Melting Butterfly (poem)

At first it is soft, only brief,
Once in a while a flick,
But then it grows stronger.
Suddenly it is fighting fierce,
Living, loving, falling,
An insolent choice as blue turns to gold,
Gray turns to black, the smallest change.
It is amazing how this tiny thing
From frozen in ice to sudden life
Can bring such a change of mind.

Left There (poem)

Stop child abuse and bullying, guys.

The stiff-moved tear, an almost cry,
Staring down and wondering why.
The clawmarks and scratches should raise alarm,
But hidden with care, nothing is wrong,
It's just a lie, she's trying to be strong.
The younger watches, fear in her eyes,
She can do nothing for what's going on,
There's a knife in her pocket, she'll use it to kill,
She's sick of the words that hit her down.
During recess no teacher notices,
She's drawn away and to the side.
Then she snaps, the knife comes out,
But they steal and laugh, she grabs it back and dies.
Her sister is crying for hours on end,
Finally her father drags her away.
She stares at the form, miserable,
A tiny form just simply left there.
She is beaten for something she cannot control,
She sobs and she pleads for death.
A swift motion and it's granted,
And she, too, is left.

ARGH! EFFING IDIOTS!

Can people just, like, die?  I mean, seriously?  Everyone's a pain in the butt!

Am I the Only One Who Cares?

This is just a rant, but I'm really upset.

I thought getting Daddy out of the house would allow the Spirit to remain in the household.  I mean, even when you're angry the Spirit can still be there.  I'm talking about Heavenly Father's Spirit, by the way.
Anyway, so just now my mom got mad about something - it was kind of irresponsible of me but I don't want to say what it is because it's irritating - and she said the d-word.
Now, I've had my moments, and I've cussed (and even said the f-word a couple of times).  But I'm working really hard on that because I know that it's better to keep my language clean and sometimes I like to think to myself of having the cleanest, nicest language ever as a half-joke, half-truth...
But I asked her if she really had to cuss and she said yes, because she's getting mad.  PLENTY OF PEOPLE, plentyofpeopleplentyofpeopleplentyofpeople get mad and don't cuss.  And I don't want another Daddy in that aspect.

Soo... am I the only one who honest-to-goodness cares about the Spirit being in our home?

The Dancer

There's the grace that you must have,
he says and points at the dancer.
She spins and twirls, elegance,
an echo and a reflector.
That smile she wears steals your breath,
she is the description of beauty.
I could not steal that grace,
a thought that creeps across consiousness.
But it's done, like it always will,
and she falls, collapses.
Take her place, elegance incarnate,
and she quietly cries.
A pretty face, scarred with tears,
she tries to dance and fails.
Give it back, we can only borrow,
we cannot steal from the owners.
So she recieves the grace right back,
and once again is the dancer.

Cherish

Did you know
That flowers grow,
But what a slow growth that is.
They twist and turn,
Patience and impatience,
In and out, balance of
Left and right, wrong.
A lilting tilt,
An open warmth,
What is cherished falls.
But the flowers will always grow,
No matter what the world will show,
And so this one cherished thing remains.

Live, Laugh, Love (Accoustic Poem)

Life is brief, and only once,
Inside we bring our own happiness,
Variety comes when we dare to try,
Echoing out for the world to see.


Laughter is a sweet song,
Absolutely our only bite of perfection,
Under and over, what belongs.
Goodness is in the weak laugh,
Happiness is in the strong laugh.


Longing for the something more,
Optimism and comprimise,
Very much belonging to
Everyone: Love.

I'm not a big fan whatsoever of accoustic poems.  Dislike them less then limericks, though.