repost from may '09: lick your wounds

im a japanese sword that penetrates and twists organs .
i cut you last time, leaving your heart wounded on the floor .
i ran to your side & sobbed with all of my explanations of a 'bitch' who was sorry .
my excuses were those of a half-assed, "i told you so"s .
i told you that i was new at this "balancing of swords".
i told you that i cut someone before .
i warned ;

you thought you were invinsible . but nonetheless, i still twirled myself in your direction & sliced & diced . cuts on your eyes when you kept staring . gashes in arms that squeezed too tight for such heavy hardware. my blades ran across your mind when you racked it over and over and under and over and over .

i used to be dull, pretty with gold lining around my handles. a showcase piece at best . but life sharpened my edges and made me hard to handle . itll take a Samurai to truly know how to hold . how to caress . how to appreciate . i mean, somewhere in my edges is a gracefulness of honorable mention . when used properly, im fun, im beautiful, an interesting commodity. it just takes a man to understand. you were the child in a candy store , but the last thing i am is a simple sweet .

signed, may 2008 .

do heathens and heaven ever meet at juxtaposed crossroads ?
should his horns cut me like this ? passionately, like a feign .
causing my heart to race & pace - as they run across my wrists .
oppressed by his lies, they suppress my revolutionary fists .

ripped from the girl i used to be, introduced to the new me .
but the latter classic still puts in work;
slaving over this barren land we call 'us' . pulling heavy bricks & sinking sand .
mixing the cement like a savage that's hidden within me .
trying to guard myself before you set it FREE.

my wings are pierced and now i bleed you .
i cant fly alone now;
i hate how we're here, but love how you need me -
two handicapped doves that want to fly free ...
you became the air that pushes my arms up & away,
but the same gust that weakened me & led me astray .

- written my senior year of high school . my first sign that writing was made for me .