Marissa JoAnne
I write to express the tornado of my thoughts. It’s a beautiful and freeing experience. Enjoy 🙃
Marissa JoAnne
I write to express the tornado of my thoughts. It’s a beautiful and freeing experience. Enjoy 🙃
I write to express the tornado of my thoughts. It’s a beautiful and freeing experience. Enjoy 🙃
I write to express the tornado of my thoughts. It’s a beautiful and freeing experience. Enjoy 🙃
We fly Adrenaline in our blood For a moment More than breathe and dust They watch us Chewed fingernails in anticipation An audience Eyes and minds full of fascination The chains That enslaved this bird have broken A fiery blaze The burn to deliver justice is awoken We fly Shattered souls seeking salvation Our dreams Waltz between imagination and confrontation Bare feet Ready to run
What more can I do? Am I not a beautiful bloom? I’ve been growing, reaching, yearning Like a daisy chasing the sun What makes you untouchable? Unattainable? Is it me? Am I the crooked puzzle piece of this fantasy? The awkward, unwanted flower you can’t bear to have in your bouquet? Am I just another star? Burning, dying in an attempt to be seen by you. You’ve always been near me, separated only by my fear and your rejection. See me, I beg Give me a reason to hope in us YoU nEVeR dO It makes me hate you I shouldn’t hate an angel, But then again, you never were one.
Anxiously he waited, scratching at the cage. Wings beating, restless to soar. The girl would be back soon. He knew it in his bones. She would set him free. The warm sun was beginning to rise. He liked how it chased away the shadows—and with them, his fear. Dew glimmered on the grass like delicate diamonds. Heather scent was carried on the breeze past him cage. Then there were the calls of his kin, singing of freedom and joy. He loathed them for their songs. He hated their ignorance, unaware of his imprisoned state. They sang of all he could not have, of all he dreamed to be. Years of waiting had broken him. His wings more red then white. Confined for so long he’d forgotten how to fly. But still he waited for the coming dawn. A dawn when he would be free.
It’s the warmth you feel on a sun-kissed day, Or the sweetest song of a passing bird. It’s rain on the sidewalk and dew on the grass. It’s a tune forever stuck in your head, its melody becomes your anthem.
This is belonging.
It’s the tears that flood your eyes when you’re reunited with someone you love. It’s the smile you can’t contain when a stranger remembers your name. It bathes your heart in contentment. It glows like fireflies, warm and bright. It is unspoken, but nonetheless present.
This is belonging.
It’s knowing someone sees you, And accepts the trials you’ve overcome. It’s beautiful and must be cherished— The belonging you’ve so deservingly won.
Their warnings float into my mind as I run. Drifting through the breeze to my awaiting ears. I attempt to push them away, but who can deny the temptation of love? Of being loved. Of being wanted. I couldn’t.
The wind reminds me of this as I run. It sings of forgiveness—a falsehood, I know. A plea arises from its center most being. I pray for the strength to not turn back. To them. To him.
The wind is my enemy, I’ve decided, that I shall not overcome. It dwells everywhere, a never ending reminder. I know I am a coward for running, but they’re in my head: the whispers on the wind.
This is my endless field, A place only I know. And the umbrella that i wield Acts as my sword.
Here I fight my demons, That sprout up in the heather. They come when I am dreaming And many a storm they weather.
The wind acts as our audience, Gusting in delight. A witness to our deadly dance Who only wanes at night.
I love my endless field, Dispite the pain it brings. For, in time I will heal And it will turn to spring.
I saw them there Tall and strong Without a care Or single wrong
Shining bright In all their glory A blinding sight Oh so holy
What they came to reveal Such terrifying truths Horror they could not conceal Has scarred my youth
They showed me the darkness The treacherous night A world full of brokenness No longer able to fight
Rivers of tears The misery of many Plagued by fear Destruction of plenty
This, they showed me With grim faces A future beyond reach But one this world chases
Brown as the dirt it grows in, Rough skin tells of where it’s been. Warts and scars tell many stories, Battling bugs and birds receives much glory. Up from the ground it goes, Taken from its soil sanctuary to be exposed. Its children cry out from the roots below, Afraid to be alone in the coming snow. Thick coats of armor are peeled away, Leaving fleshy skin in its place. Boiled and mashed and sliced and fried, All such gory ways to die. But the Potatoes live on, Surviving the struggles they are upon. They hope for a better future, Plotting revenge on their abuser.
Since I was young, I’ve heard the tale. The tale of Chained Claus. Nobody knows when the great demon Claus got his chains, but everyone knows why. The hunger driven beast would show his face once a year, claiming the lives of hundreds of thousands of children in a single night. Slipping down chimneys and luring them with his voice; delivered to each house by a chariot of ferocious reindeer. And accompanied by a band a bloodthirsty elves. Many had tried to slay the demon and free the earth from his reign, but alas, he could not be killed. But once, a blacksmith of exceptional skill came close to restraining the beast. He melted down the antlers of a herd of Mammoth Reindeer, and combined it with liquid diamonds, before welding it into thick, ghastly white chains. On Christmas Eve, as Claus began his rampage, the blacksmith sat waiting, watching. He coated himself in candy cane juice in hopes of hiding his scent from the monster. Eventually, just as the moon began to descend back down towards the horizon, a small, dark figure crept out of the coals. Claus. Light as a feather, Claus began his silent way towards the stairs. Upon reaching the first step, Claus was tackled by the blacksmith. He was not startled, though, and began clawing at the blacksmith. Biting down hard on the mans arm, Claus was astonished to find his teeth breaking as he bit into strong sheets of metal. After creating the chains, the blacksmith had forged himself armor in hopes of protecting himself. Distracted by the excruciating snap of his teeth, Claus was chained. His bonds had the strength to burn his flesh and would cause unbearable agony. In rage, Claus ascended back up the chimney and fled into the night, his chains in tow. Although he can still never truly be defeated, he must live out eternity in a portable prison of pain.