It's so bad in this place I have to leave I want to get to the good place Heaven on earth Is where I'm looking for The key of that place, is goodness I'm not a good man But I'm not a bad man either I try to better my life And I will go To the heaven on earth
Where's all the good stuff? Not all this love fluff. Let's get freaky. Let's get strange. Not all peaky. We need range. Get odd. Get peculiar. Be weird, it's cool. People don't mind. Be sad but interesting. Not just confessing. Be unique. Have some flavor. We all like some weird to savor. Express or Depress. Just be different. Don't hold back. Let it get weird.
Used to see a lot more weird on this site. All poetry is great. Even the fluff. But at midnight I just wish there was a little more weird. One can only read so many love poems, X is like Y and it makes me feel Zzzzzzz.
Not all depressed cut, Not all sad shed tears, Not all strong fight, Not all monsters roar, Not all young are innocent. Some just work harder to maintain a mask. We are here, And you have reason to fear, We are the best liars, We can manipulate the greatest con artist without batting a single eyelash. Watch out we are coming.
This is a dark and serious prom but that didn't change the fact that In was tempted to put "and we're *****" instead of " And you have reason to fear" ****
I look into the mirror and I hate what I see. There's an **** girl looking back at me. Her nose is long and her teeth are big. Her hair is so long it could be a wig. I look at her in the mirror and i get sad. I am that person, and I look bad. People say that I'm pretty, but I can't see why. When I look at myself I want to cry.
This is depressing for a first poem haha, but it's also 1:00 in the morning. Won't get much better that this.
Onward we trudge to Miserthorpe. On blood soaked dreams to lend support. Knock-kneed, railing, gasping for breath We march through the marsh toward our death, But death will not out soul's escort.
The hordes of the undying court Will shortly rend our lives cut short. There is no hope; never the less... Onward we trudge
Oh, if the past I could abort I would have strived to build rapport With that young lass from Watercrest. My dreams of glory reassessed. Yet time moves on without distort. Onward we trudge
This is going to be a part of a collection of poems I call The ****** Journal. You see my friends and I play a lot of D&D, and we ran a campaign in my friends world where there's this area called the deadlands, and I wanted to tell the story of an unnamed solder having to fight against the evil there. Feel free to drop a critique, as I haven't done too much poetry where I am not the speaker. So this will be kindof new to me.
The storm is here and I’m stuck enduring it. I want to disappear, but I’m stuck in a pit. Will I be able to overcome? At least I’m no longer numb. But how am I supposed to live with this? It’s only a matter of time before my palm splits.
it’s a beautiful thing this day and age with bubbling permafrost with drug-resistance with obesity treatments with technological advancements with scientific discoveries with silent wars with blue lava with bleeding glaciers with divorce with sensitivity with my generation of people believing this new generation is completely and utterly clueless as a common occurrence
but let’s think about what these kids are into nowadays.
let’s think about who invented these inane things for the kids.
my generation of people.
so the kids of today are the ones who are ****** for liking the things that we’ve created?
I’m sorry but we have to be the ones who are obtuse for believing such things, oblivious for not realizing them and showing the world we have little or no imagination anymore.
the generation before us has lied to us and thought us to lie to the generation after.
whether it’s the gods or holidays or what not.
the youth of the today are autonomous. they can not take responsibility for their actions nor do they understand and just go along with the trends, much like, all the generations before them but we need a scapegoat to cover up our own farce implementations.
the truth of the matter is.. we’re all a little vacuous in our own way especially the ones with an answer for everything. living in an imperfect world where there’s always room for improvement nothing for us or against us wrapped up in our congratulatory self-contradictory and illogical theories and as useless as exploding appendix.
the lost generation the interbellum generation the silent generation the baby boomers generation x the millennials
a strong admixture of imbecility and self-assurance filled with belief and unawareness to a senseless world
like hate like blame like gossip like jealousy like being offended like being impressive like the punk rock dream like hospital waiting rooms like fundraisers and charity events like your co-worker to the right and the left of you and their families and their families before them
You convince yourself to stay where you are because you're afraid of wading in waters you don't know. You believe it won't be better than where you are now, but you know you're not happy You deserve better.
You feel ungrateful for what's be given to you, but you matter too. Unhappy is unhappy. Don't let it sit. Don't let it dwell.
You convince yourself that certain things outweigh the others. The small things matter too. You're allowed to be upset, but you'll never allow yourself. You deserve better.
Because there’s so much emptiness where you used to be
I lost a love when I said goodbye to you
I miss my best friend. I told him we needed to spend some time apart after we slept together (he cheated on his girlfriend with me) and I haven’t seen or really spoken to him for months. I’m beyond heartbroken. Every time I think I’m over it it just creeps up and pins me down as soon as I turn my back on it. I feel so much guilt on top of that and I feel like I deserve it. What we did was wrong and I can’t take it back, but I can’t take back how I feel either. I will always love him, but I know it’s not fair for me to see him. It hurts so bad to stay away. I’m so ashamed of this I don’t even tell my therapist of five years about it.
This is what I was listening to when I wrote this tonight: https://soundcloud.com/international-delight/radiator-hospital-your
I love him I tell myself I know that We will be together forever I don’t believe that We could be separated My thoughts tell me that He’s the love of my life Sometimes my heart lies and says I could live an eternity Without him Like my friends say “We’re perfect for each other” And you can’t tell me He’s not the one.
Words on my skin Tightening of my throat The words you shouted And the things you spoke Through your lens I’m An object Dangling Taunting Inviting But I am a woman Not to be used Or abused I shed your words everyday I wash them away I am not yours to be looked at Or yours to be swayed So take the words you have strangled me with And wrap them around your own throat Till you suffocate
a chemical composition light textile and and enough bends for a knot all expression of the dead dog in the living room left behind as the grow lights over the seedlings were turned on and a flower was placed on his dead chest and I walked out the door it was a real thing in the mind of a witness a storm rolled over a star was never seen again
i dread the day you learn for the first time that you can't just love all the darkness in me away
and no matter how much you care i will still toss and turn at night and scars might still appear on my skin
i dread the day you realize that you can't cure me and sometimes all you can do is stand next to me and hold my hand through fog pouring out of my ears so black and thick we can't even see each other's faces
i dread the days i can't get out of bed the days you want to take me out and all i can manage is a prettified shell of myself
i dread the day you learn that sometimes no matter how hard i try i still can't pull myself together
the day you learn that there isn't an answer you can give that will save me from my fears
you aren't the first person who has tried to love the darkness inside away my family and friends have given it their all but someday you too will learn that if love could cure mental illness the world would be a much better place
I wasn't born With this hole in my heart But it developed gradually When pain drilled my chest to cling it's art. Oh! I was smiling radiating the usual rainbow colours! But just then, I was grayed and torn Just like withered flowers! The pain! Yes the pain Is unbearable My tears all are in vain They are just emotional fool , being unstoppable! I am fed up of emotional breakdown My soul became mournful, being lost in the ghost town! I know, sorrows are part of life But how can I frequently bear the pain that cut deeper than the knife! I try my best to just forget and move on But what shall I do when I am trapped in the useless emotion?
Just in a process of getting relieve from the feeling of being hurt! It's really difficult... Sorry,my poem sounded somewhat boring but I really meant what I said .
Paint me a picture Of your skin Does it bronze beneath the sun? Or sizzle and blush Like your cheeks When you’re in love? Is it soft to the touch Like when your palms graze The smooth surface of water? Or rough around the edges Like your favorite book And its lovingly worn corners? Does it melt in the heat Like sweet syrupy treats Dripping through your fingers? Or does it welcome the winter With wide open arms As if greeting a lover? Paint me a picture Of your skin