I wrote this one last year... Hope you enjoy it (:
-
-
Flying Away
Dream.
Dreaming about birds,
soaring, free from all harm.
Wish.
Wishing I could fly with them.
Away from everything, by myself.
Believe.
Believing it is possible,
to fly with the flock.
Trust me.
I’ve watched enough movies.
I’ve seen what Hollywood thinks
life is.
Let me tell you,
they don’t have a clue.
They do it to please the crowd,
not to make it realistic.
Oh the difference there would be if the movies
were real.
Dancing princesses in ball gowns,
Princes on white horses.
Love, romance.
True love
Like they think that life is a fairytale.
My life.
Wishing to find love,
Trying to find a straw to grasp at.
Someone who will accept me as myself.
Let me laugh, let me cry.
Who will support my ideas,
not crushing my thoughts, my dreams,
of flying.
But instead,
I lay on my bed,
under the covers with a flashlight,
pouring out my feelings,
but more heartache and longing.
My journal is where I can be myself,
knowing it won’t judge me,
but also, it wont comfort.
My friends,
try to help me,
but i know they're going through it too.
I’m not stupid.
We all wish for the same thing.
Love.
Boys.
Don’t get me started on them
They are filthy liars.
Heart breakers,
Nothing but pure savages.
I bet that will change,
at least I hope it will.
I will find that boy
the one for me,
and i will look upon this after,
laughing.
But for now I am not laughing.
I am practically crying.
High School.
I am two years from that,
and I am thinking about love.
You might think I’m
crazy, but that’s what everyone thinks about
in my school.
I sometimes wonder,
If everything is pure mockery,
My true form unborn,
That this is all a dream.
Sometimes I wish I was,
my life not yet begun.
That I would have wings so I could
fly away.
Love.
My pen lingers over the subject,
Not yet knowing what to write.
Alas, this subject does not come into existence
in my life just yet.
Yes, there is love in my surroundings,
but I have yet to catch it.
Passion.
Powerful emotions and feelings,
swirling around my head,
not knowing what to love, what to hate.
Not knowing who to trust.
I am a deer looking into the headlights of life, confused.
In books,
they fly.
But people say they aren’t real.
I won't accept them
to just be fairy tales.
Music.
I listen to it every night,
comforting me, feelings expressed,
reassuring me that I am not the only one
who feels this way.
Writing.
It helps me express my feelings,
lets me take a breath
remember who I am.
But sometimes I wonder
if I actually do know.