I Survived

I just watched all eight Harry Potter films in a day and I'm feeling nostalgic and all the deaths are welling up in my heart again. So I thought I would express my feelings from the viewpoint of Harry after the death of Dumbledore. Because something occured to me, which I hadn't thought much about before that Dumbledore's death hurt me so much because he was just there. Someone so old, who has seen so much of the world, who has experienced things that happened a century before Harry was born, becomes a constant. And for me, and Harry, someone so young, to survive when that constant has gone seems bizarre to me. The same way that the attack on Hogwart's is a violation of innocence, somewhere that is always supposed to be safe is safe no longer, someone who is always supposed to be there is there no longer and it's weird and terrible and eventually accepted as obvious. Of course the young outlive the old, that's how things work. But it also seems a little strange at first and I tried to express all this in a poem. I hope you enjoy.

I Survived

Today I grieve an old friend

He was wise and comforting and he fell from a tower and died

But I survived.

I don’t understand.

He was a constant in my life.

He exists, always and absolute.

I thought my life would pass in a blink of an eye and he’d still be there

But now he is not, and I, so young, go on without him.

For I survived.

I feel violated.

This is wrong.

This isn’t meant to be.

He’s lived and laughed and loved and now

The light reflects from empty eyes, and a withered hand and spread-eagled limbs

Picked out from the shadows.

And I survived.

Mourning is an expression of betrayal.

I felt safe, and at home and I cradled him in my heart.

But then death reached in and snatched him away with fumbling fingers.

Not caring that my heart was bruised and my home was gone and I do not feel safe anymore.

And I don’t know why

Someone so small, when he towered so tall

Survived.

He was kind.

And I learnt he was foolish and selfish and sorry

And it made me distraught but also a little better

To know that he was more like me.

And I miss him.

But he accepted his fate and left on his own terms and greeted death like an old friend.

To go on, to him, is a great adventure.

And how happy he would be, how glad he is to know, despite how sad that he had to go

That I survived.

The Killer In Black

So, Kallie asked me to write a Purple Roses story and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy. 

The Killer In Black: A Purple Roses Story

A giggle could be heard coming from a figure lurking in the shadows, as she perched on the wooden beam of the rafters. The timber creaked beneath her as she settled into a more comfortable stance, peering down from the rooftop at the group of people in the restaurant below.

The hushed murmur of whispered conversation floated up and the Thief In Black screwed up her face in concentration as she desperately tried to make out what they were saying.

“But you got to be surprise adopted last time we went out.” Thalia responded. “I haven’t had a go in ages!”

Octaboona frowned. “But I’m certain that this time, she has planned the most splendid kidnapping. There’s going to be a tea party and everything.”

Red spoke up. “I love tea. I absolutely have to be chosen! Don’t you agree Pyro?”

“Indeed, my love deserves only the best. Kallie provides the most amazing time.”

So we’re settled then?” Thalia said. “Red will have the honour of this evening’s visit from The Thief In Black?”

There came a chorus of ayes from around the table.

“As head of the Purple Roses my decision is final.” Skyril announced. “Red will be this month’s surprise adoptee.”

Red grinned and then glanced up at the rafters where she could see a pale face, still oblivious to the contents of their conversation.

Red cleared her throat and announced loudly “I’m just going to go to the bathroom. I won’t be a moment!” She stood up and the pale face beamed and swiftly withdrew from sight.

The Thief In Black giggled again and pointed dramatically towards the girl, with the beautiful flame red hair.

“I CHOOSE YOU! THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM THE THIEF IN BLACK!” before vaulting off the oak beam and bouncing twice as she clambered unsteadily to her feet.

Red Waterfall sighed, looked at her watch and left the bathroom, making her way back to the table. Everyone looked up at her in confusion.

“Back so soon?” Skyril enquired. “Normally Kallista entertains for hours. It’s barely been twenty minutes. That’s not even enough time for a drop of tea, let alone a tea party. I’m disappointed. Kallista must have whisked you there and then back immediately.”

Red interrupted.

“But that’s the thing! Kallie didn’t kidnap me at all. I waited by the bathroom for twenty minutes. I thought maybe she’d gotten lost, or bumped her head or something. Where could she possibly be?”

Octaboona frowned again. “We all saw her leaving though. She had a girl with long red hair thrown over her shoulder. If it wasn’t you, then who could it be?”

Suddenly there came a wail from the table in the corner and a tall man, with bulging muscles and really cool hair came running over, wringing his hands.

“Master! Master! He’s gone! I tried to protect him, but the girl was too much for me.” He wailed again.

Thalia looked at the man incredulously. “Thrasher?”

Thrasher sniffed miserably.

“So the rumours are true. Nye really did successfully perform a brain transplant. But that would mean… that girl… is Scapegrace?”

Thrasher nodded.

“Nye gave Scapegrace the body of a woman?”

“My Master is still a fearsome warrior. You should fear him. You cannot keep The Killer Supreme under lock and key!”

“Shut up Thrasher.”

Everyone started gathering up their things. Skyril led the Purple Roses out of the restaurant, Thrasher following meekly behind.

 Vaurien Scapegrace was not amused. He was sitting in a chair, wrapped up in daisy chains, whilst a crazy figure dressed in black cackled and asked him how she liked her tea.

“I am not a woman! I am a man!”

The Thief In Black paused. “Red, oh my goodness, I never knew! One lump or two?”

“Two please.”

“Milk?”

“No thank you.”

“Red…”

“I am not Red! My name is The Killer Supreme!”

The Thief In Black looked at him worriedly.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You do look a bit different, now I think about it. Are you feeling ill? You look a bit ill. Or have you done something different with your makeup?”

Scapegrace stared at her.

“I do not wear makeup!”

“Yes... that might be it. You are still pretty either way.”

“Who are you? What do you do?”

“I am the Thief In Black!” she laughed. “No one knows my true identity!”

Scapegrace paled. What do you want from me? You cannot steal from The Killer Supreme! Not my thoughts, nor my wit nor my kidney!”

He closed his eyes and started humming in what he presumed was a meditative expression, waving his arms around his head, whilst making sudden jabs with his fingers.

The Thief In Black got up and Scapegrace quickly stopped, slumping back in the chair.

“Red, my dear… please tell me what is the matter. You look a little constipated. Did you not enjoy your tea?”

“The Killer Supreme found the tea perfectly adequate!” Scapegrace screeched.

“But my dear sister, you are not a killer. You are a Purple Rose. You fight the killers remember? I admit that you are of course supreme, but I do believe something is wrong. You are not in your usual mood at all.”

A sharp knock on the door distracted The Thief from her worries.

“The Purple Roses have sent out a rescue mission. They’ll never catch us though!”

However before she could free Scapegrace from his daisy chains, the door burst open and a tall man with a fine physique rushed in, followed by various members of the Purple Roses.

Thrasher ran to Scapegrace’s chair and started pulling at the daisy chains.

“Oh Master! Are you safe? Are you hurt? Here let me help you!”

“Idiot. I was enjoying some time away from you. With someone who can make good tea.”

“But Master, I make you tea all the time.”

“It’s horrible. It’s all watery without enough sugar. I bet you even put the milk in first. I hate milk. You always forgot that!”

“I’m sorry Master. You deserve only the highest standards. I try my best.”

Scapegrace turned away from him. “What do you say we forget about him,” he jerked a thumb at Thrasher, “and team up together? We could be The Thieves Supreme! No wait I’ve got it, the Killers In Black! We could be ladies of leisure,

Thrasher finally got the daisy chains undone. The Thief In Black turned away from them to stare at the other Purple Roses. She glimpsed Red and Pyro standing in the doorway and then turned back to look at Scapegrace.

“So… you’re… not Red then. I knew something was up. And I told you all about the Purple Roses too!”

The Thief smiled a crazy smile. “Don’t worry guys! I know just what to do!”

She turned back to Scapegrace and Thrasher who were looking at the frowning Purple Roses with concern.

“You asked me what I do. Not only am I the Thief In Black but I am also head of the Department of Bunnies!”

She started humming dramatically. “DUN DUN DUUUUUN!”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Release the bunnies!”

From a cage in the corner of the room, a large white bunny ambled out, and started sniffing at Scapegrace’s shoe.

Thrasher reached down to stroke it, and it bit him on the hand.

“My hand!” Thrasher shrieked in pain.

The bunny hopped onto Scapegrace’s shoe and bit his ankle.

The duo suddenly collapsed unconscious.

“Sedative in the rabbit saliva.” Skyril murmured to Thalia. “It takes them by surprise every time.”

The Thief In Black bowed and then somersaulted out the window before running off into the night.

“ANOTHER SUCCESS FOR THE THIEF IN BLACK” the voice echoed back.

“Indeed, we have these two under our control.” Octaboona smiled. “We must eradicate their memories of The Purple Roses before handing them over to the Sanctuary.”

Red turned to Skyril and the two started discussing who would be surprise adopted next.

“I didn’t even get to have a go this time. She picked Scapegrace! By accident I grant you but Scapegrace!”

“A Purple Rose such as yourself should be prepared for all eventualities. You should have gotten into position on time.”

“I’d like to have seen you have done better.”

“I’m head of the Purple Roses. My decision is final.”

Lurking in the shadows by the window, The Thief In Black smiled at her friends, and started thinking about plans for a double surprise adoption.

Small Poems with Great Heart

So here are quite a few small poems that I adore. I hope you enjoy them too.

Dragon Love Poem by Roger Stevens

When you smile
the room lights up

and I have to call
the fire brigade

Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson

Wild nights! Wild nights! Were I with thee, Wild nights should be Our luxury!Futile the winds To a heart in port, Done with the compass, Done with the chart. Rowing in Eden! Ah! the sea! Might I but moor To-night in thee!

Jenny Kissed Me by Leigh Hunt

Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me. 

Reflection on Ice Breaking by Ogden Nash

Candy
Is Dandy
But liquor
Is quicker. 

Self Pity by D. H Lawrence

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Letters by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every day brings a ship,
Every ship brings a word;
Well for those who have no fear,
Looking seaward well assured
That the word the vessel brings
Is the word they wish to hear.

Mr. Jones by Harry Graham

"There's been an accident!" they said,
"Your servant's cut in half; he's dead."
"Indeed!" said Mr Jones, "and please
Give me the half that's got my keys."

In the Desert by Stephen Crane

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”

The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

This Is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

First Fig by Edna St. Vincent Millay

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light.

"Life is mostly froth and bubble" by Adam Lindsay Gordon

Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own

"In this short Life" by Emily Dickinson

In this short Life

That only lasts an hour 

How much -- how little -- is

Within our power

"My life closed twice before its close" by Emily Dickinson

My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

Résumé by Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

War by Ebenezer Elliott

The victories of mind
Are won for all Mankind,
But war wastes what it wins,
Ends worse than it begins,
And is a game of woes,
Which nations always lose,
Though tyrant tyrant kill,
The slayer liveth still.

Common Form 1914-1918 by Rudyard Kipling

If any questions why we died,
Tell them, because our fathers lied.

Impromptu on Charles II by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

God bless our good and gracious King,
Whose promise none relies on;
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.

Epigram Engraved on the Collar of a Dog Which I Gave to His Royal Highness by Alexander Pope

I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?

Lord Finchley by Hillaire Belloc

Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light
Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right!
It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.

"Great things are done" by William Blake

Great things are done when men and mountains meet; 

This is not done by jostling in the street.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand by William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, 

And eternity in an hour.

A man Said to the Universe by Stephen Crane

A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!"
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
“A sense of obligation.”

The Coming of Good Luck by Robert Herrick

So Good-Luck came, and on my roof did light,
Like noiseless snow, or as the dew of night;
Not all at once, but gently,--as the trees
Are by the sun-beams, tickled by degrees.

A Word by Emily Dickinson

A Word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

A Clear Midnight by Walt Whitman

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

An Epilogue by John Masefield

I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces,
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races,
So I trust, too.

The Common Cormorant by Christopher Isherwood

The common cormorant or shag
Lays eggs inside a paper bag.
The reason you will see, no doubt,
It is to keep the lightning out.
But what these unobservant birds
Have never noticed is that herds
Of wandering bears may come with buns
And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

The Eagle by Lord Alfred Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

"Stars I have seen them fall" by A.E Housman

Stars,I have seen them fall,
But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
And still the sea is salt.

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes by Francis William Bourdillon

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying of the sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

On Semicolons and Ampersands: Forty Four Statements I Hold Most Dear

Firstly I want to thank Thalia so much for inspiring this poem with her own amazing poem. Click here. Seriously it's brilliant. I hope you don't mind I stole the last lines for my title. I really suggest that you all write your own poems on what you believe because people believe the most fantastic things and if you have no inspiration then this is a wonderful place to start. One of the things I don't mention in the poem is that the best inspiration comes at night but why did my brain chose 2:30 a.m to think over the things I believe?
Anyway I hope you enjoy the poem and if you haven't already read Thalia's then I hope you enjoy hers too.

On Semicolons and Ampersands: Forty Four Statements I Hold Most Dear

I believe in certain dark things but that they won’t seem so bad tomorrow.

I find fervency in fiction where others only see words.

I grieve the deaths and celebrate the joys of characters as I would my own family.

I believe that words can touch the heart and quicken the senses.

I believe in optimism unfettered by fact or convention or tradition

I believe in pragmatism infused with hope

And in pessimism not beyond reach of happiness.

I believe too often we define an ‘I’ and an ‘other’

And overlook the greater us.

I believe in letting your dreams consume you

Even when others find them amusing.

I believe the tragedy of King Lear is imperfect because it is unsatisfying

But its greatness stems from our sense of unfulfillment.

I believe the Jabberwocky was misunderstood

And Jub-Jub birds should never be shunned.

I believe that kindness, compassion and second chances are not innate

But learnt, chosen and even more wonderful for being so.

I believe no one is deserving of hatred,

Not even those who would not afford that same opportunity to me.

I believe that love makes us vulnerable but it also makes us trusting.

And those who nurture our trust will always be sacred.

I believe that spirituality is something greater than myself.

And I do not find it in God

But in the ocean, the stars and humanity.

I believe that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard there ever was

That happiness can be found,

Even in the darkest of times,

If one only remembers to turn on the light.

I believe that the universe doesn’t always conform to our expectations.

I will never understand why the mantis shrimp chooses death and darkness when it has access to a beauty beyond anything I can imagine.

I believe that the only place where a madman can invite you into a box

And it’s okay is on Doctor Who and that okay will never be my always.

I believe that man seeks for reason but is a truly irrational creature

And that our contradictions and our paradoxes make us human.

I believe that animals feel emotion and that we are not alone

And the most touching thing I ever heard was spoken by a parrot.

I believe that trees are sentient and if I could experience the sensations of another life form

I would choose an oak or possibly a pine.

I believe in the curiosity of Einstein and the dream of Martin Luther King.

I believe that equality must be fought for

That violence will only lead to violence

And that war is only a necessary evil

For those who find living with peace impossible.

I believe there is a community for everyone

And the day you are welcomed will burn bright in your mind

For as long as the candle of your memories is shining.

I believe that memory is our most precious possession

And that we do live with Dementors and we call them dementia.

I believe in lust at first sight and that love brings commitment and commitment brings love.

I believe in songs and stories and sunshine.

I believe that Time has a sound and fear has a taste and that Monday is a pale silvery blue.

I believe in friends I’ve never met and in cities I’ve never seen and the deeds of dead heroes.

I believe that we must acknowledge not all evil people are mad

That sane people can commit atrocities too.

That we should treat the mentally ill with respect

And that stigma is the ugliest word I know.

I believe that shadows are a symbol of presence because they lack substance.

That nothing will come from nothing.

And isn’t it strange that something so closely attached to you seems to have a life of its own?

I believe that Oscar Wilde said a lot of shit

But he really hit the nail on the head with “to define is to limit.”

I believe that cherries play a much larger role in The Picture of Dorian Gray than expected.

And overanalysing the trivial is both hilarious and meaningful.

I believe that darkness blinds and light blinds and moderation is only good in moderation.

I believe that love is all you need but oxygen is a nice bonus.

I believe the real food of love is not music but my grandma’s chicken soup.

I believe emotions are like good advice since it is important to listen to both.

I believe that 42 is the meaning of life, the universe and everything

And that 42 will always have a special place in the hearts of those

Who adore wit, humour and just plain silliness.

I believe that funerals are for the living

That they should be a celebration of life rather than a mourning of death

Which is a deeply personal matter.

I believe the expression “that’s so gay” should be reserved

For only the most fabulous objects and the loveliest of people.

I believe that privacy can be used as an excuse to justify hurtful behaviour

And just because there are no windows

Doesn’t mean a decline in standards is any less shameful.

I believe grammar should be used for clarity of speech

Not as a weapon to stifle the voices of others.

I believe the pen and the sword can both pierce the heart

But the pen has a nobler purpose in doing so.

I believe that change should never be feared

And I strive to accept that tradition should be respected.

I believe in thanking those who help you

So thank you Thalia for sharing the things you believe in.

I believe the most pleasant music of all can be found in the sound of our words

For there is no greater delight than voicing a word

Simply because it is unusual and beautiful and new.

But most of all I believe in behemoths and passion fruit.

Stolen Sorrows

I wrote this poem because I've been thinking a lot about Matthew Shepard who was murdered in Wyoming in 1998 because he was gay. This poem is for him. But it isn't only for him. This poem is for everyone who had their lives taken from them too soon, for everyone who has lost things that are never meant to be stolen. This is a poem for everyone.

Stolen Sorrows

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows

Sold and squandered my tomorrows

Hearing the sigh of time slip by

Crawling towards the day I die

I stiffen at the sharp stab of pain

I hear him whisper with disdain

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows

Sold and squandered my tomorrows

I dream of a love that dare not speak its name

The disgust of a world that burns with a righteous flame

A black and gleaming, long and jagged scar

A voice so lost, I don’t know where you are

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows

Sold and squandered my tomorrows

You were the fool who threw away

The comforts held by yesterday

The barbed metal fence against my back

The never ending crush of fear

The blood that clings to all my face

Except the skin cleansed by my tears

They scream until I cannot hear

Until I cannot see the sky

Then leave me slumped, afraid, alone,

I cannot move, too late to cry

Stolen sorrows, stolen sorrows

Sold and squandered my tomorrows

I never got the chance to look

Or bargain back the days they took 

The Spaces Between

This poem is the result of a quote. It's a really awesome quote, it left me thinking. And then I wrote this. I hope you enjoy.

The Spaces Between

“And then the line was quiet but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone.” - John Green, The Fault In Our Stars

I love the quiet places

The spaces between worlds

Between people

I travel through the third space

Invisible

Tenuous

Reached only by the phone

A place that is quiet, but not dead

It hums with a constant vitality

Sometimes I hear things

A sharp excited breath

The steady ticking of a clock

Whispers in the winds

I smile the ghost of a smile

I think this is what time sounds like

And I find peace in the empty spaces

The quiet places

I picture beloved faces

And let them trickle away

A moment of silence

Two souls, alone, together

On the edge of a great truth

And then the moment is gone

Whisked away by the onrush of sound

Life continues its conversation

Floods the quiet places

And empty spaces

But I still have the memories

They visit me whilst I sleep

Soon forgotten

But never really lost

Never really there

But real all the same

Blood and Honey

Why are human beings so fascinated with these two substances? Let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy :)

Blood and Honey

The searing heat of liquid gold

The ichor of alien veins

The trickle of nectar, imbibed by a bee

The indigo splash of an ink stain

The taste of frustration and salt in tears

The wealth and corruption of oil

The rose scented perfume, released in a squirt

The sweat born of terror or toil

Yet the liquids that enthral us

More than love or money

Is our fascination

With blood and honey

The symbol for family

Life, death and love

Magic and sacrifice

All course through our blood

The integral factor of every ritual

Used to summon gods and raise the dead

Prolongs survival yet life drains with it

Food of vampires, vibrant red

And oh the sweet and cloying honey

A thing of pleasure, wealth and lust

Oozing, sticky, golden, runny

Squeezed from nature’s stinging bust

Healing wounds and rotting teeth

Glazing apples, toast and cake

Drowning insects who fall foul of

A dripping sugary aftertaste

Wine so old it’s brewed in myth

Laughing soup that thinks you’re funny

None compare and none can bear

The deities of blood and honey

Inside Another's Eyes

This poem went in a much more macabre direction than I started out at. Inspired by "Today I'll Sit Still" by Ernesto Trejo. Many thanks to Thalia for bringing the poem to my attention. I hope you enjoy.

Inside Another’s Eyes

Trapped inside another person’s echo

Remembering memories I have never known

With unfamiliar faces

Haunting unfamiliar places

And the strangest of those faces is my own

I want to scale the cavern of my skull

And take my heartbeat softly by surprise

And be the sky inside my mortal eyes

And be the sky inside my mortal eyes

I try to swim the river of my blood

Or whatever liquor courses through these veins

With those ever fizzing bubbles

That embodies all my troubles

Til they burst inside another person’s brain

I want to blow away the dust that settles on my heart

That spluttering chokes it to one last demise

And be the sky inside my tear pricked eyes

And be the sky inside my tear pricked eyes

I want to grow inside myself

 Be impossible to contain

Yet I am restrained

For someone else is me

Someone who doesn’t know how to be

And both of us are unhappy

I want to nagivate the maze of my ribs

Picked clean by scuttling ants and buzzing flies

And be the sky inside my former eyes

And be the sky inside my former eyes

March Fourth

So I know that May 4th is Star Wars Day. But I realised that there is another month that is also a word and that month is March. So I think that today, March 4th, should also be a holiday. A holiday where we tell our family that we love them but tell ourselves we are loved too. A day to make dreams to achieve and to make ourselves better people than the day before. A day to be proud of who we are and let the world know we are proud. A day you may say to March Fourth. I hope you enjoy.

March Fourth

Let today be the day

You March Fourth

The day you try to achieve your dreams

Hold your head up high

Smile

Be proud of who you are

For today is a day

Where no one should loathe you

Just for being you

And I’m sorry if they do

But their words are not true

Today is a day of improvement

Where I desire to aspire

To be just a little better

Than the day before

Today I tell my family

How much I love them

Need them,

Take them for granted

Hope the best for them

Because they mean the world to me

And I count myself lucky

That they feel the same way about me

Today is the day

That I smile a little brighter

Hug a little tighter

Feel happy at a friend’s success

Today is the day I March Fourth

And may you all be there by my side

Because when we are together

We have pride.

Razor Tears

There is too much child abuse in this world. Too many parents raise their children badly when they could raise them well. I don't mean to hurt anyone with this poem, if it upsets you please let me know and I'll take it down.

Razor Tears

You raise a child

Yet raise your hand against them

Berate them for raising Cain

But you won’t raise a finger

To protect them

She tries to please but you raise the roof

You raise your voice

And the sound could raise the dead

But whenever life raises the stakes

You raise an eyebrow

Unwilling to raise your head

And in company you raise awareness

Of the suffering children abroad

You raise a respectable facade

Raise a glass in a toast

To a life well lived

 Your child raises a cake

To try to make you happy

But instead you raise a complaint

Too many raisins

And you raise the pressure

You raise her pain

You raise doubts about her self-worth

But the school play comes along

They raise the curtain

And you are nowhere to be seen

She dreams of raising a dragon

Raising it wild

To raise a flag in her own private shelter

Far away where you cannot raise hell

You cannot raise havoc

Or raise fire

Where she no longer fears you raising your hackles

You have not raised a child

You have razed your child

Razed them to the ground

As you would raze a fortress

Leaving her with razor tears

That cuts her when she cries

And so I have to raise a question

Why?