Suicide; society tells me it’s a ***** word
Blackens your tongue and brands you an
Outsider to your beloved community;
Tarnishes your dazzling reputation and
Takes a beautiful, cherished, short-lived, soul.
But why did society not raise me like the
Painstakingly adored roses amongst
Its garden of thorns; why can’t I be
That happy girl. Why have I been
Doused in fertiliser, a wretched ****
Amongst a garden of beauty, growing
Faster than lightning, roots of gnarly
Agony and shoots of grey, blurred hatred for
Every atom of my being- screams for the ****
Killer to embrace me by the neck, apply a-
Seductive dose of love-dripping pressure
And set this crow free; unchain my bruised wings
And I promise I will leave you be, I will never
Bring misery or misfortune again.
But suicide; is a ***** word, a cheek
Burning, soul smouldering, darkening
Shadow on the pretty plastic cases over our,
Mechanical hearts. Not for the great pain of
Losing a barely, blossomed flower- took one
Heavy dose of white-pain sunlight and
Wilted away into the black, bottomless soil.
Not for the gaping loss of a singular
Fertile crop in an endless year of draught and
Famine. Suicide, is not a tear-wrenching,
Palm-sweating word for the, heavy and huge hole
It leaves in society’s newly plastered walls-
But it is an unspeakable word for the pure
Shame. The surly shadow of unspeakable
Shame that it leaves like a, stain of red wine
On the pretty, sensible woman’s white blouse
Like a ****** tattoo on the arm of an infant.
We do not grieve their death. We grieve our pride,
Our bruised and bleeding pride at not preventing
The stench of failure as a race of people, in the death
Of one melancholy drowned person, we practically
Placed the boulders in their pockets and said drown.
And I am holding my breath; tight roping this
Misery that smothers me at sunrise, see I am
Permitted a feigned slumber of peace in the dead
Hours of night yet I awake to the,
Asphyxiation of pain, eyes bulging in terror of
What awaits me when I run out of time, oxygen fast-
Fading and the orange, pink of dawn lights a
Fire in the honey pools of my eyes- small, mocking fires
That sneer at my desperation to cease, at my plea for peace-
Tight, burning stabs that tingle in my throat and
I’m running low on air, on time, almost there-
Deliria, ecstasy, glee dripping from my limbs
And- the noose I fabricated in my non-
Functioning, disabled mind slips away, faster
Than I can catch it and refasten, and I am, cold
In my bedsheets once more. Welcomed again,
To the now bellowing daylight of, depression
Another flightless, fruitless day of carefully,
Hand-stitched smiles and sinfully pre-tuned
Laughter. The world tells me to stand on the
Pinnacle of misery with one broken leg and
If I dare fall, I am a branded shame on the surface
Of the earth, I am the centre of all failure in the
Universe so I, valiantly ride into no-mans-land,
A knight in shining armour except, I have no steel
And no bronze to, protect my heart from the cannon fire
Of pain, I have no shield to shelter me from the
Poison gas of self-hatred. But I am perfectly okay being
Defenceless in the brazen gunfire; I am still breathing,
The titanium arrows of misery protruding neatly from
My mangled limbs and my broken heart.
And that word, sombre and dark as ever
Flashes once in my head and I swat it away with
Deep-rooted disgust, and a dire hunger for such a desire.
Suicide;
Society tells me it’s a ***** word.
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
Should I be afraid that I no longer feel?
That I stare death in the eyes, hold hands with
Pain, kiss fear on the cheek and embrace heart
Break like it is the one thing that holds my
Worn being together, desperately clutching
At the frayed stitches of my body and
Fervently keeps the hemline of my soul intact
Like the nightmares of this universe are what
Keeps me whole, keeps me from crumbling entirely
Because my heart knows no better than pain
Because I have never known a world without
Agony and grief, and mellowed screams and
Lullabies of sobs and birdsongs of quiet pain
Because my fields are infertile without grief,
Because my skies are starless without heartbreak,
Because my soul is void without my scars that
Scream. They scream the stories that ignite
the raging wildfire behind my damp oak eyes
Each word, on each page, of each blood stained,
tragedy, pull the threads of my being into a living,
Fighting, person. There is beauty in melancholy,
Tears that birth sunflowers that blossom without sun
Light, that glares through the cracks of my heart,
Without a match to light it. Only silent, sobering
Pride, that I have made it to today. That I have seethed
Through the stab wounds and gunshots and blistering
Burns of unspeakable pain, and I have survived with
Grace, with a smile that embraces the worn corners of
This earth, and with a heart that leaves love wherever I go.
Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 4:55 PM UTC
Today is a different kind of fight
Today is not bruises and cuts
Grappling with darkness to see
Light and find a sprinkling of
Happy. No, today is darker
Today is fighting just to survive
To taste oxygen in my lungs and
Not bitter sadness or poison
Of hope that never really existed
In the first place, and time waits
For none and honey even memories
Must die. Today is heavy hearted
Tongue biting, palm digging pain
Hot teardrops, throat constricted
Shallow breathing, hurt. Today is
Counting seconds till i can sleep
And smiling pretty for the camera
Even when my eyelids are heavy with
Uncried cries and unslept sleep that i
So desperately need. Today is my broken
Reflection in the mirror, staring hopeless
At this stranger, cutting my finger on the
Shattered glass and I’m bleeding, red and
Oozing rage and i’m- losing myself.
Tomorrow is putting the pieces back together,
Shard by shard, tear by tear,scar by scar
Tomorrow i will not look so unfamiliar,
And this deep longing to know myself
Will fade away. Today is survival and
Tomorrow is living,
Tomorrow is living.
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 6:23 PM UTC
The blackbirds know my secrets all too well
That I am just a kid who grew up too fast
Felt my earth tremble and my sky crumble
Too soon to savour the fleeting taste of joy
That I was born with coal in my veins.
The waning moon has seen me cry
And has cradled me in its ***** and
Taught me that my chaos is not fruitless, it has
Painted my life with colour and purpose
My wild heart has tasted the society-poisoned
Make-believe elixir of love
I was kidnapped from reality because
I left the door to my soul slightly ajar,
That is how it begins, engulfed
In memories and if-onlys and I am
Dancing with the ghosts in my head.
I should revert to loving poetry, music, sunsets
You see, even the chirpers outside my window at
Dawn were silent with grief and turmoil
The day my golden heart blackened and broke.
Well let the roses wilt grey and the moon
Fracture in two because I will not stop
Loving or feeling or existing too much
These tears are fireworks doused in a sea of hope and
I am made of stardust and rainwater and pain
And my beauty lies in the many, many pieces of my heart.
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 10:36 AM UTC
Yes, she’s got eyes that are golden and lips that scream lust
She’s got a sharp, consuming beauty and a
Laugh that would make you smile for days.
She’s got a little waist and an hourglass figure
She turns heads and evokes whistles when she saunters
And darling I am not beautiful like her,
But I’ve got eyes that hold an ocean, weeping
Full and heavy with love and emotion
I’ve got a heart big enough to hold
All the pain in the universe, and a little more
I’ve got a smile that breaks hearts because
I find all the little reasons, to be happy
When I have all the reasons, to not.
I’ve got hands that mend the broken and
Tend to the lonely, arms that embrace the
Lost and unloved. I am not profound or gorgeous,
I don’t have her golden eyes or her lips,
I don’t have her hourglass figure or little waist
But I have a voice that speaks raw truth even when
I am shaking in fear of being seen, for me.
I have words that remedy melancholy and
Wipe tears without me extending a hand.
I am the last one crying at the movie,
I am the girl who stops to smell the roses
Just because they deserve to be appreciated
I am the woman who loves more than she loves
Herself, who gives you her strongest parts and settles with
Jagged shards of the ghost of who she once was,
I am fragile and iron-strong all at once,
And I am difficult to understand,
Impossible to figure out, and a
Challenge to love.
But I am not my flaws,
And I am lovable,
Whether you choose to, or not.
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 10:29 AM UTC
You think I could do better
I think you could do better
So why do we force it
When it’s all broken fully
I could easily forget you
If I deleted your picture
Forced you out of my mind
You’d vanish from my life
You’d be a memory
And we’d get rid of all this
Hurting and arguing
Constant misunderstanding
Pretending that it still works
When we know we can’t forgive
Mistakes have been too many
I lost count while crying myself
To sleep without you hugging me
You don’t get me anymore
Or maybe you never did
I just wanted it so bad
I lied to both of us
I needed you back then
But now it’s just a burden
If you don’t understand anything
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 10:14 AM UTC
Another stanza, another, empty poem
Another line of cliche sorrows and oh
Don’t forget a splash of self-hatred and a
Sprinkle of age old, seasoned, melancholy.
How many words will it take
How many conscientiously polished
Lovingly carved, painstakingly painted
Smiles and rueful laughs will it take
For you to realise my love there is, no, end.
This won’t end, you won’t find
Your soul or your peace in hollow
Worthless words that you purge from
Your heart and- smear onto paper
Poets are lonely, where did I read that?
You don’t cry, you bleed silent agony
Into ink, into words, into poetry
You scar page after page with your
indecipherable rage at this universe
And you tarnish another pearly white sheet
With your coal black pain and silenced
Tales of lonely, lonely days wasted by-
Desperately scribbling, madman letters
Frantic to understand, the millions of
Atoms, nerves, bone, flesh that is
Pathetically, tragically, you.
And you knife away at your thoughts with
A pen in a homicidal attempt to
Slaughter the hurt inside and bury them under
Empty words and barren phrases
Poetry will not teach you to love your
Jagged edges like razor blades or your
Missing parts to the enigma that is well,
Yourself. Poetry is your hideaway from the
Ugly, ugly truth that you my love,
Don’t know who you are at all
So you continue to bleed in ink,
Cry in words and bruise on pages.
But this? Is just another stanza,
Another, empty poem.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 3:55 PM UTC
Sometimes, the thought of you brings a bout
Of unprecedented, palpable, anguish.
So visible and unveiled,
I touch it and I bleed.
Sometimes, missing you is
Like swallowing broken glass.
Clear shards that rip my flesh
Draws blood and
Ignites a white pain,
Seething and choking and blinding.
Tonight it is warm,
the air is heavy with summer,
With laughter and blessings
And memories. Reminiscence.
My eyes are orbs,
Glassy with tears and
Stinging with the force of
Grief? Or regret.
The breeze is tinged with
Your laughter and
Every time I inhale,
It aches.
An ache that runs deep
It twists in my gut
Like a knife that
Clenches and drains
Everything good from within.
My hands are frail
I grip in them a
Photograph; of you and I
We are young, carefree
Wild and happy-
That moment was captured
And now it burns,
It's embers are the sunset
It's cinders are etched within.
Now, there is no peace-
You are silent in the grave
And I am silent in grief.
I suppose the
novelty of life wore off
Once I had lost
Everything;
Now in this summer
Evening, I
Sit alone and seemingly
Unaware that my life
Is billowing by,
And the years will run like
The stream in which
Your youth drowned.
Grief is an intoxicant,
That I crave and love
And fear and hate.
The sun seethes,
Smiling a polished smile,
Razing down my hope for
A happy, fulfilling
Life.
What life?
I pluck from the bush,
That mother tended to for
Endless summers,
A rose.
Bloodied and yet pure,
It nestles into my finger like
I propose to it a throne,
Of some twisted kind.
It reminds me of,
Your charisma
And joy that once
Shone in vibrant rays
Like the ****** sun does today,
Your beauty that emanated,
In beams and stunned all who saw,
And now these rays of charisma,
And these beams of beauty,
Are hushed.
Still, alone, and quiet.
Like you.
Like I.
And this nightmare
Dressed like a daydream,
Rages before my eyes.
This solitary rose,
That sat ever so dainty,
And gorgeous between
My frail hands,
Begins to wilt.
It's crimson hue,
Like love and honour,
Turns grey, and black
Loses its life and
Before my eyes another
Unfinished life is
Snatched. Torn. Stolen.
I wonder if,
Your soul came to say goodbye
In that mere rose that I
Watched wilt and wither.
As though whilst
Each petal waved farewell
And floated to the soil with
Their brethren,
You too were,
Wishing me goodbye.
I let the tears flow now,
Heavy and unforgiving,
Weighing me down,
Granting me peace and
Wrapping my thin neck
In a noose of pain,
A loving embrace.
So this,
Is goodbye?
I feel not,
The promised elevation
Of forgiveness and release
Instead the
Ceaseless throb of
Darkness and grief.
But she came,
She came to say goodbye,
And that is all I ever needed,
All I prayed for,
Begged for,
Goodbye.
One last,
Goodbye.
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
There was one one question, that would not leave my side.
As though when you left me, you gave me this question,
And with it you wanted me to flourish and to grow
But instead, with the weight of this question
I am drowning
Breathing self-doubt,
Inhaling self-loathing,
Exhaling fumes of venomous disappointment.
“Who am I now?”
It plays and plays and plays in my head,
A broken record,
An anthem of ugly truth.
“Who am I now?”
It lives in my shadows,
Stalking me at day,
And it fuels itself with my sleep,
Plaguing my nights.
This burden of a question,
Yet sickeningly,
It is where I find solace.
“Who am I now?”
I could be like her,
Kind, compassionate,
Charismatic and defiant.
I could.
Yet I can't.
“Who am I now?”
Because I am all but what she was,
I have this awful habit you see,
Of making every aspect of me,
A colossal- unmistakable- dissappointment.
There was one one question, that would not leave my side.
As though when you left me, you gave me this question,
And with it you wanted me to flourish and to grow
But instead, with the weight of this question
I am drowning.
Blanching,
at how I **** everything up.
I should be better,
I must be.
But in my wake,
In the wake of your death,
All that remains is chaos.
Carnage.
Anarchy.
Inside,
All is lost,
There is no hope.
I have no hope.
My mind is a map that's been
Scribbled over by a child,
With a black crayon-
No. Charcoal.
Everything I saw to be my future
And the happiness of the past
Is going up in flames,
Roaring flames of burning sunset
And I am sat by the fire
Warming my icy fingers,
The blood drained from each one-
And I watch my life go up in a hazy smoke of blackness
Why?
At least now,
I can bask in the glory,
In the self-doubt.
I don't know who I am.
I don't know who I am.
I want to make you proud.
I want to stop,
Stop hurting,
And still-
I will not let the pain go. In the pain lives,
Your truest memories,
Your purest form.
I will not let go,
I promise.
This **** question,
Will not let me go.
“Who am I now?”
Inside all is lost.
I am groping and grasping,
Clasping and scratching,
At thin air,
Making a humourous, feeble attempt,
At finding,
Peace. Maybe?
Real happiness.
My hands turn up empty,
Tired of trying so hard,
To just be alright.
It's alright.
The happiness stays
At a safe distance
Knowing if it comes too near,
I will pounce.
And I will crush it in my palm,
Because a voice inside screams
I don't deserve it
And I listen
Drunk on painting myself to be,
A colossal- unmistakable- dissappointment.
“Who am I now?”
I know,
I know now.
My mind is a map that's been
Scribbled over by a child,
With a black crayon-
No. Charcoal.
I am the child.
I am the charcoal,
I am the fire,
That is devouring everything I love,
And that includes my sanity,
I am she,
Who pulls the first brick in the wall,
The wall labelled me,
Watching myself crumble,
Basking in the anguish-
I am she.
The enemy avowed,
The snatcher of my peace.
I know who I am now,
I know,
I know.
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 7:29 PM UTC