For one of Abi's prompts way before:

They say eyes are the windows to the soul.

I peer through your windows and see it bare, the lights out.  

So I made this yesterday. Yeah. If you get any of the metaphors and ever want to talk about anything, I'm here for you! 

Will you dance to the

Rhythm of our thoughts and

Scream out your pain

Through red tears and

Stary dragons

And get lost

In the made up?

With the moon

The stars

And dragons that danced

Danced through her eyes

She said slowly

Slowly

Whispering

Trendles of mist in the

Cold summer’s air.

Sometimes…

Sometimes you must bleed

To feel alive.

And she raised her hands

Raised them to the sky

To the dragons of night that flew

Unnoticed and unfazed

Through her mind's eye.

And I smiled.

I smiled at the freedom

That flowered at her

Fingertips

And spread down her wrists

And down her thighs

To the ground

Where she lay.

So may I ask you,

One last time,

Will you dance to the

Rhythm of our thoughts and

Scream out your pain

Through red tears and

Stary dragons

And get lost

In the made up? 

(Leafpool explains this poem) We went to Portland's East End to see the supermoon last night! It's really cool there's this hill and a bit of a flat spot with a playground, and then it drops off and goes down to the water, where there's a parking lot and you can get to the beach. (Which is kind of not a beach for swimming.) Even though it was darn cold, my mom and little brothers and I stood up at the playground to see the moon rise! It was so amazing, you could just see the moon rising above the buildings on the horizon across the water. It was just this red sliver, and really you could visibly see it getting higher. And it looked so big! I wrote a poem about it in my head on the way home. Here it is.

---

to see my city lit up gold--

dusty rose pink in the evening sky,

fading to lavender

the cold bites my cheeks, and 

the moon rises above the buildings

in the east, across the water

a red moon, turning then to orange, 

so big and bright i can see the dimples in

its pockmarked face, as it

ascends higher in

the heavens 

I read about the bombing of Guernica for history, and I wrote a poem about it. I would normally copy/paste this, but I like how this one looks with the font, so here's a screenshot of the poem. (Sidenote: Hazel says cuff! A real word--so proud of her. ^^)

changeling/cages

they say i'm not/you're not/i'm not myself today

different/better/weird/better 

and i, i just want to shake you/me off, you locked me/my choices away

i'd have to say, "hey, that wasn't me, i'm not your/anyone's friend-"

i can't, i can't, i can't, but that's the price i pay-

i throw you in a cage

and lock us all away

***

Hey yes Kris Dreemurr took my soul and I'm not getting it back any time soon

Gasping

Unable

The breath does not come.

Grasping

My head

I will not succumb.

This fire that burns my soul

I fight to stay alive.

But then

Serene peace

I've won.

I'll be alright.

So for the first time in seven nights

I close my eyes

And sleep.

~~

I wrote this with the situation of a make-believe, critically ill person in mind, but as I wrote it I realized that it can apply to much more, like immense stress or crippling depression, maybe even anxiety. Who knows. It's up for interpretation.