Heavenly Guest

A lady and her little ladybug

fluttered by, today.

The little ladybug

wore tufts of black hair

in place of her antennae.

Her little wings 

have not come in, 

yet,

but she looks

just like

an angel.

-Nichelle Lei

Guest
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False

false
You're false

like your teeth

like the eye

you lost when you

were five

running with 

a stick

while chasing

your cousin;

That eye,

the one that

remains clear

while the other

is cloudy

with cataracts.


You're false.


On the outside 

you're old

and damaged,

but within

you laugh

like a child.

Is this so wrong?


You're false


like your breasts

like your lips

like your smile;

The smile which

fails to touch your 

eyes.

Are you so rare,

though?

False.

A sparkling 

exterior

lovely to look

upon,

yet

dull and 

lifeless 

within.

No light.

No shine.

'So, tragic

to be so

false.

-Nichelle Lei

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

False

Burn It.

That imprint just there,
that spot
on my heart;
It's burnt.
Black and numb
and scarred 
and...
hopeless
because it feels 
naught.
It was full of fire
and love and
life, once,
but the fire
burned to black
and a smokescreen
remains 
to hide
the pain.
Like fire on the plains,
that rages 
across the grasslands
where black 
is all that's left,
for awhile.
The devastation
is the fuel
for rebirth,
though the land
is marred and 
changed.  
The seeds 
of new life
sprout and flourish
amongst the ashes 
and devastation.
They grow.
They twist and writhe
and push through. 
They lift their
heads to the
sun.
Some places
may remain barren
and ruined,
but the beauty
of the life
that surrounds 
such places
provides a 
contrast so lovely
hope can, one day,
ignite
in my own heart.

-Nichelle Lei


Burn


	

Water Girl

There is water in her words,

pretties floating on the surface,

gunk sunk below 

in the murky depths.

There is water in her eyes,

though she smiles.

Drops drip drops

distract my eye

while she talks.

Is she sad?

Is she mad?

Is she honest?

How can I tell?

She is so watery.

-Nichelle Lei

Water
drops of sun.

drops of sweat.

racing o'er burned skin.

wipe it away.

continue to play

like the sun 

is immortal,

like the seasons

will never change,

like they will 

never be 

replaced 

with

the

dreaded

forgotten

smells of paper 

and paste,

lunchrooms,

and mopped floors.

the summer sun   

is wonderful

at bleaching

the mind.

-Nichelle Lei20131102_215933965_iOS


Summer