The years before the drugs
before the smiles
the bright times
the easy nights
But I only knew darkness so
to me it was brighter than the sun
There were nights of red bull and vodkas
of googling obsessions
and losing my personality for a weekend
There were days and days of misery
I would scream until the air in my lungs were gone
I would get down
I would run for hours
and I would feel my skin crawl
The years before the drugs I was cruel
a 13 year old girl with a razor sharp tounge
hell bent on expressing pain
any way possible
This experience isnt unique
but just because it isnt unique
doesn't mean I dont need to apologize
for the years before the drugs
Emily is always right
when shes right she is right
when she is wrong she is right
is it hard to understand???
do not correct me
do not tell me im wrong
just pretend im right.
seriously this isnt a joke
i hate being corrected
it makes me feel dumb
i will find out eventually
just leave it alone
i know i make mistakes
its the thought that counts
So if i get puncuation wrong
or spell a word wrong
just seriously tell me im right
i don't care if im wrong
i know how to fix my mistakes
i dont need your help
don't fix my mistakes
i was blind before i wrote this
behind the keys i found sight
not the land where we
the loose ends
my way and yours have inexorably been enter-twined
chuckles mean no more
and i write
and you clean
and worship moments when you lose it
you have the coins
to place on my eyes
and you clean
and i chuckle
and it is solved
and then it isnt
and then it is
and then WE are
and the it never was
and you talk back
and i win
and you lose
and it stinks
to high heaven
my heart beats at your pace
everything around me throbs
with the patience of your rhythm
like the drum major
stomp with the purpose
of creating the tone
for the crowd
playing your song
as boisterous as it is
its still a song though
sweeping and beautiful
its a song.
And you'll learn to hate me,
But still call me baby.
And I am trying to walk away,
But your holding me, saying you love me.
And I've got no fight left with'in me.
Baby, you've got it wrong.
Save your soul.
Before its too late.
And nothing can be done.
Before you are too far gone.
And you'll learn to hate me.
But still call me baby.
Never think of whats in your heart.
And that's what kills me.
Don't call me baby.
Call me by my name.
Cause this isnt working and I've got to go.
Before its too late.
And you're pulling, trying get me to stay.
screaming you love me.
But I've got no fight left with'in me.
the hell is wrong with me?
from the thoughts that I conceive,
to the colors that I bleed.
so blind that I can see.
cant I even read?
tell me what I could be.
tell me why I scream.
tell me do I dream
of things that make me seem
even less human being.
is it air that I breathe?
is it pain that make me plead?
I beg to know these things...
what the hell is wrong with me?
THIS ISNT PART OF THE POEM BUT I NEED TO KNOW WHICH ONE OUT OF ALL OF THESE POEMS IVE PUT UP ARE THE BEST. IT IS REALY IMPORTANT SO IF ANYONE WOULDNT MIND GIVING THEIR OPINION I WOULD BE VEEERRRRYYYYY GREATFUL. P.S. YOU CAN ONLY PICK 1.
the plight obscene to her
as the denied
she stands in the corner shouting into
the nearness of the unyeilding wall
that its unfair
nighttime cannot fend fot itself
the disease of light will infect its borders
and spread across the skys pallet
the deformity called sight will
allow others to see
her sad face
sitting in a broken shopping cart
with her white party dress torn
her makeup a puddle of tears
they will all be able to see
she isnt the engine of perfection anymore
that she isnt factory fresh and polished
its unfair that night
must suffer the inglorious day
that it must be blighted by light
unfair i tell you
she cries into the paint
standing in her humble corners
dire straights and desperate measures
on her magical mind
for my former lover
abandon to her side road circus
i foolishly run to her and spend the night
making love to her
trying to heal us both
but it is folly to retread broken footsteps
on a path forgotten as the loves
we once shared
she asks me to cease writing
for she sees it as the pen has poisoned her bed
i weakly surrender
i dream of
All night I head inside rain water.
Getting back the women I failed.
My heavy jacket feels like stray cats.
Then A garbage can upon the street.
Becomes some other racoons ocean dream.
He opens the door in ring tailed underwear.
And forgets about the skunk waiting
Under the bushes ontop of spongy beardes of moss.
The business isnt worth the trouble
For me against the passion to find
Another way inside a house of plastic
But mine is wooden and strong and Ill be able
To dry my arms and go another day
Of traveling through the pools
Of open water.
And singing here comes the rain again.
Let it fall again and forever until the streets
Dry in clouds of ambitious steam.
it fills me with sorrow
knowing that if we were both given a second chance
it probably still wouldnt work out
i think we both know that
and i guess im sorry about that
sorry that we've both changed so much
sorry we can hardly be in the same room together
especially by ourselves
and i guess im sorry i didnt love you then
like i love you now
its so tragic how things work out, isnt it?
cold coffee and hot tea
little kittens plush fur
the smell of old books
complete with the sound of turning pages
some people love these things
sadly it doesnt include me
i cant stand the smell of coffee
or the taste of tea
little kittens arent as fun as puppies
old books smell worse than gym socks
and paper pages are obnoxious
why people romanticize these things
and assume everyone will agree
is far beyond me
and why people get angry
over innocent opinions
that differ from theirs
makes me wonder
if thats why there isnt world peace
"This ones your favorite ; you smile every time its on."
*isnt it strange how people pick up on your quirks ? This was said to me today about a christmas commerical, apparently i smile year after year every time they show it *