I just read a poem by a young person who says she's eighteen.
I don't like sadness and her words made me not want to be on this site.
How can you criticize anyone who using words you personally don't like?
I've read poem I don't like but I keep negative comments to myself
and never write comments that make people feel bad about what they write.
There's something twisted in writing poems about hating what people write.
There's only a few types of people in the world and I wont be one who puts
others down for expressing feelings using big or small words.
The footsteps echoed on cobblestones
When a chime rang ten of the clock,
As a sailor making his way back home
Was walking up from the dock,
It was cold and dark for the lights were out
And the street was wet with the rain,
When he came to an old red telephone box
At the side of a narrow lane.
The clouds were black and they opened up
So he stepped in out of the wet,
Dropped his swag as it turned to hail
And lit up a cigarette,
The box was ancient, was George the Fifth
And hadn’t been used for years,
But stood in a lane that time forgot
When the rot set in, and worse.
For most of the houses were boarded up
And the weeds had grown outside,
Some had embarked for a tree-lined park
And some of the others died,
It was lonely there in the dark of night
As the sailor waited, he sang,
But stubbed his cigarette out in fright
When the telephone next to him rang.
He stared at it for a while before
He raised it, stopping the bell,
It had an echoing, ghostly sound
Like you hear in a deep sea shell,
The sound of sobbing came to his ear
And he cried, ‘Who’s there, what’s wrong?’
‘Oh God, I’ve waited forever my dear,
I’m locked in the basement, Tom!’
The sailor said that he wasn’t Tom
But she didn’t appear to hear,
‘He’s got an axe, attacking the door,
Be quick or he’ll kill me, dear!’
The sailor didn’t know what to say
But a chill ran up his spine,
‘Tell me, what’s your address,’ he said
‘Before you run out of time!’
‘I’m straight across from the telephone box,
You usually meet me here,
He’s found us out, and he screams and shouts
That he’ll kill you as well, my dear!
He just came home from a spell at sea
And called me a cheating whore,
If you don’t come over and rescue me
He’ll have smashed his way through the door.’
The sailor wanted to say, ‘Enough!
It’s nothing to do with me,’
But flew on out of the telephone box,
Leapt over a fallen tree,
He raced right in through the open door
And he called, ‘I’m here, just wait!’
Then made his way to the cellar door
But all he could feel was hate.
The door was shattered, he walked right in
It was dark, there wasn’t a light,
He felt around for a candle, lit
And stared at the terrible sight.
A man lay dead on the basement floor
Where an axe had taken his life,
And there with her throat like an open sore
Was the body of his dear wife.
He staggered, stopped, and fell to his knees
And sobbed like a man insane,
‘Oh God, it’s true, I did this to you,
But my mind’s been playing games.
I thought if I went away to sea
I’d return to find they were dreams…’
As he sliced a razor across his throat
He thought, ‘Life’s not what it seems!’
David Lewis Paget
I'm sick of chasing shadows up and down these halls,
and watching headlights dance across the cold and pale white walls.
This empty home is where love once grew from hearts lined with gold
but now the only thing left is an attic full of mold.
I'm tired of the silence but for the whisping trees,
Their aching hearts moaning as they're nearly brought to knee.
The cold cotton on my bed where optimism used to lay.
The resounding echo of dying parts of me and the booming shades of grey.
Depression seeps in nightly and has its own safe place
It comes in when not welcomed and shows its ugly face.
Thursday brings an ugly night, or morning I should say
The day I feel too much just happens to be today.
5:30 am and still awake from the night before
A hazy tired feeling and every muscle sore.
But having seen your smile before you turned to bed
Has brought some life back to this sad life I have led.
The shadows they still linger, the headlights stay and play
But even through this long, dark night you've got me seizing the day.
You called me hot
And I'm still not over it
I guess I'm so infatuated
That every word is sacred
You don't say nice things often
But each time that you do
It makes me fall deeper
In love with you
Your words hit me
With a heavy force
It gets my hopes up
Makes me dream of us
This is beyond tragic lust
Wanting a messed up heart
That you'll never mend
Or call your own
Their actions left a mark
And you can't wash it off
It will never heal with time
You'll always feel a need
To love, love, love
Even if you never receive
Sometimes all it fucking takes in Life
is having a single iota of Self Control
for One to bypass much grief and strife
circumventing Victim for some other role;
moreover, I feel I must clarify,
One must not lose One's Self to this,
I wish to convey in some Earthly way
Self-Discipline seems akin to Bliss.
However hard that is, however, is entirely up to you.
you say i am not the same person
i say one day i woke up honest
and i do not know how to undo experience
my own eyes and ears and nose and mouth
cannot be undone at the moment
how do you do it?
push that pressure to the back of your mind
how do you all manage to laugh with a straight face
at things that you know aren't really funny
i can't fathom it. where you go
when you are stomping and ripping
and bloody and jeering
and laughing and running
i apologize if it doesn't make sense
that i can't play along
but playing along
just doesn't make sense
i could never win a grammy
with this tight lipped smile
laughing at the expense of others
makes me feel more like a paparazzi
placating insecurities for currency
leeching off the vulnerability
you may not think i'm smart but
i am smart enough to know this is not 'normal'
and there is nothing wrong with staring at you in the rearview
and saying "i wish that was really sarcasm"
i'll tell you the truth
and you don't have to like it
and you don't have to like me
and i don't have to like you
because if there's one thing i know about myself
it's that i don't dislike anyone
until they show off their callousness
hoping it's the right party trick
to gain respect
we watch comedy tv, and you are worried
by the way my spine cracks
when i let out a uncontrollable laugh
dragging on, beginning to spill, and as i try to quell it
my whole body shakes with the pressure
of it bubbling inside of me
you feel all of this beside me
a small volcano with a bent back
quaking absorbed by pillows and flowers and cushions
not quite right for you
wondering why i couldn't laugh like this earlier
when we were not alone
everyone is looking for something more porous
more willing to let in effortlessly
and absorb tirelessly
that can simply laugh like a stream bubbles
and let go of the undercurrent
yet we are sharp and uneven and course like logs
and the weight of our actions carries much further
being shunted downstream by tides of gravity
every intention runs it's course
every intention speaks volumes
if you feel that in your core
every day you will uncontrollably think of how
every intention defines the quality of the laughter
stuck in someone else's head
and you will save it for things that are funny
There is a hectic sort of
static in my head,
the kind that makes the
word fuzzy seem mean
There's nothing soft about
the way each particle of
rebounds off the fleshy
wrinkles in my brain.
They bounce like
slapping the walls of my mind
with their taut, red rubber.
They crash into the
tenderest of moments,
the sensitive parts of me
that no one can
They invade my vision,
making every movement,
every breath, each twitch
I suffered a never-ending migraine
until I saw you.
You walked like water,
smoothed out the rapid-fire buzz
of the sidewalks and made time
take a single breath, short and
shallow, like a gasp, but enough
to quiet the white noise that kept
I fell asleep for the first time when
you touched me.
You placed a hand upon my shoulder
and all went still, the fog that stained
my glasses parted like a cloud for the
I could see.
When you first spoke my name, I only
heard the sound that ice makes when
cold water cascades over the top of it,
crackling in all the right decibels to make
my ears smile.
You made the sound
the sea makes when
it crashes over my
skull; I turned deaf
in my head and disappeared
It's so hotttt in here
Get me something to make me feel better
Misbehave with me, babe
I'm your love of choice
And you have all my shoes
Under your bed,
I'm in your head
Shakin my hips, sweet liquor lips
I knew you couldn't resist
We're both so sick
What the fffffff these,,. Bitches on?
Ya friends, textin me
When they're out,, drunk .. On the sceneeee
How/ : does it feel?
Probably worse.than it shouldd
,, girls are evil?
You fucking,: made us this '; way
what i need, essentially, is to just transform into a very small creature
preferably with a tail
i would probably wrap this tail around myself when i get sad or lonely
like i am feeling now
i would do that
and feel cozy
maybe if i had a special power as that tiny animal it would be to disappear
so no one could see me
so i could just suffer by self
in small comfort
with my own company