Oh god it's you. And yes, I mean you again
as seeing the sight of you just one more time
will forever remind me that we're not meant to be.
I'm fed up with this romantic crap.
This fogged up appearance of love.
Whispers of fairy tale romances that are really just fiction.
Perhaps I'm wrong. But until I can write my own story
I'd like to be left alone
to discover it with someone else.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
Today I felt worth-less.
Not in the sense that I had nothing
but like I had less of what I was before.
I guess for some this isn't a bad thing
but for me I'm not too sure...
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
The cracks in my skin reveal the truth.
The reality that I'm breaking.
My whole being is destroyed slowly
to leave the remains of nothing,
nothing left but a broken shell.
The hollow shell of an empty human.
A forgotten soul neglected in the corners of a dark room.
Left to gather dust and anything possible
to have some sort of value,
to find purpose.
My skin breaks away from me like it never belonged.
Cell by cell my meaning is lost
and that all is left is bones for dead.
But until I get to that point my skin will crack,
and will continue to crack until I'm gone.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Today I'm a ghost,
the cold air whispers through window sills
and hot tea warms up my cup,
with a sip of mediocrity left in my mouth.
Today I'm a ghost,
the thoughts of you fade away
as imprints of blank space are what left remains.
Today I'm a ghost,
my skin pale white and my face numb,
I'm left with nothing.
Tomorrow your ghost leaves
and I can no longer be a ghost with you.
I'm not a ghost, I'm just alone.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
If you aren't going to give me any time it's okay.
But don't act like you do
just to meet your preconceived ideas about friendship.
You might give me a compliment from time
and support me in what I do.
But then completely disregarding your promises
isn't okay with me.
So I’m going to find someone who
can give me as much as I can give them.
And for shame, I’m not yours
and your not mine.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
I should be working right now but I'm not,
a pupil beaming on the inside from her rebellion
all in the name of poetry.
Quite sad really...
But I like writing poetry regardless to work,
it's one thing that I can admit comes naturally.
Well I can admit it to myself but to others no way,
I'd like to seem complacent not arrogant.
So mid my rebellion I'll write with a smile,
not because I'm always happy,
I'll smile because today I'm content.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 5:03 AM UTC
Why am I a joke to you?
No really, because my admiration seems to be undermined
and it’s not because you don’t care,
but that you’ve seen it before.
I’ve told you these feelings many a time
like a book you’ve re-read.
But the words have lost meaning,
my words are dissmissive.
And the whole story is good to you,
but now following the process
just seems completely pointless.
To you, I’m
dispensable.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 11:34 AM UTC
I thought you loved me,
so I spoke my thought aloud,
but love from me is nothing if it’s broke
You thought it must be a joke,
and as you said it aloud you considered,
who could love me for what I am
but that part you kept closed,
leaving me hollow with your shattering response.
And so I thought you just felt bad
and in light of this situation you tried to make me laugh
as friends do in such awkwardness.
But your jester like quality only brought me hurt
as all my truth and honesty was for nothing,
I thought it was for nothing…
And so I never knew the truth.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
I love the idea of smoke,
the fumes clinging to my lungs
and the exasperated gasp to regain air.
The smoke that can burn down a home,
a place filled with memories to be ruined,
ashes of forgotten darkness.
A smoke that can be a sign,
a scream for help and danger.
A reassurance to others of your struggle.
I like your smoke,
the intoxication of your breath,
mixing with mine in a moment of relief.
Before the bitter after taste of realisation.
For nothing can bring me joy,
nothing more than smoke can make me suffer.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
Stop, I can’t fall for you, I’m not allowed,
I’m not allowed to speak out to you
For speaking to you would hurt me more,
bringing me the realisation it will never happen.
Instead I will sit here and write,
I’ll write you encrypted poems you’ve seen,
without knowing they’re for you,
a sign of how I feel for you.
But you don’t get it do you?
How would you know what I feel
when I don’t even know how I feel for you.
The simple answer is you wouldn’t.
You could rip my skin and hear it peel
and not understand that it hurts.
All you would do is see the process
and continue on your way.
I’m screaming for you to talk to me,
as talking to me would bring me a relief,
a relief that it wasn’t all in my head,
that I wasn’t assuming it all.
So end my emotional torture before
I put myself out of this misery and try again.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC