KimmieIsAPanda

I left this letter in a bookstore, tucked within the old leather binding of my favorite novel, with it's crooks and creases running through the cover, and it's pages yellowed like the golden chain that she wore around her neck on the very first day. I left this letter in a bookstore, hoping that a stranger with cloudy dreams of wildflowers and of saving the forsaken might find it so they could deliver it to my family, my friends, my love though I know that no one ever would. I left this letter in a bookstore, tucked into the nook of a book that screams of surrender and desolation knowing that, though the envelope is postmarked, the reader w

If God takes the holy, Then I will taint my soul With the ashes of Hell’s inferno So that we may stay together Until the end of eternity. Because, for a boy without faith, You are an angel. With the Northern Lights in your eyes And a solar eclipse within your chest, Because the innocence you possessed in your heart Has been encompassed by the trauma and pain Caused by those you loved most, Caused by traitors and monsters, Caused by me. So if God takes the holy, Then I guess you’re stuck with me The devil, the demon, the damned Who loves you like frostbitten fingers Love the first glimpse of an igniting fire. Because you are my s

I I was always cautious of infinity, because that concept makes me quiver until the sound of my heartbeat is lost within the rattling of my bones, I am afraid of the unknown. Admittedly, I become the lonely, bitter soul, the one that would refuse to acknowledge the endless bounties of unanswered questions, because I cannot be weak. The moment I dabble in the drippings of beliefs and bewilderment, I become vulnerable. II I once knew a boy who told me I was beautiful, and I guess I had never asked for anything more. I was naive, foolish, a child begging to mature. He was wild, rugged, an adventure waiting to unfold. He told me I was beautifu

There are monsters in the darkness That I see whenever I slumber, So I force my eyes to dilate And watch the flickering candlelight. If you’ve ever seen a candle dance, I suppose I may not know, But in that moment I could swear It illuminated your messages across the walls As if they had been engraved there all along. I wished to trace my fingers along the stenciling In the same way one might touch a house of cards, As if to prove the existence of a masterpiece But not to leave a single mark, a single blemish. But I dared not rise from where I lie To explore the illusion of the light, For I did expect a mere mirage. A trick performed

You could say I’m not a love poet, Because honestly, I’m not much of a poet at all, Sweet nothings don’t flow like honey from my lips, And I have never found comfort in hands on hips, But there’s something about you. And I don’t claim to understand romantics, Or love, or lust, or care, or trust, Because those things are surreal to me. But I know that when you can associate someone’s name With bliss, and compassion, and understanding, They are certainly worth holding onto. Because you told me I was a good person, And when I went home, I stared into my mirror For at least a half an hour Marveling at the ide

I packed my heart in a box, Along with my soul and my spirit and core of my being The scent of my skin and the curve of my lips And the imaginary tracing of my fingertips Along your fragile cheek. I packed my life in a box, With all my childhood memories, my quirks and quests, The sound of my voice when I stutter over sentences, The feel of my heartbeat against my skin Were you to press your palm against my chest. I packed everything in a box, And sent it away. To someone who may open it, and see nothing. Except a simple box filled with the smell of molded air. And not a single tangible object inside. I packed my heart in a box, So that wh

This poem is not going to rhyme, Because rhymes are for things that are beautiful, Things that are tragic, Things that are soft and sweet and mellow. This poem, will be none of those things Do you know how hard it is? When I wake up in the morning, praying that maybe my phone will read your name, And the message could say anything, but just your name would be enough. Just to know for a brief moment, you had time for me. It’s worth loving you, in my eyes. But it seems that you just get bored of the words that pass my lips And the messages expressed by the tapping of my fingertips against this little touch screen. And I wish you coul

Nothing is real Everything is fantasy. The world is a dream And we're floating on clouds. Nothing is real Everything is fantasy. This is just a nightmare I'll awaken safe and sound. Nothing is real, Everything is fantasy. My scars faded to be invisible Because you plastered them with care. Nothing is real Everything is fantasy. You were always everything I dreamed someday I could be. Nothing is real, Everything is fantasy. Reality is dancing in the drizzle And living in the lilies. Nothing is real, Everything is fantasy. "Two flowers in the pouring rain That’s how they'll remember you and me". Nothing is real Everything is fantasy

She was a wide eyed wanderer, hands outstretched as she grappled for the intangible truths of a world that existed outside of her own. She was not a flame, or a firework, or the friction between weak knees as you peel off your lover’s jeans. She was not shattering your perspective, but simply taking it into her soft, warm, hands, which were surprisingly not calloused by the harshness of reality, and molding the way you view the world into something that went outside the recommended instructions. She had no rules, she never wanted them. She was brought to me from the rebirth of the dying flower in the hurricane rain, that was probably w