I've recently fallen into an elite group of individuals: youth diagnosed with depression by their mothers.
I can't argue with her; she is licensed.
But I can't help but feel that my case is different, minor in comparison. I'd like to call it loneliness but it's more developed than that.
It's like a cancer that started in my fingertips when they realized there was nothing to hold on to, and has since spread to my heart or my brain, whichever is responsible for the distribution of numbness to my bones and vital organs.. I'll call it 3rd stage loneliness. I'm saving calling it the 4th stage for when it starts to feel terminal.
"Lonely" is kind of a slut of a word, like "love," or "beautiful." I think people like to use "lonely" like teens use cigarettes. It taste good when it falls off the tongue. And by my observation, they both cause cancer.
Everyone wants to be "lonely" but no one wants to be alone.
So I've put it upon myself to separate loneliness into subcategories, based on mortality rate.
If you're wondering why I'm lonely, don't bother. I'm wondering the same. I have friends a family that loves me, and the rest of the chemo-esque shit that's suppose to nurture you back to health. But
I've still got that tumor buried under my skin where no one cares to look.
I ain't got many friends I can talk to.
I've concocted a list of side effects of 3rd stage loneliness, if you're interested:
1.) Insomnia - the inability to completely shut the third eye on your skull because it persists on looking to the future.
2.) Selective Hearing - the inability to listen to supposedly happy music and instead sulk with the sounds of Bon Iver or Bright Eyes ricocheting through the canals of your brain. Music your friends "probably haven't heard of"
3.) Loss of Appetite - Don't worry, you still crave food and other survival necessities. You simply lose the appetite to expand through the universe. Loss of Ambition, as the form would say.
4.) Improved Acting Skills - You'll eventually learn to manipulate the stringy muscles in your face to pull up the corners of your lips when you feel you are expected to. Not all side effects are bad.
I am not one of those darkly dressing teenagers that complains with visible angst about being misunderstood. But I do have the hair for it.
I am not suicidal. Maybe I would be, but I seem to have been struck particularly hard by Side Effect #3.
But at first mention of depression you can see their faces squirm and contort to resemble a clumsy soldier tap-dancing through a minefield, while simultaneously conducting open-heart surgery on himself.
This poem is not meant to sadden, to depress. It is simply for the public awareness of 3rd stage loneliness. If you know someone suffering from this disease, please call this hotline:
The more you know...
Don't check twice for the plants to be living
Time's being wasted on taking not giving
Figure the point of all the cosmos
Without saying "Well, only God knows"
Take the walk down the concrete side
To meet the souls of the hypnotized
Bow, begging bread from yuppie talkers
Who've grown from kids into devil stalkers
The eagels fly, over the valley
Over the hills, through the canyon
Skies collapse into the earth
Creating chaos perfectly woven
Commit mind to action, a call to air
In the revolving wheel of what's to share
Where blood fills the streets
And angels sing emptiness
All for you, and all for me
I am you, and you are me
Let the angels sing
Let the angels sing
i tried to quit weed
but each morning i wake up from sleep
it's calling me
i walk through the house
today i'll be alright without it
and i'm drowsy
make some coffee
have a cigarette
take a shower
that this will be the day
i don't pull the lighter trigger
and watch the flame ignite the green
and make it turn orange
and watch smoke whip down
around the corner
and up and under
into my mouth
and back out
then i decide
that it's time
to give it a try
because i did all i was supposed to do
with my day
that i could have
to make it better
and then i feel real real light
like a feather
and i start feeling clever
and optimistic again
it's like i have a new friend
he greets me again and again
so i guess ill quit smoking
the day he dies
which in my eyes
will probably be longer than me
which makes the answer
to how long itll take me to quit
that's called a soul mate
a life partner
and even though i've known him
for years and years
i feel like i learn something new
every time he blesses me
he's so kind
that bud of mine
I have an idea that I am excited about but I need about six or so more poets to write it with. I will write a couple lines to give you an idea and if you like it, message me and I will tell you the title and the plan for it. It should be glorious compadres!
I hear the stakes sizzle on high, I'm tied to the lies that wrap around my mind
A desolate place, my heart is. Who dares to reside will find that hope is soon left behind
of unexplored oceans
A floating mass of divinity
diving deeper than any human could reach
Until the sun is rendered invisible
by the titan blanket of waves
Here the monster sleeps
enveloped in her isolation
for a love that will never be
to ever grace the sea
of unexplored oceans
to deaf voices
Like the strings of a cello
embraced by its players bow
for a partner
to join her million year old chorus
And yet she remains
of unexplored oceans
Told dumb bitch I didn't write nothing about her.
Did dumb bitch believe nobody is ignorant like her?
Hell no dumb bitch started robbing and stealing and lying
about how poems of all on here are hers and said hell no when
all on here asked dumb bitch to remove poems.
That returned me to thinking all blacks do shit like lie and steal.
I don't have black friends and none live in my neighborhood
so how the hell do I know what blacks do and how they are?
People where I live are mainly ignorant cause we ain't
exposed to much except for seeing a lot of trees and white people like us.
Somebody explain to dumb ass bitch in broken speech and her native
English my objective for posting damned cl posts on here.
Dumb ass bitch learned nothing from ignorance I copy pasted
off craigslist the home of biggest populations of dumb assholes
in the history of the internet and the world.
If I was still on craigslist I would have called her some names
for going after me and stealing my freaking poems.
Thought about calling her a stupid n word but
I learned her ignorance got nothing to do with race.
She is ignorance because she was born that way.
Mind boggling how someone can get mad and go mad
over minor shit like what she went all whack job over.
I don't like that ignorant bitch and she's embarrassing to her race.
ritual i: what clear ringing
Springing forth from flowing mud.
Forest fires collapsing cavities.
Sparked flint gravestones dug deeper into the wormed earth.
Ashes spilling onto the hunched backs of wolves.
Howling, cowering below the red moon, heralds of the night.
Swiftly spinning away, wet dew spilling on noses.
Calling herald, calling! Spirits consume!
Roam away, back behind the grave.
Satisfy with singing, what clear ringing.
Wolfskin warm and following them
Into the bark, below the bark, into the bark below.
Crouching homes for the wicked spirits - no dancing spirits beneath the stars.
Starry night, not again, not again without the others.
Calling herald! Calling! Spirits consume!
Open doors, muddy, torn.
Grime and dirt covered.
Beneath nails, between skins, pushed inside, deeper, deeper, deeper inside the skin.
Dusty, dirty tears – they stream down faces, burrowing channels through the caked crumble.
When they return, and in night, what they are facing is not sorrow -
They see the hearts, when they suddenly buckle and are reborn at the dawn.
Together in fearful fits, they agonize before they return
Before they buckle and are reborn at the dawn.
Dripping, bounding, swinging, bending soft flesh.
Caked with grime, defenseless.
Only in the night, below the stars, together in the dirt below the bark.
Burrowed channels in the trees – burrowed channels through the caked crumble.
Ecstasy crying! Eternity in the mud!
Collapsing unwound! Eternity covered in ashes!
Slaked by thirst, cut down by the last of communions.
Spread by quenching liquid shadow.
Spread by bodies aflame.
Fires! Wet dew spilling! Dripping…
Searing, they soar.
Soaring, they spiral down.
Spiraling, they reach deeper into oblivion, only oblivion,
Calling herald, calling eternal! Converging spirits! Consume!
it shines just as i stare at it
calling my name
its just a silver piece of iron
I am who I am because of that
I am what I am because of that
thank you for destroying me
when I least needed it
thank you for making me
who i am today
Lost and insecure
please be the only thing that stays
Today my mother looked at me and told me I was becoming someone,
I smiled back at her pretending that my smile didn't have a gaping hole that let the happiness seep out.
I was 7 years old before I knew who my father was,
I tried desperately to be like someone, anyone, clinging on any similarity I could find.
At this time I didn't understand that some pages remain unwritten, I'm still not sure if I do.
I had the same question for every black man that walked by,
Is that my daddy?
Is that my daddy?
Is that my daddy?
A child can't hold the whole world in their tiny fingers.
Because kids in a 2nd grade classroom don't know why I'm different,
I don't know why I'm different,
I don't know why you can't write a letter.
How was I somebody if I had no idea who I am,
its like trying to build a house with no dimensions.
Today I was asked to make a family tree,
my teachers stare was almost as dark as the color of my skin
when my answer was that I couldn't.
Because my dad never bothered to show up.
Now I am forced to look at myself in the mirror and ask where I come from,
That one mole over my left eyebrow,
The beat of a drum in my heart calling me home but I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground because I don't know where home is.
Don't ask me why it matters, if you do, come back to me when you don't know half of who you are and tell me why.
I cant stop apologizing because no matter how many times I'm told I'm wrong, I know the reason he didn't come back was me.
So I'm not becoming someone, I'm left wandering in a dark room with no furniture.
All because you couldn't even write me a letter.
How to be a whore. Step one, find a lover, preferably one of the same gender and do not render yourself completely helpless against her charm, don’t hold her too close because her eyes are fire and you must be the moth dancing seductively close to the flame but don’t mame yourself with her words, don’t forget that she’s leaving in a month and you the moth only lives a few days don’t fall in love with her, that would be gay.
Step two, get another lover, preferably one who is awkward and cute, someone who can flip you on your back and pin you but doesn’t because he is gentle someone who fills himself with your smile and takes solace in the fact that just because you’re fuck buddies doesn’t mean you’re not making love, but soon he’ll discard you, not like a broken glass he won’t smash you. More like an apology an epilogue to a song you didn’t know you knew the words to. He will remind you, you are human,
acquire a third someone poetic, you know these are just safety nets in case the first one leaves you, you heave through the pain of every meeting but you still worship your first as if she wasn’t your curse but your lover, but you can’t love her.
Step four; have sex with them, this might seem like an obvious choice but if the voice in your head says it’s a good thing that this fling isn’t fool proof prove them wrong you’re allowed to say no sometimes
Step five: Stay alive amongst the bodies huddled close, don’t fall in love with the first, she is not well rehearsed or as well versed as the third don’t miss your second, not the way he beckoned you closer and don’t hold her, don’t hold her don’t love her, don’t kiss her, don’t miss her just fuck her she’s your sex toy and you’re hers don’t fall for her.
Step six: solitude is simple, measure the space between his dimples on the off chance he’s ever smiling, the timing is perfect but you can’t purchase another round of bullets for this gun, it’s all fun and games just don’t lose it, don’t love it just like the flame
step seven: minutes in heaven is your new best friend, because a new pair of lips will remind you that you’re not as alone as you know you are
step eight: debate telling her how you feel and throwing away the third, but then say no because after tomorrow she’ll be gone and your hands will be tied to his bedposts where they belong
step nine: cry. Because you couldn’t stop yourself from falling and calling her name as you felt the soft grass beneath you.
step ten: send a quick message to the second, thanking him for showing you that it is possible for you to mean something to someone without hurting them. Let him know that before this you thought that destruction was your only coping mechanism because you have destroyed so many before him and now things have changed.
Hold her. You know deep down inside that you can’t hide from the way you feel you can’t exchange your emotions for a safety net you just have to let the pain sink in.