A Wilted Rose

Treated indifferently by her parents, Seor had never really felt the human touch or experienced a real connection to anyone. The closest thing she had to a strong feeling was loneliness, but barely that.
She had only an unrequited love to keep her mind at wander.
The unknowing receptor of that budding love was the idea of love itself. Reading the many books she had in her little library of a room, she grew fond of the characters living life fighting for something they loved and believed in.
Seor had never been told that she was loved, or even cared for. Her life was solitary and she never went to school or places to meet other people. She never seemed to go anywhere. The person she saw most was Mrs. Norr, her homeschool teacher. Mrs. Norr was a sagging woman who spent too much time supporting herself that the woman had no time for anything other than talk of education, education itself, and not making eye contact with the strange child she taught.
Alone as one could be, Seor only had her garden in which to keep company. Neighbors lived without knowing of her existence and not many others who saw her talked to her, not even a simple hello.
Without realizatizing it, she herself was the very materialization of an angel, but hidden in a quiet and unnoticed way.
Her hair ran somehow smooth but wild, hiding the eyes which seemed to have captured the waters of any paradise. The long, thick blonde hair was so light it was white but was never cut or tampered with. Her face was masked by it and so was most of her beautifully shaped body. Seor attemped to braid it on many occasions, though not always succeeding, so ithat it wouldn't strangle her as she moved about during the day.
Wearing the old, loose clothing that had been found lying around, the beautiful lavish items she owned hung in her unopened closet; they were ignored. She couldn't name one pair of shoes or a shirt she had in there, unlike the many people who spent their days obsessing and mezmorized over what they had and compared themselves to the next.
She was a calm, patient person. Her kindness was neverending and streamed out constantly to whoever it could reach, which was few.
Her garden was layed out behind the beautifully kept and ignored pool and was only accessable through a neat doorway placed behind a vine falling from the trees above.
Though only a small patch, she nurtured whatever came from the earth but knew which were weeds to be pulled. From the books she read she knew well how to care and identify many plants which Seor would most likely never see and would never grow in her garden.
Without ever speaking to her parents it would have been difficult to have asked them for a minor plant or two. The last time she saw them was when she was a young girl.
Seor had been sitting outside near the evergreen brush of Heather and saw movement through one of the always spotless windows. She saw a woman with a tight bun of dyed blonde hair at the nape of her neck and you could she had some work done on almost everything. Her chest was well sized and her teeth unnaturally bright and white. Her skin was a tan orange and she wore so many jewels one wondered how she was able to stand.
Seor saw none of it as fake, only as the woman being peculiarly strange and unreal. The woman glanced at Seor and quickly closed the curtain in disgust. Seor blinked twice and realized that must have been her mother though no resemblance could be found.
Years had passed since then and now she was 16 and a half. Her birthdays were uncelebrated and cake was alien to her.
Mondays through Fridays she had 8 hour lessons and she didn't recieve homework. Seor spent all the time she could outdoors or reading, sometimes at the same time.
Springtime had finally come and the winter's cold grasp on the lives of all living things had released.
Into the gardener's shed she skipped, which was left unlocked by her request to the never seen gardener, and Seor took tools and soil for the plants and went on out to the garden.
She pulled what she knew was bad for her garden and they thanked her. One could see how they could finally breath as the weeds were gone and the mulch put down. The worms wiggled and the birds hopped and sang from branch to branch.
It was a beautiful day.
As the weeding progressed, Seor discovered something she was sure she knew the root of.
A small green stem was coming out of the ground. It was still young but was growing in size, though as green as the rest so very unseen.
Some leaves were banching off and a small bud with a hint of color.
It was a rose.
The very thought of having such a thing in her very own garden was amazing. She wondered how big it would be and how beautiful it would look and what color it would turn out as. She hoped it would be a deep red that entranced even most absent-minded.
Seor visited and took care of it every single day and watched it open slightly after a week. The plant came to be a foot taller and more leaves came out and another two buds had popped out of the stem.
It was a deep green and she came and read to it from her favorite story books.
Two weeks had passed since her discovery of it and she hadn't ceased to love it.
After a day of showers, Seor sneaked out to the garden later on that Saturday than she usually did.

Believing

I shudder at the cold draft.
The ghosts pass by,
Shifting the thoughts in my mind.

Words pass by my core of thought.
I need to find the ones I search for:
Listen to me.

Nothing adds up,
Fantasy becomes your truth.
The lines of reality dissolve.

Before me, I grope in the dark.
I need something solid,
Something to have at my fingertips.

Trust is my key,
But where is the lock?
The door has only splinters.

Haunted

I choose to live,
to write,
to listen to the melody.

The past can haunt,
but I will move forward.
And it will never catch me.

I know I am alive,
by my echoing heartbeat.
And my steady breaths.

I cannot say I do not feel the pain,
but it does not control me.
Heartbreak was the ultimate test.

I cannot help but wonder,
why must some think this way?
Why would one wish to be gone?

One chance to make it,
but we all begin to fall.
Who is there to catch us?

Did you?

I question myself,

time and time again.

I need to know,

Are you foe or friend?

You say I Love You,

Like it was the same as before.

But to me its getting harder

To even look at you anymore.

I wish I had turned away,

But now I can see it clear.

I was never wanted,

It came to be my biggest fear.

Your beauty is on the outside,

But inside it's filled sin.

I'm standing here beside you,

Witnessing truly what is within.

 

I have no one to turn to,

Nobody who will understand me.

I have no place to run to,

Nobody to set me free.

Please just say it.

Did you ever really love me?

Reality

You are the tide that swept me away,
With that sweet smile that you portray.
But when the truth came out of its shell,
I felt myself slipping and I nearly fell.
Feeling this feeling, I can only weaken,
Though letting no tears fall down on my skin.
But as common sense says, the pressure will build,
And then my eyelids are finally filled.
As the last tear falls and I lose all my strength,
I lock my heart away for an unknown length.
Love is harsh, but reality is crueler;
Predator against prey, shooter against shooter.
Things wind down, close to the end,
Discovering what's behind the bend.
New things begin and old things disappear,
But the haunting ghosts will make our memories reappear.

Problems

Pain lurks at every corner,
Reaping what you have shred.
Opening your nightmares to a new monster:
Being who you really are;
Living the way that keeps you stable.
Evening comes and the peace is disturbed.
Morning arises and dawn breaks.
Scratching out the last
Sad
Tune
Of your Lullaby.

Lovebirds

The sweet song of spring.
I listen quietly,
I love the sound, the pitch, the tone.
It is beautiful, undeniably.

Small interruptions,
Almost undetectable.
Attentively I sit,
And each note is unforgettable.

I see their happy faces,
And hear their beating hearts.
Wildly excited,
Though targets in a game of darts.

I fear for their future,
And I hope for their happy end.
Though I know my heart is not open enough
To be in love again.

Senses

Notes of wind through leaves, flowing in a breezy way of harmony, singing through people's ears, a sweet melody of silence, and music.
The air, tainted by the passing cars on the road, and the smell of ignorance on pedestrian's faces, wafting by your nose.
If you think about your past, you will receive brain waves of soft, warm water that passes over your mind, in a comforting thought of a memory.
Passing your fingertips over the familiar skin of your arm, you can almost feel the veins underneath, a constant movement of small, almost invisible cells from one limb, to the next, carrying the same message, the same heartbeat.
Seeing people on the streets, you think of how innocent they seem, yet guilty all the same, because of the harm they are doing to the earth, and those small, seemingly insignificant, lives and cycles of life, that present themselves before, right as you turn to step on an innocent spider, while afraid of only a bite.
A tender taste of home, drifting down your throat to shake the imaginary hand of your heart, to tell you: Welcome home! and your tongue sensing the closeness of your family dinner made with either love, or insincerity, one sweet, one sour.
Feelings are created out of what you sense or think, and they are all closely related to the heart and soul.

Music

A harmony of notes and sounds, all blending together.
Sometimes, they somehow make the exact sound and blend.
Almost like magic, no, exactly like magic.
I hunt for those magical songs.
And as I find them, I familiarize them into my brain.
and when I remember them, I play them.
Again, again, and again.
Then I can play them inside my head.
Is that crazy? Or is the humming as much as I should tell you?
Maybe I am crazy, crazy for music.
It moves through me and I love it.
My iPod is my oasis.

Independence

They've written a song about it,
They've written a declaration,
yet no recount of my own comes to mind.
Independence: Me, myself and I
I stand on my own feet.
I balance on my own sin.
I hold my own blood.
I beat my own heart.
Yet I still am missing...something.
Oh, that's right.
I'm only missing one thing.
You. Can you stand on your own feet?

Thank You

For all the almost hugs,
They almost make it better.
For all the french smileys,
Sadly, I only understand Spanish.
We have so much in common,
Yet I'm from Venus and you from Mars,
You are closer to the fiery inferno
of heat and pain than I,
Cold and surrounded.
Tears run down my face,
Unnoticeable, hide able,
leaving scars of memories in their path.
Thank you for sort of noticing,
It means my whole world to me.
Even if you had no idea.

Who are you?

We talk once a week,
though we've never met.
I hope you don't get crazy,
Or come to break my neck.

We talk of our thoughts,
though you can't prove they are there.

You are a gentleman one moment,
and the next a joker.

I cannot read your mind,
Nor your face.
Are you playing me?
Trying to lose my good grace?

I'm getting a little scared.

Shut Up

Surrounded by a sea of voices, tugging at my sanity.
Howling my name, they will not leave me be.
Useless calls can't bring me back, I am elsewhere.
Temper tantrums can't make me listen and will not make me care.

Undermined people cannot make me see, for I am blind to any beauty.
People may call me different, but they know nothing of my real entity.

Going

I keep going and going,
Never stopping to look back,
But what happens when I have nowhere to go?
What becomes of me?
I read, I write, I listen, I speak.
Anything to keep me going.
Even if I go nowhere,
It's away from here.