Wednesday, December 22, 2004
torn apart (a taylor poem)
she lies there
while images of him flood her head
just a little boy
who said he loved her
and this stupid little girl
who belived him
a little girl
who spent four years of her innocent life
thinking only of him
telling herself it was her fault he left
blaming herself for the hurt
she cries everynight in longingness
hoping to see him again
blinding herself by her love for him
not seeing how hes hurt her
not realizing she could do better
her friends tell her to let go
to move on
but she is afraid
of loosing him
of loosing herself
she clings to the memories
making herself belive
she needs him
telling herself
hes all shes got
all she will ever have
and the more she belives
the more she becomes
torn apart


byline: ariel 10:47 AM | |

About the Author
My names Ariel, im a dancer and a writer, i idolize one of the weirdest poets in history, (partly why im so weird) Miss Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, wow that woman was a genious.... well ya, im not gonna lie to you, i dont think my poems are that great, theyre jus my rambelings about life, you know, but ya, tag me (my tag boards on the bottom of the colum on the right) and tell me wut you think, or dont, you know what ever floats ur boat.... o also, not all of these poems are mine, but most of em are, and if u want me to put one of ur poems in here, heck jus tell me and i will, ttfn

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My Favorite Poems and Quotes: Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial to creation, and the exponent of breath -Emily Dickinson WITHIN my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village, Sauntered as soft away! 5 So unsuspected violets Within the fields lie low, Too late for striving fingers That passed, an hour ago. -Emily Dickinson I ’M nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell! They ’d banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! 5 How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog! -Emily Dickinson hope is the thing with feathers, that pearches in the soul, and sings the tune, without the words, and never stops at all -Emily Dickinson i dwell in possibiliy -Emily Dickinson Before god we are all equally wise, and equally foolish -Albert Einstein success is counted sweetest by those who nearly succede -Emily Dickinson we turn not older with years, but newer every day -Emily Dickinson...................... **MY TAGGIES**

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