Liar, liar, My eyes on fire, Did you desire To burn this empire?

You think I wouldn’t Conspire your actions? The clues were lain Upon your transactions.

You wouldn’t dare To cross me now; I gave you trust you’ve Tainted somehow.

Why do you feel the Need to hide What you did so easily With your pride?

Is that guilt you feel, When you don’t disagree? It wouldn’t be shame, or You’d stop hurting me.

You’ve become accustomed to Confrontation, Knowing my forgiveness is for Exploitation.

What did you do? Tell me the truth. Did you do it? I have the proof…

I snap my neck, Meet your eyes My intuition Sensed this sight. Your silences confirms My guess is right; The truth has shifted Into light.

Knock knock, “Who’s there?” A list of names Of those who care.

Your can of worms Feel empty and dark But people are waiting for Your invite to your heart.

“Let us in, Let us in!” “Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin” So you huff and you puff And blow the whole world out! Anything to prove there’s No rain in this drought.

Ears perched like a wallflower; The world isn’t as dark as it seems. There are those who love you Beyond those you know as feinds.

They love in silence, Set you up in success, Cheering you on, and stressing When you’re stressed.

But it’s hard to see when You lock yourself in the basement; Come out from the cold and into The world of amazement.

Believe it and you’ll see it- The warmth and charm Of those who love and will Hold you in their arms.

They’ve been watching You all along, Waiting for you to believe That you belong.

You may underestimate my knowledge, My case is closed.

You merely tolerate my existence, I’m your aging mold.

Your bubble of breath- readily available oxygen; I combust from exposure.

You walk with eyes closed and a thick skull, My lips sewn in closure.

You’ve unraveled my stitches, destruction is Your type.

I will disappear, as you wish, without sparing you a Goodbye.

What are butterflies If not anxiety? Missing you is equivalent To five years of sobriety.

You brushed your beard In gentle strokes, It was never my hair- A girl only hoped.

We were fire and ice Blended to our demise. A hurricane of measure When our fingers entwined.

You filled my glass to emptiness; I only wanted more, Because the contents you poured Left me sour and sore.

I hope you’re well In the pitiful cell You chose to dwell; It looked like hell. Time will only tell What you’ll dispel When you sound that bell For another’s veil.

Daring truths, And crystal lies; We’re planting roots That reach the skies.

Quiet storms, Nothing to fear; What we mourn, No one hears.

Clothing shredded On the battlefield- What we mended Is now our shield.

We get battle-scars For the sake of glory; Scars on hearts Make up our story.

We want results Without the pain; We act like adults For the sake of gain.

We think squeaky clean Is the dream, But getting lean Has a theme.

A restless mind And untapped potential Is an ambitious drive With growing credential.

If a silver spoon Is life’s meaning Then we have doomed All our dreaming.

An easy life Is boredom’s drum, Because the road less traveled by Is the most adventurous one.

Schrödinger’s Cat, Is it alive or dead? My new self, Is she blue or red?

Blue in melancholia, Red in passion, But the gray area Is purple in ration.

I work in loops of Unsatisfactory growth, Praising myself along the Path to my undying oath.

I work to be better, Be different in every sense. What will become of the girl Who couldn’t jump the fence?

She’s still attached By a string of silk To cut her off feels like A choice to bilk.

I am two sides of the same coin, Not knowing the outcome of the toss. Feeling two things at once May not be a total loss.

It is the blue not settling For anything less than red That causes my resilience To run my ambitions to the end.

Trigger warning: eating disorder

Beyoncé is usually right about everything, but, in my life, one thing stands out the most true- Pretty hurts.

No one talks about how severely competitive the ballerina world is. You have to keep your body in shape, and your look matters.

Even in my youth, I had to prioritize my skin and diet above all else. A porcelain look and nonexistent waistline was the norm.

Do the skin care, Stay out of the sun. Sugar is the enemy, Veges are fun.

This was the ingrained mantra I would carry. For sometime this was easy to maintain, but as I got older, my metabolism and hormones were changing. Any sign of a blemish would ruin me. Any bloating or pound gain had me self-deprecating.

At some point my mother scolded me for letting myself go; three pounds showed right away, and I got my first pimple. Was the cookie worth it? Yes. So much. It was the tastiest delicacy I’ve ever had. But, in my life, it’s my forbidden fruit.

I heard some girls in the studio would make themselves throw up. I thought they were crazy, until I found myself here, staring at the remains of breakfast I just let out.

I finally get it, why they do it, and now I must do what I have to to keep my image.

We have a show coming up in three weeks and I can’t slip up my image. I play the lead in Swan Lake and my instructor values me as her prodigy. Letting her down would ruin any chances at a future.

For the next few weeks I’m eating veges and throwing up that isn’t. I’m getting skinnier, beating out the bloating. I’m avoiding the sun and cookies, ensuring my face holds its glow and porcelain look.

Through my determination, I’m breaking. My body hates this. I feel sick. I miss food. I want to eat cookies unapologetically. I don’t want to throw up, but I’m doing this only until the show.

The day arrives, and it’s a full crowd. I look at myself in the mirror, ensuring everything looks perfect. My waist is slim, my skin is perfect, but my eyes are sad- waiting for this to end.

I give the performance my all and find my mother looking at me with the proudest look. My instructor is bowing with me, whispering in my ear that my beauty will take me to the ends of the earth. Amidst the roaring applause, a silent tear fell, reflecting the untold story I could never tell.

Some of the most Beautiful art Comes from the most Broken people

I want to make beautiful art But not at the expense of Being torn to shreds; I’d prefer it as a consequence Of something I’ve overcome instead.

Somewhere to organize my emotions- to express and contain them; I’ll place them in a combination safe If not displayed as gems.

I write something exceptionally dark And can’t believe what has come out of me. Yet I feel as though I have birthed a monster, And decorated it with lilies. Although I hold the pain I grieve In the same palms

That have handed me a masterpiece, I regret nothing, As I use it for my healing; It is word made light, brought to you by dark feelings.

(Side note: this was my own work, it fit the prompt and I used it accordingly. I hope you like it ♡)

The honeymoon phase Is bees flying over the moon To reach the flowers, Filled with sweet nectar for them. This bond is what feels so right.

Beyond the maps, Where legends dwell I ventured into Where I once fell.

This a dream, Maybe a nightmare- A reoccurring event I never shared.

What once was a paradise Filled with adventure and wonder Became a place where memories Haunt me in covers I hide under.

Flashing lights, And booze galore. Dopamine rises where Lust can explore.

Naive youth, So little do you know Safety isn’t present Where they prey the doe.

X marks the spot Where treasures-of-gold Was a mask for bodies That had their souls sold.

The innocent became tainted, and Reality came creeping in; When you return, stay sober, And always proceed with caution.