My sweet little Teddy Bear...
Mommy gave 'YOU' to me.
Now I never sleep alone at night.
The comfort you gave, when God's sunny eyes ran out of light.
You are my sweet little teddy bear...
You kept me company throughout the years.
I hugged you, when my eyes were full of tears.
Loving you, squeezing you.
We both express many joyful dance of cheers.
Together we sang lullabies, without you singing one single word.
We drank from the same teacup, whispered about the pretty birds.
Now listen, as I mumble extra words into your ear.
My sweet Teddy Bear, you are always here.
We snuggled every night staring at the star frame window.
"You held my hand every-time I was lost in my own imaginary limbo.
My sweet little Teddy Bear...
I'm 11 now, and my mother loves me dearly.
Sadly she felt it's time to find me a daddy.
Little does she knows, my daddy visits every night in my dreams.
Now her boyfriend visits my room and tells me not to scream.
Little Teddy bear, I never showed you fear before I fell asleep.
Little Teddy bear, tonight I do not want to count sheep.
Teddy bear, now I hold you closer, and tighter than before.
Little Teddy Bear let me cover your ears, from the screeching door.
Little Teddy Bear, he said he will hurt mommy If I tell anyone.
Little Teddy Bear, I know you see and hear everything!!!
You're A Little Kid Again (contest)
The View of an 11 year old
?Just a stutter-step, and I over-think it?
I ask you how are we breathing underwater?
The question is the shadow of a nightmare
appearing as an Octopus -
its tentacles wrap around us,
dragging us towards the edge of an abyss.
I tear open my rib-cage,
I am fever, high-temperature fever,
licking the Octopus with the tongues of my heat.
It lets go, retreats into a crevice.
You are swallowing water with the fear in your eyes.
I shouldn't have asked that specific question -
brought it into existence.
I kiss you, push breath into your lungs.
Upon seeing figure-eights wash away your doubt,
I am now suddenly breathless.
You give me back breath to breathe,
offering us strength to breach the surface.
The Ocean is Sky; Sky is the Ocean,
Night is Day; Day is Night.
?Is this flying, or walking upside-down. Sideways?
"Look down there, can you see the Evergreen tree?" I ask.
You say nothing. Just breathe. The fear is gone from your eyes.
I close my eyes, open my eyes,
close my eyes, open my eyes.
There is no difference, a shutter-frame of eternal passages.
We have done this before somehow,
flown through the doors of deja vu.
"The tree doesn't need to be sacrificed into paper.
But, if cut down, at least spread its seeds."
Why did I say that? It felt so natural.
Waves. Surging, vibrating waves.
Now, it is flesh for feeling,
breath on breath,
an elevation of sheer simplicity within sweat.
I can barely contain myself,
but when I do, again, my belly becomes an earthquake,
unleashing seismic waves
from the centre of my core....
Even though you already appear to be sleeping,
I feel you awake inside,
but so calm peaceful.
We breathe, exhale, inhale,
your body gently pushes against my chest and belly....
....before I fall asleep,
I spy the Cardinal hopping along the branch of an Evergreen tree
Somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
Don't touch it. Don't say it. Don't do it. Don't doubt it. Don't think.
Somebody handcuffs my steps. Somebody determines my boundaries.
Before I fully understand free will, there is a slap on my head
and phosphenes like stars that command my orbit.
Before I can recognize differences, there is a slap on my hand
right hand, not left hand...never ambidextrous;
and time out is isolation without a trial...and I learn
the fear of wrongdoing
remote-controlling my existence,
conditional on demand, predesigned
An aborted freedom escaping into the sewer
trying not to get it on the seat
I'm the observer of other lives, not mine
tied up and chained, in captivity
attempting to prove an alibi
for being alive.
No one cares
not even myself
Somebody pulls on the rope to swing the bells
It's dirty. It's ugly. It's bad. It's poo. It's sin.
commitments, commandments... Commandments, Commitments
Sometimes deception makes them ring in a low tone. Sometimes
I do what they say, and not what they do, and not what I want, and not what I think.
Through fragments of this duplicity,
and this duplicity,
I would be able to rebuild myself,
and Myself, into another hypocritical being;
and the intentional perversion of the self proclaimed truth,
or the liar paradox,
will be sovereign
leading to the use of tricks and cotton swabs.
When the remorseless hours run counterclockwise,
I would be happy through imaginary experiences,
consistently believed to be true.
Would I dare to examine the society in which I've been educated and raised?
Would I dare rip my skin...my flesh off of my bones?
How could I blame them? How could I possibly judge them?
Order and obedience in confabulation...in conspiracy...in complicity
If somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
If I'm the only one guarding my own cell
If I'm the jailer, and the convict, and the crime.
Your reflection is a liar
It makes no confessions
The image reaches within
Cold fingers claw at your mind
A mirrored smile
No words spoken
Yet you hear screaming in your head
You reach out your hands
Palms joined on glass
No warmth transfers as you touch
You stare at the illusionary you
Looking back from his backward land
A place without air
Yet it is you who cannot breath
Together you bang on the glass
You cut your right hand
Blood trickles down his left wrist
As he licks it off you taste it on your lips
There it is again
Perhaps it's a smirk
What does he know
Fear rises from within
You turn to walk away
Hair rises on your neck
The sound of shattered glass
As the pieces of you fall
You were never here
All these people you used to be
Shards of glass upon the floor
Nathan's Mirror Contest
Kind of freaky it matches one of your pictures, I wrote this a while ago.
I write each letter by hand in careful cursive.
I want every sentence to be pretty,
to look feminine and delicate -
to soften the ugliness you face everyday.
After each line, I let the ink dry.
You don't deserve smudges.
You don't deserve any of this.
My words are foolish,
full of meaningless descriptions
of meaningless events.
But I can't sit here at this polished desk -
in this cozy room in this quiet house
on this peaceful street
and write what I'm really thinking.
I can't be selfish.
So I keep writing my careful cursive
on my pretty stationary.
I keep sending my meaningless letters
into the ugly world - to wherever you are.
And no matter how many times
I open the mailbox, I'm never prepared
for that hideous stamp,
that heartless phrase:
"Return to Sender."
For Michael's "Boomerang" contest
Walls of silence hold,
The child held within,
Cries out for release.
Relative solitude comforts,
Not the tortured soul,
Inward coiling withdrawing,
Shedding its outer skins,
Layer thus preserving its,
Innocents shroud lies in ruins.
Gentle spirit, cast aside wings,
The fallen angel kneels in,
Shadows before mankind.
Unanswered prays rest upon,
Muted sobs, echo on stilled,
Hardening to stone, the
Reflects frozen repose.
Forgotten amongst mine own,
Childhood symbolizes a betrayed,
Small fragile hands reach out,
Hollow space grasping into,
Chained shackles twist,
Imaginations warped view,
Somber tones cloud troubled,
Amidst life's trials, I'm aimlessly,
Without any form of stability.
I, alone remain shambles,
Displaced and damaged,
A broken doll thrown away,
By those who should have,
Cared for her the most.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.
In the darkness fluidly
My dreams bleed
I see you in the shadows
Feeding my hunger
Quenching my ache for insanity
In my weakest hour
Even when i close my eyes
Your vision is still haunting me
The picture is black and perfect
People stare with empty eyes
Not one dares to look for the truth
Behind there own disguise
Ugliness ovewhelms me
Cruelness calls me in
Nightmares fill my space,
No breaking them tonight
A numbness invades my mind
Thoughts of being your angel of darkness
I long to know what's beyond this time
I cry like an orphaned child
My heart skips a beat
As you sing for me a lullaby
Of darkness and crimson good-byes
My walk on the dark side
Your disappearing now
You stole me away last night
Come back from behind the mirror
Make your darkness my reality.
I balance on a tightrope. Surrounded by
lovers and dreamers, I teeter above a raging sea.
I admire their glossy smiles and envy
their bright-eyed confidence; envy is a sin, I know.
Please forgive me; a lie would carry more guilt.
The waves crash in dark shades of gray, still they smile.
Their laughter from all around pierces the thin air.
I teeter alone; I may or may not fall.
My fate is undetermined, in my own hands;
the tragedy today may be tomorrow's comedy.
Their laughter echoes...
On a day like today, the fresh tears sting.
If only I could wake from the nightmare,
pry open the windows of my tortured soul.
If only I could charm the feral...if only.
Oh, the skeletal monsters we are bequeathed!
Yes, I understand the meaning of loyalty.
A fool believes the wicked will fall.
A fool believes the merciless will change.
Can a hollow chest develop a beating heart?
I chisel stone walls, searching for a glimmer of hope,
a flicker of humanity behind steel beams.
Could you spare a token of remorse?
I dare to drop a coin in a fountain of wishes.
A pocketful of coins jingle as my wishes sink
to the bottom of the venomous waters.
I am patient as I teeter on the tightrope.
The audience cheers taking pleasure in my pain.
Blood pulsates through my veins, yet I feel cold winds
penetrate my soul. I refuse to cower or
live in contention...
Blood is thicker than ink.
I find my balance in the written word, a gift of life!
Words sometimes spill from a bleeding heart.
I beseech the ghosts of the past to end their haunting.
Their breath is the frigid wind. I find shelter...
Tempered is the skin of the wounded. Who knows
what may lie beneath the flesh. In the mirror,
you may find a frightened child in need of love.
Most find the strength to balance and stand.
Every step brings me closer to solid ground...
I am reaching for you. Please take my hand.
Reveled in ancient times, words escape from the crevices of nature
Through soils that many have tread
The living and the dead
Eat everything and take a great big look
Something is waiting for you—someone is there for you
The history of mankind will not tell you otherwise
The vines of truth and peace surround your being
You are something new and true
And the words are willingly fleeing from my grasp
Life is a spinning top—it spins as long as you keep it going
Manmade trinkets are concepts of lives untold
Objects hold energy that are more powerful than mere words
The feeling behind the whole of it all is all too satisfying
Listen to the breeze
It whispers riddles that lift the spirits of the deep
I can hear it calling
Humanity has closed its breadth of hearing
But they can always reopen!
Consume me—let the fires of your passion envelope me
I want to know everything I can before I leave this world behind
I want the living and the dead to be satisfied in luxuries
Luxuries of love, appetite, desire and cool water fire
There is a secret rhythmic chord in every brain
You must accept yourself
You must accept your surroundings
Let them curl all around you—let your heart turn from serpentine to
Consume the waters
Before the worms in the soil soak in what is rightfully yours
The earth will be your companion
Engorge what you may . . . but respect