Imprisoned

I'm sitting here, an empty shell,
So much more I wanted to be.
I watch it slip through my fingers.
All that it meant to be free.
I should feel relieved, and lifted from pain,
but I'm only shutting down,
imprisoned again.

Northern Lights

Spider web, dew drop stars
You're the northern lights
You are what you are

I'm the darkness
You attempt breaking through
I'm the dark grounds
You won't tread

You're the northern lights
I'm cold and dead

Spider web, full of stars
You're the northern lights
You are what you are

I'm the morbid dreams
That haunt you through
Replacing day
for night instead

You're the northern lights
I'm cold and dead

Spider web, dew drop stars
You're the northern lights
You are what you are

Intertwine

You wouldn't want to touch me,
read the danger sign.

You wouldn't want to know me,
and how my lies collide.

You wouldn't want to love me,
my love is all a lie.

You wouldn't want to be me,
already two, in intertwine.

Truth Is Stranger

You hate the place you're in.
I wish that I was you.
Everything's relative,
were we in eachother's shoes.

You hate the ones who played you.
Pulled lies and then betrayed you.
Still the truth is stranger,
was I ever to be you.

You hate the dreams I'm feeding.
I wish they'd all come true.
You know nothing
of how I dream for you.

You hate the voices in your ears.
I wish my voices were you.
Everything's relative,
were we in eachother's shoes.

Happy Pill

Two days without my happy pill
Two days without the addictive thrill
Two days without depression kills
Three days and I'm back to normal

Surgery Table

There's something in my memory,
beautifully repressed.
You want to take it out of me,
emptily undressed.
I lie here on your surgery table,
cut open from my heart and out.
Will you settle once you know?
Once you've seen what it's about?

There's something in my memory,
clouded and untold.
You want to take it out of me,
and make my soul unfold.
I lie here on your surgery table,
ripped open from my core and out.
Will you settle once you've seen the dark?
Once you took it all apart?

There's something here for you to see.
As long as you, please, don't show it to me.
Take out the tumour from my beating heart.
I can beat better without it
I can breathe better without it

Will you settle once it's out?

My Game

You're right.
I shouldn't miss him.
I know I shouldn't believe him.
I shouldn't long for what we never shared,
or the sparkling chemistry.

For what was it worth,
whatever wasn't there?
What was it worth,
the things that were?
Nothing to put at stake everything,
all that I risk, all of my game.

You're right.
I shouldn't look.
I shouldn't listen to his words.
I shouldn't imagine what could have been,
from that sparkling chemistry.

For what was it worth,
whatever wasn't there?
What was it worth,
the things that were?
Nothing to put at stake everything,
all that I risk, all of my game.

But why do you bother?
Why do you shield me?
Why do you enchant me in dance,
and put me in a dreamy trance,
whispering all of your promises in my ears,
and never failing a hug when there's chance,
when you can't be there

When you can't be it

You're right.
I shouldn't want him.
When he can't be you.
But if I'm going to wait forever for you,
I'll be done with, through and through.

How do I tell you
that all I ever really wanted
all I ever really missed
believed
longed for
and imagined
was you?

What is it worth,
whatever isn't there?
What is it worth,
the things that are?
Everything to put at stake,
all that I risk, all of my game.

__________________________________

Of course another late night madness from the Poet is something that is required after every night out, coming home in a cloud of drunkness and strange memories of a strange night. I'm perfectly sure what I wanted to say with this song, but no worries, I'm quite convinced that idea will have disappeared by morning. Interesting, isn't it? How sometimes, even though you might suspect fragments of what was really intended, the piece is left to speak for itself, with what is written; and what was once between the lines is up to the reader to interpret and to see... Either way people, enjoy, since writing is the best-can-do for the Poet, when she's depressed.
POET in the JAR

Hypocrites, Atheists, Heathens And The Late Ones

The Poet has enquired me to pass along her greetings for the holidays.
For everyone who are hypocrites, like the Poet, and celebrate holidays even though you never really considered the reasons why it's supposed to be celebrated in the first place, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
For everyone who are atheists, and don't really believe in the whole God business, but pass on greetings to your faraway friends anyway cause they seem to like it so much, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
For everyone who are heathen, and don't really take any sides in the religion thing because you know they were all based on primitive festivals from the start however it did turn out in the end, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
For everyone who are one day late, and celebrate Christmas not on the Eve but on the Day, HAPPY HOLIDAYS in advance!
Greetings
The POET in the SNOWFLAKE JAR

Take A Second And Read...

Shout out and a bit of commercial, people. If any of you brilliant souls of readers enjoy some amazing poetry - which I know that you do since most of you yourselves are in fact amazing poets - stop by the new Blogger site of Roccari, fellow forum member and a poet exceeding in brilliance many that I have encountered. One of my very favorites to read and to enjoy the phenomenon of poetry along with. Mark my words, this poet will come a far way and tonight I'd like to give this special poet a bit of extra attention.

Also do not forget my list of beloved gorgeous writers already established:

Bad Seed 88 - My friend in all weathers whom I miss terribly at the moment. She's written a good deal of poetry that sticks with you after reading. Impressive poet with a lot of potential and a lot of my heart. One of her pieces on a certain music that we both love I treasure especially. Bad Seed 88 has something in her writing that makes every piece feel painfully real and true, reminding you of yourself and your own life, and she manages to do this while maintaining wonderful language use...
Replica - The finest short story writer I will ever know. Replica has a way with the language that make her stories sound like pure poetry in a poet's ears, which is rather a good grade to say the least. Powerful language, hits you like a brick and makes you think. The word 'beautiful' has been overused but has to be said here.
Cabadath - Fellow forum poet writing quite darkly but with very effective language and vivid imagery. Much talent to come.
Devil's Pride - DP, like many of the writers I've come to know, is also from the forum, and has a special way of touching my heart with every piece. Never missing out on commenting my poems he has also established a position of a terrific critic to bounce opinions with. DP always gets me with every word, carefully weighed, delicately summarized. Definitely worth your while to check out.
Aminhn - One of the greatest poets on the subject of love, fleeting, in a dream, everlasting, as it may be. Writing in rhyme and with a marked rhythm he has made his very own style of poetry which makes quite the effect.
The Masked - My far away sister who deals with many things in her life by writing it out, just like I do. She has many layers of her poetry even to an eye that does not know of all that she has come through in her life. I want to encourage her to keep going and never stop expressing herself, because she has a lot to give and is talented in her writing.
The Fragile Rose - fellow forumian poet who constantly bedazzles me. Wonderful word work and imaginative framework. Vivid language and a delicate pain that seems to burst through her words. Do not miss!
and also starring
The Naive Raven - My oldest forum friend and one of my dearest, also my ink brother. We discuss everything from our writing ideas to every day problems. Raven has a very delicate way of writing and makes it special with differing structures from poem to poem. He always has a thought dressed in words that shine through and the words themselves well chosen and thought through. Look at his works and marvel.
Enough for now,
POET in the REDECORATED JAR

So Long!

I just figured out, that if I can fit each and every one of my here published poems onto a sheet of size A4 paper, and then place all the poems in one long row, it would measure up to exactly 35,973 meters. That is almost half the width of a football field and my own length times approximately 21. Then I haven't counted every poem I wrote before I started publishing them here, OR any of the lyrics, which amount to 51 songs, OR the pieces of small poetry, which amount to a number of 8. If these were also to be included, we would be looking at a row measuring at least 53,513 meters, which is my own length times 31, or 6,295 average sized canoes for adult use.
Nighty, says the Mathematics Discoverer
POET in the JAR

Mirror Image

Where's my silhouette,
that I used to chase after?
Where's the mirror image
I used to seek?
Is there nothing here to reflect me now,
is there nothing of value to keep?
I can't on my own stand for all that I am,
without what's reflecting me
I see myself in the drops of the rain,
but it doesn't encourage me
I need to know my shadow is here,
that at least in that sense I am free
I'll follow your mirror image,
til I find my own one to be.

Rearrange

Tell me a story
I'll listen, enchanted
Submerged in every word
I'll believe your lies
And your fairytale
The illusion that makes your world
See I live on all that never was true
That's how I've endured you
I'll listen to you, enchanted
and then go to rearrange my room

Surrendering Emotion

I can't define you
You're something unsaid
Something unspoken
But you've got me in your grasp
You've got me good with your every attack

I can't find you
You're unheard of
Something hidden
But you're my following shadow
Pacing after me in my tracks

I can't understand you
You're misunderstood
Something misplaced
But I'm shivering in your hands
Surrendering emotion

Surrendering reason

Everything you say I believe
And I don't even know you
You're undefined

I Taught Something

"Why are you quitting?"
"They can't fire the best teacher at the school."
"You're different from the other teachers."
"Can't you stay?"
"You could teach our classes instead."
"Even the other parts of the school wants you to stay."
"We went to the principal yesterday to protest."
"When I get older, I'm going to sue this school."
"We don't want to change teachers again!"
"I see a difference in these kids, and most of all since they got you here to teach them."
"It's strange that a shiny paper saying 'Teacher' should matter more than the kids."
"You're still going to visit, right?"
"Everyone in the class likes you, except those four, and they don't like anyone."
"I learn things in your classes."
"Let's bully the new teacher until she quits so we can have you back."
"It's really sad to have to see you go."
"I would have wanted you to stay. You have a good hand with these kids. There's a calm surrounding you, they're calm when they're with you. And in someone that young. How did you get so calm?"
"We should do something special tomorrow. A memory, so that you won't forget us!"
"I don't want to have any teacher but you."
"It's so unfair."
"When finally we get someone we really like they're firing you."
"I've never seen the kids so united for a cause. Never."
"I'll put in a good word for you when I see the principal. You made my son like the subject again, and he's always thought it was useless. I'll put in a good word, I promise you that."
"I don't want you to leave here!"

Me neither, kids. Parents. Colleagues.
Me neither.

Morning Old Hate

I wake up.
I'm late.
I don't want to go.
Feels like I already lost the show.
I wake up.
I'm full of hate.
I want to stay.
Feels like it's too much.
That I've gone astray.
I wake up.
I can't wait.
Pull that cover again over my head,
give a sigh and a snooze,
and stay in bed.

Safe Person

It feels... unfair. Somehow. Even though I knew from the start this might happen. Even though at times I didn't want to stay. But now as it's settled... now as it's done... it feels unfair.
The kids I got in grade 9 are in their last year. The grades they settle now is what will get them through to upper secondary. They've changed teachers every term for a year and a half. They were sceptical as hell when I got them, and still, I pushed through to them. Still, I find that I've made a difference. And I never thought that I would.
Getting to know this today is four days away from the end of the term. There's barely any time left to tell my kids the bad news and let them digest. And I can't even stay around to tell the new teacher all she'll need to know to get by, because they've scheduled her to start in the beginning of the spring term, and by then fellas, I'll be long gone.
It's not my place to do, but I am entitled to think what I want, and it's almost as if I hate the poor sucker coming in to replace me. Cause I'm lucky, in a weird way. I wanted to stay. And they wouldn't let me. I will get all the lovely, tearfilled goodbyes and everyone that I bonded with will be sad to see me go. The principal and the office will get the anger and the pissed off kids on their tail. I don't envy them.
See... I thought I was invisible. Thought that no one knew what I did for this school. That no one saw if I breathed or not. That no one noticed if I called in sick.
But I wasn't.
Invisible was in my own mind.
It was what I conjured on myself.
A feeling, of emptiness, of apathy, of loss, that had nothing to do with work, but that had all to do with me.
I gotten close to them by now. They tell me things like, they never want to have another teacher. That I've made the subjects fun. That I'm the reason they come there. Sure not all of them say this. But many enough.
Just this morning I said things about how we would aim higher in spring, how we'd do things differently, how we'd improve.
And the same afternoon... I have four days left to work, and then I'm unemployed, and a drop out student.
It feels unfair.
Not only to me.
Not only because I have so much left to give. So much left to teach.
But to the kids.
Take away their teacher. Someone they come and cry to, someone they confide in. Someone they can talk to about anything. Take away their safe person. Someone who sees them as what they really are, people, individuals. Not a bunch of kids. Not a bunch of faces. I see them. Them.
And now I won't be able to stay, because I don't have a shiny paper with a stamp on it saying 'Certificate Teacher'.
Fearing to be jobless, school-less, and hopeless,
but most of all incredibly angry and sad, says
The Poet in the Quite Given Up Jar

Silver Silk, Invisible Friend

You don't tell me. You don't say.
You don't share things with me these days.
I got the deepest scar when you bypassed me,
When you became my invisible friend.
I kept your picture on that wall,
For you it was a clear cut end.
What a low way to let me know,
when you knew I would read those words,
so I do it the opposite to how you'd hoped,
I give them no attention, I glance them by.
There are things more important,
or so I pretend.
It's definite now, it's on public display.
I try to forget that I ever had a say.
There was a dream once.
There was silver silk.
And you want to spare me,
with that spike of pain.
I only see your cowardice,
returning again.
Catch your dreams for all you want.
Forget what we spoke of, back in the days.
Just don't ask me to rewind and erase.
I read you now, are you happy?
Are you pleased with the miserable me?
Why do you have to be silent?
Why couldn't you ever just tell?
There was a dream once.
And there was a star.
I still care, with a piece of heart.
Why do you have to be silent?

Panic Lost

I can't breathe.
Something's pressing on my lungs.
A mare, sitting on my chest, heavily,
like in the old drawings.

I can't breathe.
My airways are blocked.
Nothing's wrong with me and all is clear,
but something is, and I'm all ears.

I come out of my sleep choking,
tumbling on a dream,
while all the stitches I ever sew
are ripped from their fumbling seam,
I realize that it's something else,
that is close to my heart and dark,
and the reason I wake up breathless
is I'm trapped inside what things are,
I never expected to find any hope,
but since when it was taken away
I grieve for it in panic lost,
every fucking day

All Circuits Are Busy

All circuits are busy.

Dried out, burnt up, fuse gone.
Out of oil, out of flare.
Out of refill, out of air.

All circuits are busy.

Overload, I'm overthrown.
Overlost, and out of road.
Out of gas, out of wire.

All circuits are burning tired.

Too hooked up on the rear view mirror
Losing control as I go
I keep looking backwards

But I should turn
and know

All circuits are busy.

Monsters Of Mind

Here, there be monsters
Here, they scare me away
But I'm going to shut you out
And I won't look another time
Under my bed

Here, there be shadows
Like I told you, on my walls
They're unfriendly
And unkindly
And stuck, inside my head

Here, there be pondering
And ideas that never were mine
Here, there be ghosts
And demons
Of mind

Not Breathing

I woke up this morning and I couldn't breathe.
I need to vent. I need to do something. I need to do anything. Things come crashing down on me more than they've ever done before, and it feels like I've hit the limit. Like this is rock bottom.
Everyone keep telling me it'll all be better... everyone except my Mum. She says that I'm depressed and that I can't fix it by myself, that I need help to do it. She agreed to follow me to see a doctor or a psychologist or anyone really, soon. I'm really glad that I have her but there's this problem along with it.
I feel like I've taken her away from my sis.
My sis never gets any encouraging words. She is like the black sheep in my mother's eyes and always gets to hear mean things. My Mum doesn't understand her. I have such a bad conscious for this since she understands me more than anyone and I can't understand why she can't do it for my sister as well. My sis is the kind of person to talk a lot but she doesn't really talk to my Mum about things because she doesn't think she'll understand anyway. I tell my Mum maybe too much sometimes. I just feel that it's good that someone close to you knows everything you go through. I don't wanna feel like I felt awful for a long time and no one saw me. My Mum sees me and keeps helping me out and saying things that make it all feel easier. Like today she said she wouldn't make it if it weren't for me. That made it bit easier. Cause so many times I just wanna sink right through this floor and disappear, and it's always good to actually hear it spelled out in words that someone would miss you if you did.
I feel really bad about me and my sis right now. We were fine just weeks ago and now it's like we're both different people. We don't really talk anymore. The times that we do talk we just get mad at eachother and say mean things. I don't wanna say stuff like that to her because I don't really mean them. It's just in the heat of the moment and lacking to talk for real that makes me say it. I know I made my sis so sad today and I feel horrible for it. I know that maybe right now she really needs someone to be supportive for her but it's like... I can't do it right now you know? I can barely look after myself and even though she doesn't need looking after it's like... I wish I at least had some more energy to spare on her. That I had something more to give.
As it is now I'm just tired, all the time, and frustrated. Frustration really kills me, day by day. There are so many other things that I can't stop worrying about and I think maybe that's why I take it out on her, even if I don't mean to.
And I feel like I spend so much time thinking about this while I can't imagine that she does even if she did, you know (if that made any sense).
It's like... I'm looking at myself from the outside and I don't recognize who I'm seeing. That person isn't me. I'm not usually like this. I can look at myself and just know that all my problems start inside of me, that they're all in my head, and I'm blowing them up to huge proportions. It feels like, if I'm able to know this, if I know it's all my own making, I should be able to fix it, but I can't. It really makes me feel worthless that I can't fix this for once. Fix it, fix me, like I used to be able to do.
Mum says this is a dead certain sign of depression and that it's why I need some help. I think that I could use some too, but in one way I go completely anti her. She suggested to me that I take some pills that like, add to your diet with vitamins and stuff, and I really don't want to. I think that might be because I remember what it was like last time I went on any kind of pill. I remember it made me even more different, and even more depressed. It made everything, literally, hell. Even if this is just some nutritient maybe my mind just subconsciously pushes the thought away, pushes the idea away.
I love living here but right now it feels like I might as well sleep on the sidewalk. This is an empty house these days. An empty home. I can have friends over much as I want but it's so empty here without my sis. I can't explain it. I can't say why I'm mad at her all the time. It's like... she's trying to make me understand but I can't soak it up.
I can't just accept it or even try.
It makes me feel like I'm cut in half... like I'm just in the way. I'm no good sister.
I can't help it. I know that I'm being selfish. I keep thinking that my sis is the selfish one if she is so busy creating another life out of here all of a sudden, creating some kind of life where I'm not included. Maybe I'm the selfish one, for even having the thought that she should be here with me instead, to see how I'm feeling, to cheer me up. To do anything.
I just feel so lonely, so fucking lonely, and everything about my situation and about some things that I should keep away from here is just getting to me and I really fucking hate it, I really, really hate it...
I'm just so invisible and no one sees me...
Yes, She Is Aware That She's Being Pathetic,
And She Knows All You Guys Thinks She Isn't Invisible,
Or A Good-For-Nothing,
But What Do You Do When You Can't Shake The Thought?
THE POET in THE JAR

Dreaming Kills Us

From the minute we were born, we were given something. Even if the rest of our lives was going to be nothing but a long row of trials, a long row of late night tears, of misery, of self-pity... of dwelling on our guilt, or the one we imagine that we possess. Dwelling on all the feelings in the half of the spectrum that qualifies under torment. Under torture. Under the headline starting with any other word beginning with a T. And maybe those of us who dwelled the most, those who had to live through the worst, used that something the best... and made the most of it.
We never realize it's there.
We use it, every day, to escape, to try and forget the fact that in the end all the ones of us who are too emotional, too empathic, are all just like Izzie, lying on the bedroom floor. You can be in shock. You can have the salt running down your face without knowing why. Without being able to say. But you're there, nonetheless, you're on that floor, in your fancy dress, and blind to all that try and persuade you that your dress has filled its function, that you can't wear it any more.
And you refuse to take it off. Because you know, that the second you do, you have to land again, right back into reality, right back into duties, into practical. That fancy dress, that mask of yours, has to go back on some shelf, and will be forgotten. It will keep that scent. Keep everything about it that made you still close, that made you still surreal.
If you give up that dress, you give up on hope. You give up on what made you dream. You give in, to what the world will try to make of you, another cog in the machinery, another part of the big picture to make it all run smoothly. The world wants you to believe that you're vital. And that you'll make a difference. That someone will know whether you are here or if you're not.
But the only ones who will notice, you will always be uncapable of seeing. They'll all be invisible to you, and you'll always be invisible to them.
Or at least in your eyes.
We dream.
We dream because that's what we were meant to do.
We were never supposed to make some machinery run, or to go through our lives on routine... avoiding to hope and to nurture our visions of the future, because we were too afraid to be burned again, too afraid to be hurt.
Those who really suffer... those who have really sacrificed themselves to the world... to what they are expected to be... are the ones who never dream. Those who have forgotten what it does to you to drift away, forgetting, soaking yourself in everything that wasn't here, that wasn't real, that wasn't now.
That said... dreaming will never come easily.
Dreaming kills us, day by day, making us believe things that will never come true, making us believe we can hold on to something. To anything.
Anything that will hold us away from what pains us.
And then we fall.
We crash down, and we fall.
It hurts. It hurts like hell. And none of us knows how to live with it. None of us knows how the hell we're gonna make it through another day, when just breathing is hard enough, when all we want to do is to give up, to cave in, to sleep... to disappear.
It costs to chase a dream. Some of us don't even know what we want. What we desire. We're left in constant confusion, and constant ponder and worry. Maybe, for us, that cost grows rapidly, with every step we take, with every hesitation.
Or maybe the ability to dream, and to fall by the hands of it, is the very cost in itself...
POET in the Dreamy JAR

Sugarcoated

Sugarcoat the past.
We do it every day.
I do it, remembering what things used to be like. I remember all the good things that have been lost by now... the innocence we were all robbed of, some of us too early, earlier than what was intended.
And in the sugar, in the sweetness, in the sepia colors, we lose all of the darkness, what yearns to come to surface and battle us in the present second. We drown our misery in joy, and leave it out as we remember, imagining our days were all glory days, and that we shone together.
I was lonely all awhile, and I never cease to repress it.
POET in the Sugarcoated JAR

Games And Shows (On Your Wall)

Look at this shining jewel,
and how it's perfectly rounded,
how it glimmers and glows in the light.

How the sun bounces off the surface,
playing games and shows
on your wall.

You are this jewel,
and you are rare.
But you are hollow.

Shine on in the light, and dance.
Forget the past and the future, in a trance.
Make everyone look at you,
shining and glimmering.

You are this jewel,
and you are rare.
But you'll be stolen by tomorrow.

Your Hell

After you were here
After you filled hour after hour
And took the edge of
everything scary
After you left
After you're gone
I'm empty
I'm apathy
I'm no longer me
After you took your song away
After the sound died out
There are echoes here
There are shadows here
You'll never know you were it
And I'll never tell
I'm empty
I'm apathy
Just a feeling away from your hell