“Go for it,” said the heart,

“Give it your all.

Don’t fear the landing-

He’ll catch you when you fall.”

“Don’t listen her,” the head butted in,

“Men are all same.

Just bid him goodbye-

Your life was perfect before he came.”

The heart scoffed,

She glared at the head.

“You always say that-

You’d have her be alone til she’s dead!”

The head rolled her eyes and spoke-

She was tired of the heart.

“You know that when he leaves

It’ll tear you apart.”

The heart smirked and replied-

She knew she had won.

“Maybe. But you can’t predict the ending,

This story has only just begun.”

She held planets in her hands

and had stars in her eyes,

but you never saw how the would twinkle

everytime she would cry.

She had magic at her fingertips

and life in her lungs.

but you never saw how you hurt her-

how all you your words stung.

She had a universe in her mind

and her words were like song,

but you never realized you loved her

until she was already gone.

Words cut like daggers

With more precision than the sharpest knives

We use hurtful words so flippantly

Towards the people in our lives

A couple well placed adjectives

A handful of snide and rude remarks

And then there’s blood in the water

And more words come like hungry sharks

One last spoken dagger

With and exclamation mark on the end

The final blow has been thrown

And your unarmed opponent dead

Youth is wasted on the young,

For they don’t know how to live.

They take and they take,

But they never give.

The old should have their youth again,

To do everything they missed.

To go to places they’ve never been,

And do things they’ve only wished.

Though it is unfair,

There are boundaries you do not cross.

It is not right to steal,

What you once had but have now lost.

So those who’ve lost their youth,

Do not cast a spell.

Do not steal the young’s youth,

Even though they don’t use it well.

But if you find you want to be young,

You can go and pull out a tooth.

Read the spell though I hope you don’t,

It is not worth it to have youth.

I was the perfect child:

honors classes and high grades

I am what they created me:

sharp words and even sharper blades

I will be better than they ever thought:

I’ll burn it to the ground a rise to the top

Have you ever had an idea? An amazing idea that would change the world? But then school or work doesn’t give you enough time to bring that idea to life? And then over the days, weeks, months, years you forget about that idea?

Have you ever wondered where those ideas go?

Well, dear reader, they go the land of the forgotten. A place where all the things no one remembers go. Every I idea you’ve ever had, the good and the bad, go here. There are the castles made of chocolate you dreamed up when you were little, the booming business ideas you had as an adult, and everything in between.

There are people there too. People long forgotten in our history. The people in the shadows that our history books don’t have pages on. The overlooked; the forgotten.

In the the land of the forgotten, everyone has a place. The things that are left behind finally have a home.

I look out the window

And let out a gasp

I just can’t believe

What I see through the glass

My whole family squeals

And throws on their coats

“I knew it would happen”

My father gloats

But I stay inside

Stuck stock still

I can’t move from my spot,

I doubt I ever will

And I don’t care what they say,

It just shouldn’t be snowing today

And I ignore the calls of my mother,

It just can’t be snowing, because it’s summer.

Mud. It fills in every crevice of my skin. It smears on my face and turns my once white shoes brown. It fills in the dips of the laugh lines around my eyes and makes my clothes stick to me uncomfortably. It’s disgusting when it gets in your mouth and painful when it gets in your eyes. Mud is a part of life on rainy days.

Though, then again, mud is the least of your worries when you’re being buried alive.

There is a road that no one drives down. At the end of the road there is a house that no one lives in. In the house there is hallway that’s always cold with floorboards that creak and moan. And on this hallway there is a door at the end of the hall to the right that will never be opened for fear of releasing what’s inside.

There is not a monster in the room. You will not feel fear before being eaten alive. There is not a wild animal in the room. You will not be mauled and pulled apart piece by piece. There is not an insane man in the room. You will not be murdered and buried in the backyard with dead grass and overgrown vines.

In the room that will never be opened there is a little girl with cold, callous eyes curled up in a ball in the corner. While she might seem unassuming, she is more dangerous than the monster that will eat you alive, more dangerous than the wild animal that will maul you, and more dangerous than the man that will murder you and bury in you in the backyard with the dead grass and over grown vines. For one glance from the little girl with cold callous eyes will leave you dead on the floor.

So, if you find yourself at the end of the street that no one drives down, in the house that no one lives in, on the hall that’s always cold who’s floor boards creak and moan, in front of the locked door at the end to the right: do not open the door.