crayon taught me to be descriptive.       

Fresh cut grass is shamrock 

The ocean is indigo and cobalt blue 

Sunsets are wild watermelon and atomic tangerine 

Sadness is periwinkle Pain is absolute zero 

Anger is brick red  Frustration is mahogany 

Love was rose quartz, 

Love is now dull rose dust 

My tears are periwinkle 

My hands are brick red  

I don't blame him, I just miss him, I miss feeling every shade of pink 

I miss his magic mint and blizzard blue eyes 

His cinnamon satin lips 

I miss the vivid violet memories and the hum of his wintergreen dream suburban 

I bloomed to carnation pink and he told me I was homemade peach ice cream 

He no longer describes me but at least I know, 

That his favorite color is forest green and mine is purple mountains' majesty and together we made the perfect scenery. 

The boy who never wore hats loved me

 (Sorry the title has no relevancy to the poem besides the fact that it is a true statement)

HOW MUCH DOES HE LOVE ME?         

                           He always tells me He never tells me 

But without fail he says "I love you" 

With the most uniform pattern, 

Morning and night 

While we kiss and after we fight 

When I'm sad and when I'm silent 

I adore those words yet I love you is losing it's luster    

Consistent and persistent to let me know I'm loved 

Too boost my self esteem and reassure me 

He means well, 

But just an "I love you" is pleasing, but it's anything but reassuring 

My question is: To what degree does his "I love you" mean

Sure, he writes poetry about me, but I always have to read it through the barrier of an electronic screen or hear it when he's not looking at me

I guess eye contact is nerve racking when you can't just say you love me 

Does his sensory system erupt like a volcano 

Or has his miles love for me been extinguished ? 

Because sometimes it feels as though I can't make that pitter patter go any faster unless I'm on top of him, his personal Aphrodite

When I'm distracted and not sexually active he sheds his goosebumps 

And forgets to tell me I'm beautiful, no longer comparing me to a goddess of love 

And all we do is watch Tv, then of course he says he loves me 

I am now murky lukewarm bath water, deep purple shin bruises

I am now the color of the moon  

I am now icy December roads 

I am now freezer burnt strawberry ice cream 

So I know that I am heart sick 

There are many manifesting symptoms 

I swallowed too many butterflies and lost my appetite for anything else 

I cough up thoughts of him, just a minor head cold

I can't stop thinking about him, he is plastered to the inside of my skull and pulsing through my veins

His sweet arctic breath on my neck is giving me chills, it's got me trembling in a cold sweat 

His breath may be frigid, but 

He, he was is my fever 

The heat that brings out the best in me, 

But why do I fear the  day he decides to be the doctor and no longer chooses to love me 

Only wanting doctor patient confidentiality 

A friend once asked me "how long do you think you'll be together ?"

With hesitation I replied "He said  "I don't know""

My question still continues to be: To what degree does his I love you mean?



(And if you, "HIM" are reading this, I wrote this when I was angry. Don't take it too personally, I still love you)

                          

        

Hats yo

"You're in high school, nobody cares about what you have to say"

...Until you give yourself credibility.

I am here to speak my mind, I am here to give myself credibility. 

"You're in high school, nobody cares about what you have to say"