HazeleyeMedicineCat

"Wait, what? You need m-my help?" Antonio stood stuttering, green eyes wide in shock and a state of utter befuddlement. She tried to croon to the small child in her arms. "Well, yes, you see, I've already stated this," she let out a whimper. "It's just that... I have no money, no food, no shelter. I can't care for Daniela like this. I am a proud person, Antonio. I wouldn't ask this of you if I had any other option but I need a place to stay." Antonio stared at the little girl who was named Daniela, the name Antonio had told Isabela he had always wanted to name his daughter. He started into the small girl's emerald green eyes, ones almost id

These feelings are not poetry. Poetry flows in a manner that is smooth, fine as silk, soft metaphors scattered about like feathers. These thoughts are jagged rocks, a bumpy road I cannot give you the course of their actions. Emotions that are raw materials unable to be crafted into artworks Paint splatters on canvas too disheveled to even be considered abstract art. These feelings are not poetry. They are not rhyme nor verse. Instead, they are sweet, shrill melody with nonsensical screeching lyrics that seem decipherable enough to the point where I drive myself to the brink of insanity trying to figure out the words that are being screamed.

I know now I am not your universe, neither your sun nor your moon, not even one of the twinkling stars, in the darkest corner of your galaxy. But I have to be something to you. Perhaps I'm the subject, of those thoughts you have at four in the morning when you're wide awake, blue eyes gazing at some unknown distance because you just can't fall asleep. I just hope I'm at least something to you.

There was once a woman with a heart of fire and passion that burned fiercely for her love. Her tongue was as sharp as her wit and her spirit was made of flame, one that could harm you as easily as it could warm you. Do not cross that woman. Only, fire burns out. That flame becomes ash and all that’s left is smoke. Try to grab the smoke with nothing but your bare hands and cover yourself with soot. Forget that a fire ever burned here. The fire turns to soot. A heart turns to stone, she turns cold and rigid never moving, never living. Her tongue is flopping like a dog’s. Her eyes hold an extinguished ember and it’s hard to r

According to mother, I don't exist.

Antonio was lying lazily on the couch, enjoying the cool air circulating through the house that make the Spanish summer bearable. His tanned hand was running through the messy, auburn hair of his boyfriend who sat on the hardwood floor. Lovino, a handsome man with amber eyes that had a slight green tint to them and a Roman nose, smiled softly at him as he tried not to drift off into another nap. Instead, his slightly sun kissed face had a blank expression as he gazed off into space. “Lovi” Antonio sat up, creating room on the red, leathery sofa, “Why don’t you sit next to me?” he patted the seat gently, perfect

As a child, even as I aged, you always told me “Bailey, you can’t unring a bell!” yet, I ignorantly accepted every “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean it!” and took back your original statement. Yet, your ways proved hypocritical when I shouted things out of rage, the angry passion in a heated argument, and asked you to forgive and forget afterwards. However, you repeated “You can’t unring a bell!” Even though I had let you silence the chime of your many cruel retorts and insults. Yet, now I’m mostly grown, and I’m not some stupid little girl, so you get so d

I’ve been trying to think of what present would be suitable to display all of the love that’s been expressed in a year I was going to sing, but I lost my voice and, no matter what good-intentioned lies you tell me, you’ll never convince me a raspy, nasally, barely audible song is the way to go. So I decided to draw, but the idea was struck down by the realisation that my scanner is a piece of shit, unable to pick up every pen stroke I made onto the paper, or, if it does, I think you deserve a lot more than blurry, muted colors that seem even dingier compared to your bright smile. So, now I’m writing a poem