SirReal - Hello Poetry

I feel like a black blob on one of Bob Ross's paintings. A smudge trying to become the sky. With no understanding of how the wind blows. The best I can try to become is a dark cloud. Inanimate on a painting that did come to life. How does everything feel so light and natural? You can almost imagine the world soaking up the sun. I am sitting outside on a bench trying to become like that. Yet the sun shines on this dark smudge within me, casting a shadow further inward. Creating this vague grey shadowy road that I must travel. Well I better wipe my tears and get going. Even this little piece of banana that I dropped here yesterday already headed off before me.

0

Oct 1, 2025

Oct 1, 2025 at 8:06 AM UTC

Blob Ross

I feel like a black blob on one of Bob Ross's paintings. A smudge trying to become the sky. With no understanding of how the wind blows. The best I can try to become is a dark cloud. Inanimate on a painting that did come to life. How does everything feel so light and natural? You can almost imagine the world soaking up the sun. I am sitting outside on a bench trying to become like that. Yet the sun shines on this dark smudge within me, casting a shadow further inward. Creating this vague grey shadowy road that I must travel. Well I better wipe my tears and get going. Even this little piece of banana that I dropped here yesterday already headed off before me.

12

Wake up depressed Get sick. Die young. A life so short. It looked at existence, thought 'huh this is weird' then died-times 8 billion. A set-up for a punchline where we spend a minute of silence to try and hear A cosmic joke.

0

Sep 18, 2025

Sep 18, 2025 at 12:36 AM UTC

Cosmic joke

Wake up depressed Get sick. Die young. A life so short. It looked at existence, thought 'huh this is weird' then died-times 8 billion. A set-up for a punchline where we spend a minute of silence to try and hear A cosmic joke.

9

A discarded petal flutters down. To land on the soil from which I came. Torn from whole. Separated from Root. I rot. I sink. I long for sleep to escape in dreams. At the end of my alphabet, no ocean views, just stretched out Z's.

0

Aug 12, 2023

Aug 12, 2023 at 5:33 AM UTC

End of my alphabet

A discarded petal flutters down. To land on the soil from which I came. Torn from whole. Separated from Root. I rot. I sink. I long for sleep to escape in dreams. At the end of my alphabet, no ocean views, just stretched out Z's.

8

It's different now. Depression is an illusion. It's a place of transmutation. It's a place of evolution. It's a place of power. A place where violent forces serve the purpose of self transcendence. So is this going to be My Final Form?

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Jul 28, 2023

Jul 28, 2023 at 3:31 AM UTC

Final Form

It's different now. Depression is an illusion. It's a place of transmutation. It's a place of evolution. It's a place of power. A place where violent forces serve the purpose of self transcendence. So is this going to be My Final Form?

9

A path of thorny roses carved itself unto my skin. I see her struggle, her thirst and desire for sunlight. A petal falls and blood trickles down my leg. She fears that she will wither before she opens up to bloom. I gently caress the petal of the rose and whisper is my pain of no concern to you? My blood will not quench your thirst for sunlight. Yet despite that she's nestling deeper thorns buried and aching out of some form of misplaced necessity and desperation. A desire to live, a desire to grow, a desire to blossom. By the roots, I rip her out. I am no means for her survival. Nor am I afraid of pain.

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Jul 23, 2023

Jul 23, 2023 at 8:52 AM UTC

Budding Rose

A path of thorny roses carved itself unto my skin. I see her struggle, her thirst and desire for sunlight. A petal falls and blood trickles down my leg. She fears that she will wither before she opens up to bloom. I gently caress the petal of the rose and whisper is my pain of no concern to you? My blood will not quench your thirst for sunlight. Yet despite that she's nestling deeper thorns buried and aching out of some form of misplaced necessity and desperation. A desire to live, a desire to grow, a desire to blossom. By the roots, I rip her out. I am no means for her survival. Nor am I afraid of pain.

20

It's been years. I'm sleeping in a different bed now. Different room Same four white walls, rebellious. I took you in. I'm sorry I neglected you. You were right, steadfast. It's just, that I'm so tired, exhausted even. Broken down to the point, I pick up the pen.

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Jul 22, 2023

Jul 22, 2023 at 7:41 PM UTC

Full Circle,

It's been years. I'm sleeping in a different bed now. Different room Same four white walls, rebellious. I took you in. I'm sorry I neglected you. You were right, steadfast. It's just, that I'm so tired, exhausted even. Broken down to the point, I pick up the pen.

15

Digging for treasures, dusty pits, shoveling ashes. Where the dead lie forgotton. When I put em there I didn’t bother with caskets. Old hollow bones dead men tell no tales and I sure as Hell can’t remember what I did to them that got them here. I dig and dig and dig with candle light past lives, flicker and dance in my shadow. But I’m not here to watch their past amusements What am I looking for? In these vast swathes of grey land. There are no answers in these Ashy oceans. Waves of dust, skeletons drowned in pitiful regret. Their last words lie at the bottom damning those that dare and listen. The wind howls without whispers. There’s only silence that has been shed from life. Meaningless and unimportant. I need to think! I shouldn’t doubt! Not here. Not where I am now. The answer is right in front of me. So what am I not seeing? There’s only barren ash and buried past. A grey sky, heavy clouds of black thoughts. I got a parched throat and no water. I take a deep breath. And the answer is right there in front of me. I stand up. I know what I need to do to turn this place into Fertile land.

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Aug 26, 2021

Aug 26, 2021 at 11:48 AM UTC

Ashy Oceans

Digging for treasures, dusty pits, shoveling ashes. Where the dead lie forgotton. When I put em there I didn’t bother with caskets. Old hollow bones dead men tell no tales and I sure as Hell can’t remember what I did to them that got them here. I dig and dig and dig with candle light past lives, flicker and dance in my shadow. But I’m not here to watch their past amusements What am I looking for? In these vast swathes of grey land. There are no answers in these Ashy oceans. Waves of dust, skeletons drowned in pitiful regret. Their last words lie at the bottom damning those that dare and listen. The wind howls without whispers. There’s only silence that has been shed from life. Meaningless and unimportant. I need to think! I shouldn’t doubt! Not here. Not where I am now. The answer is right in front of me. So what am I not seeing? There’s only barren ash and buried past. A grey sky, heavy clouds of black thoughts. I got a parched throat and no water. I take a deep breath. And the answer is right there in front of me. I stand up. I know what I need to do to turn this place into Fertile land.

36

When I don't give a **** then I ain't fair.

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Aug 9, 2021

Aug 9, 2021 at 6:52 PM UTC

Black Thought

When I don't give a **** then I ain't fair.

1

I see Gods, wearing masks of self betrayal. They spawn on a green surface where they feast on the carcass of Creation. A worldwide theater opens and their inherited ancestral traumas play out their parts to perfection on the stage of current events. Their projections are as clear as a day of light pollution, muddling the bright night skies. It is the atmosphere that reflects the ocean and I see pockets of plastic black float in oily hues. You drink the poison in your waters and you turn into acidic cynics. Earths mirror is soiled and broken. It's shattered fragments reflects distorted voices, that are making love to your inner critics. Silent whispers slowly mold you into discordant individuals, with fragmented autonomies as parts but stitched together woven incompleteness. With your heritage you've denied your weakness. I grit my teeth as I part with tears of shame. A loud laugh comes forth from a defiant heart. A storm dark yet no clouds pass. Why do you brandish scars with bitter flames?

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Jul 4, 2021

Jul 4, 2021 at 10:22 AM UTC

Heritage

I see Gods, wearing masks of self betrayal. They spawn on a green surface where they feast on the carcass of Creation. A worldwide theater opens and their inherited ancestral traumas play out their parts to perfection on the stage of current events. Their projections are as clear as a day of light pollution, muddling the bright night skies. It is the atmosphere that reflects the ocean and I see pockets of plastic black float in oily hues. You drink the poison in your waters and you turn into acidic cynics. Earths mirror is soiled and broken. It's shattered fragments reflects distorted voices, that are making love to your inner critics. Silent whispers slowly mold you into discordant individuals, with fragmented autonomies as parts but stitched together woven incompleteness. With your heritage you've denied your weakness. I grit my teeth as I part with tears of shame. A loud laugh comes forth from a defiant heart. A storm dark yet no clouds pass. Why do you brandish scars with bitter flames?

20

There are no words to describe you. I've searched for them in between countless metaphors. For me, you stand above comparison. Words can never describe wholeness. Thus silence seems befitting.

0

Jul 4, 2021

Jul 4, 2021 at 9:53 AM UTC

Untold you

There are no words to describe you. I've searched for them in between countless metaphors. For me, you stand above comparison. Words can never describe wholeness. Thus silence seems befitting.

9