Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I have figured out why
I always want or need somebody,
or be in a relationship
with someone,
and it’s not because
I’m lonely or desperate,
it’s because I’m too fragile
to take on this harsh world alone
and I need someone
to be strong for,
to be strong for me.
There's nothing quite like
Being appreciated
For something that you've done,
When your own words strike
You as overrated,
Childlike and dumb.
Thanks to everyone who reads, likes and shares my poetry :-)
This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,

                                Such knowledge should be reserved
                                For the minds of critics, and
                                Professors in dusty halls

                                                          ­­           Of universities, where
                                                           ­          They are dissected and re-
                                                             ­        Constructed against their will.

Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.

                            Even the saddest songs, and
                            Most bitter lines, are fueled
                            By what we once loved. Loss is

                                                            J­­ust a love that has been lost
                                                            ­­And anger; a love scorned. All
                                                            y­­our words will be born this way.

Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,

                             Be it an old desk in a
                             Darkened room, or a field of
                             tall Sunflowers or bluebells,

                                                     ­ ­       Or the last place you saw a
                                                             Loved one, before fate swept them
                                                            ­­ Away to distant valleys.

Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must

                              Be written here. There is no
                              Room for flowery words that
                              Must be thought over to much.

                                                          ­­   If it is true it will be
                                                             Beautiful, and your pen strokes
                                                         ­    Will guide you towards greatness.

Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved

                                 Of possesions, or mighty
                                 Of weapons, or a  child's hand.
                                 I cannot tell you which

                                                          ­­ But you will undoubtedly
                                                     ­      Know which when the time comes. It
                                                           Will strike you as obvious.

Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there

                                Is no turning back. It will
                                Consume you, and thoughts will take
                                You by surprise in lover's

                                                        ­­  Embraces, in sudden deaths,
                                                         ­ Bird songs, and the words of of those
                                                          Y­­ou once thought to be strangers.

Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.

                                        Use your power wisely.
                                        Remember; without love
                                        Your poems will start to

                                                             ­        Fall into disrepair
                                                       ­              And, without them you will
                                                            ­­         Lose your capacity to care.

I wish you well.
                                    I wish you poetry.
                                                         ­      ­           I wish you love.
I'm planning on giving this one a rewrite, but I rarely get around to doing such things. I'm posting it mostly as a reminder to myself that I set out to do something. There's a good chance it will remain unfinished though.
I follow rainbow gutter rivers back to my empty downtown apartment.
When I was young, I looked up at these buildings in awe.
Shiny glass towers full of giants,
staring down at me, ant-like and enamored.
You looked beautiful in your wedding dress,
they said.

A decade spent selling disposable garbage to the masses,
rereading Ogilvy on Advertising and wearing uncomfortable shoes.
Today I’m one of those giants.
Do you still throw darts at my picture?
Do you ever think about me,
at all?

A thousand miles away, a little girl asks her mother,
to make her a cherry pie for her birthday.
She knows it’s my favorite.
If we have cherry pie, maybe he’ll come to my party,
she says.

Seven drinks later, I told my dad I was miserable.
A hollow shell of anything I’d ever planned to be.
He didn’t believe me.
After all, I had never let him down,
before.

The last time we saw one another, we ate dinner on the floor.
You smelled like you’d been on fire.
A week later, I found a strand of your hair in my bed,
and sighed.

It was nearly sunrise when I arrived,
leaving a trail of clothes all along my floor.
Lying in bed, I thought about how long ago yesterday was.
All those slow summer mornings,
and three-day goodbyes.

I stare down at the streets below,
as innocent wide-eyed dreamers shuffle their feet on cold sidewalks.
Somewhere a young boy leaves home for the first and last time,
and I think about how beautiful you still look,
in photographs.
I see you laying there
starving
sleep deprived  
yearning for a home  
Now of course if I see this
it's not something I'd condone
So I take you in and for once
love is the only thing your shown
But I guess too much love is infectious
My guards down I'm defenseless
As you grow sick
You grow expectant
of me
Of me cleaning your mind with my hand made disinfectant
Of me feeding you
Feeding you with a dish of my famous soul stew
Of me staying up till 4
Staying up because The thought of you asking
and me not having the perfect reply devours me to the core
Of me picking at myself
Picking at my skin to make sure that these arms you call your home are presentable
Of me being selfless
So selfless that I forget to eat and I won't rest because I feel inclined
I HAVE to give you the best
Of me trying to be name brand
Trying to be name brand because you've had enough cheap ones
and so I give you real because for once they will attack and we will remain strong standing hand in hand
But i guess even name brands wear out
Ive been trying to replace the worn pieces with out a doubt
Though
I have no help because of my reputation
I have to make the parts with my bare hands and imagination
Don't worry about me though
I'm done with this hell
My orphanage is going back on the market
Going for sell  
And if there's no one brave enough to step up to the plate then I guess I'll have to blow this house down on my own
It won't even be hard because I'm not like my brother who made his of stone
As I said from the beginning
I see you laying there
starving
sleep deprived  
yearning for a home  
Now of course if I see this
it's not something I'd condone
But baby now My walls are brittle
So I'll just cheer you on
"You got this! Been doing this since you were little."
Next page