"Shhh," he says, glaring, "your parents are gonna wake up if you don't shut up." Mika sighs. It has become a sort of routine, by now- Asher coming into her room and Asher leaving her room. (She really needs to get a lock on that damn window.) Ari, Mika's sister, enters the room, yawning as she closes the door behind her, her almond-shaped growing large as she takes note of Asher's presence in her sister's room.

"Mika," whispers Ari, as if she's been looped into some sort of crime, "there's a boy in your room." Mika (and Asher) stay silent, afraid of the fact that if Ari tells her parents about the certain someone in her sister's bedroom, all hell will break loose.

Especially if Officer Roman, Mika's father, were to notice the large, white stain covering Mika's considerably wet bed.

This is going to be great, thinks Asher.

her nose was crooked

he had wanted to make her perfect

he had made her insecure

she had a lip ring

another one of his adventures 

“you’re too soft, for your own good.”

she had three cracked ribs

tripping down the stairs 

because she was dizzy

and not eating

“i will not take a fat bitch with me.”

she had a bruised cheek

a reminder that he was in control

besides “beauty is pain.”

her back was scarred

“don’t you dare try to run away again.”

her eyes had constellations in them

new-world galaxies, yet to be discovered

her eyes were perfect

but she still wore contacts

because she was scared

not of him

but of his actions

one piece 

one piece was all she asked for

one peice of her left unchanged

thin lines drawn upon her wrist

skillfully

a pool of blood around her

“martha winters was declared dead at 8:28 on February 2nd, 1987.”

he didn’t realize his love 

was the cause of her destruction

His mouth was dry as he entered this new land. A land of baths taken in blood. A land of death.

Her hands were shaking, as she searched through the caverns. She had to find him. She had to find her fiancé.

He screamed her name, hoping she would hear him. His voice cracked.

Hooves started to move. A horn of death placed upon the majestic creature’s head. His once white mane was stained a crimson red. The color of blood. Golden hair surrounded the horn on his head - it was the only part of him untouched by that ghastly red. His hooves slowed to a stop.

She stared at the bloodied unicorn in front of her. She was wrong. She was wrong to think it was the unicorn’s blood itsef. 

Placing her hands on the darkest patch of blood, she grimaced. Her hands started to move, automatically combing through the creature’s fur in an attempt to find the source of all the blood. Her fingers traced the edge of something circular - a weapon perhaps? She struggled to pull it out, but finally she managed to free it of the unicorn.

It was her wedding ring.

my legs fumbled around

struggling to maintain posture

you helped me up

lifting me from this

world of fakes

for reality was awaiting 

ready to guide me

and so i teared away this fantasy

crumpled it into a ball

and threw it out the window

you led me through the cave

my savior. my hero.

and then you left me

with two words- paper hearts

i didn't get it then, but i get it now

a piece of paper is replaceable 

just like a heart

you were gone

yet no matter where you were

you still helped me

you were irreplaceable

not a paper heart

unlike me

i was just a scrap character

you were the main character 

notice the change of articles 

for it's quite important

there is only one of you

there are millions of me

for i'm just a scrap character

struggling to hold himself up

and sometimes i wonder

if it's all becuase of you

a feminine man

entered a mundane land

filled with faries and wolves

a masculine woman

entered a peculiar world

filled with creatures called earthlings

who screamed of release

yet feared letting go

their worlds were different

a failed attempt at making society accept them

in reality it was all a dream

for faries and wolves didn’t exist

and we humans didn’t want to let go

screaming at each other “hold on”

to beliefs that destroyed lives

to a reality that broke dreams

we didn’t want to let go

we wanted everyone to stay the same

forever and ever and ever

until all those who broke the rules

trying to fix society

broke themselves

note- comment what this poem means to you - what was it about, interpret the poem. thank you. because, honestly i don’t even know what this means to me. yet.

She raised the bottle to her lips- drinking away her sorrows. Her son stared at his mother, It was quite normal- his mother drinking in the midst of the night. Though his eight year-old brain couldn’t understand everything that was happening he got the gist of it. He knew his mother wasn’t like all other mothers. He knew drinking wasn’t something she should be doing. What he didn’t understand was- why? Why did she drink? What had happened to her? He didn’t know, but as his mother turned around bottle raised to her lips he knew it wasn’t the time to ask questions.

“What are you doing here, child?” Her voice stinked of the very substance she was drinking. 

He cowered away, hiding beneath the sink.

“I. Asked. What. Are. You. Doing. Here. Child? She emphasized each word, hoping she would get an answer. She didn’t. In words, at least. 

He was gone, reaching for the phone. A stinky little brat’s attempt to call 911.

She stalked over to her son, like predator, like prey. Her bloodshot eyes glaring at him. His mouth was moving, speaking into the phone, yet her broken mind couldn’t comprehend his words. 

She would not be going to jail again. She would not return to that hell-hole again. So she did what she had to do.

Picking up a glass shard from one of the many bottles, she started quite a dark dance with her son. Their feet picking up speed, hands waving wildly in the air in attempts to steady themselves.

And then his salvation, brought the glass shard closer than before. He couldn’t escape. The phone cord was tangled wildly between his limbs. He couldn’t escape. His mother brought the shard down. Straight into his heart. 

The phone spoke- “Kid, are you still there? Kid? Ok, Kid hang in there. We're coming to get you.

She stabbed herself.

The police found them both. In the living room. Blood pooled around their bodies. She was identified as a schizophrenic. A serial-killer on parole. Amanda Riggs.

He wasn’t her child.

"i heard garlic helps."

she was the weirdo. the freak. the outcast.

her boyfriend asked "how are you?"

she said "i'm fine."

he believed her

she raised the razor to her wrist

a butterfly was to die

she wore long sleeves the next day

her artwork was hidden beneath her clothes

the red strokes staining her porcelain skin

her lips were dry

her face was bruised

her body was broken

there she lay

hoping death would take her

and he came

placing a kiss upon her cold lips

the life drained out of her

as she let him devour her soul

his needs satisfied

her dreams becoming reality

she smiled

"take that." she whispered

a reminder of all the pain they had caused

they call america great. home sweet home. they don’t know. they don’t know the real her. a corrupt and greedy country run by even worse officials is what she is. a country founded on the basic freedoms of people, yet they ban the right to speak your mind. a paradox. a rotten apple. a facade of true beauty envelopes the evil within, adulterating the minds of new generations.

they call america great. a land of 'opportunity'. were the native americans given 'opportunities'? were the slaves given 'opportunities? hell, even today are we given 'opportunities'? education is an intelligent way to make money. jobs are a better way to increase the power of the government. what 'opportunities' have we been given that were meant for the people and only the people? the correct answer is none. exactly none.

they call america great. the land that i love. what is that? a land of teenage pregnancies, drug lords, gang wars, and obesity, or a land of peace, greenful country. the former describes america, the latter describes a world deviod of mundanes. they call america great. beautiful, even. they don’t know her. the real her. and nobody ever will. 

wings trembled beneath the air

struggling to keep him up

gusts of wind blew throughout

narrowly missing his tiny body

a stream of air

was his last straw

the undoing of a little robin

the death of a bird

for as it hit him straight in the chest

he fell

slowly at first

his wings attempting to stop the fall

but gravity was stronger

pushing him along

right into the hands of death