a poets love can be written but not seen,
their heart poured on the page for you to read,
heart break could last for days, poems upon poems,
their empty souls tears laying on the pages you see,
hearts have so much pain to much to take, till its to late,
their guns are loaded and the pain is almost over,
heart to heart, its all over
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
Like lightning in the distance,
you're a force I can't grasp,
can't fear nor admire.
I yearn to feel a zap,
a jolt of reality,
but I'm still standing under this lonely tree.
I've been searching for something like you,
and it seems like every time I catch a glimpse
I watch it vanish within the whisper of the wind.
It's like it never happened.
But it did.
I lay in bed
with someone who tells me
"you never give yourself up to love."
It kills me to admit
she's the most real thing I've ever had,
but the left side of the mattress
could just as soon
hold a vacancy I've always known.
The thunder calls out from the night sky,
and the clouds conceal those diamonds above.
I stare at a computer screen
wondering whether or not to pierce through the guarded unknown.
Some call it closure.
Some call it the path to pain.
I close the tab and find something else to dwell on.
It's just a name,
a title.
It's not like I'm the only one who feels this way.
But we all know you don't need to be isolated to feel alone.
Shortly before becoming the same,
I'll understand the difference between a storm
and a passing rain.
One day I may be the lightning,
cradling the thunder
and light the way through the clouds.
Until then,
I'll lay under this tree
and watch its leaves get carried off by the wind.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 9:44 AM UTC
" That's just me "
You’ll hear her say
" I am lesser than beautiful "
I refuse to believe that
I am of worth
What exactly am I?
A courageous soul who is unapologetically herself
Well, the truth is
I look in the mirror to only see
My reflections disappoint
No longer can I say that
My beauty radiates from within
now read from bottom to top
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
I am jealous of your life before.
Of all the fingers that have touched you,
And the ears that have heard you say
“I love you.”
I am jealous
Of all the parts of you I will never know,
Of all the years that I didn’t play a part in,
Of all the smiles that I didn’t cause.
I know I have no right to be,
I cannot claim every piece of you,
I cannot deny you a history,
I cannot be your everything.
But god knows, I want to be.
Because what if those ghosts of fingers
Still touch you?
What if you still hear the echoes
Of “I love you”s that tripped from tongues
Other than mine?
What if all those smiles,
Half remembered,
Make you long for lips you used to kiss?
What if,
What if,
What if.
I don’t know how to not be afraid
Of losing you.
I am scared that one day you will wake up,
And look at me,
And realise I am so hollow
And I have so little to give.
I am scared that you will realise
You are worth so much more
Than me.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 9:39 AM UTC
when I was ten, I scraped the surface of my skin
soothing the nerves that might be achin’
and I dreamed of being a shape-shifter
instead of wearing my own skin, wanted to be a transformer
like Mystique covered her scales with brown-leather jacket
as if she was hiding in her friend’s pocket
I wanted to be a shape-shifter so bad
that I carry different names in different events
introducing another personality into another styles and bents,
desperate in escaping reality
that my first name is Nobody
with a last name of loser in a morena body
when I was thirteen, I wanted to be a telepathic
because middle school was boring and pathetic,
your freckles and scars was not considered as aesthetic
because they are distractive, not attractive
then most people was stereotypic
and put so much weight of stigma
that was heavier in my own persona
I hope I could read someone’s mind
to attend their standards and be acceptable, not behind
I hope I could seep in the openings of their cracks
to see if I could join in their popular groups and ranks
I wanted so bad to be telephatic
that my sanity was almost equal to chaotic and psychotic
when I was sixteen, I wished I had x-men gene of invisibility
because school was tiresome and heavy
and bullies was way powerful than your mental ability
that you would rather disappear and stay in eternal tranquility
then suffer from discrimination
because your skin was not society’s accepted complexion
they said, I didn’t belong anywhere
because I am nobody from nowhere
mom even said I’ll be fine and should work for it
I said that I am over it and I am so done with it
but mom didn’t understand that suiting yourself in was like
walking in fired coal with trigger in my feet of armalite the wall
now, I just turned 19, I finally understand
how world kept condemning, exploiting and oppressing people who are weak
who are in minority, not hearing their silent screech
I finally understand that if you have no power
people will trample and trample you to lower
I finally understand that I don’t need an approval stamp
from anybody that crushes my soul in *****
and you, yes you
you don’t need anybody to be whole
because, certainly, surely, you can fill your own hole
I finally understand that I am enough
that life is rough so you have to be tough
And I finally understand what made me stay,
you foolish prodigy, do not be easily swayed
I have the right to be here, you have to.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
do you still love me
do you still love m
do you still love
do you still lov
do you still lo
do you still l
do you still
do you stil
do you sti
do you st
do you s
do you
do yo
do y
do
d
di
did
did y
did yo
did you
did you e
did you ev
did you eve
did you ever
did you ever l
did you ever lo
did you ever lov
did you ever love
did you ever love m
did you ever love me
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 6:22 AM UTC
(read forward, then backward, line by line)
I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 6:51 AM UTC
twelve
If i could write a letter to my twelve your old self, i would mention the pain your about to face, with self loathing and mental health is far worse then the years before. I would mention how when you wake up wipe the sleep from your eyes and read this letter and find two people you loved gone from your life forever. When you leave your plastic car framed bed you will find an empty room in the basement. The first loss is not death but abandenment leaves no answer to the sting a heart can feel when your older sister meant to guide you has ran away. She has left, and to what you shall soon find out, left you to your death. The second loss has less thought to the idea of why? but still i did cry. It was my great grandmothers time. Her slow pace death lead to suffering till one week to the day after i turned twelve. Emotional asking questions why, three days later i tightened my silk tie putting on a suit and ending the night seeing the casket of one of you. To think of you as dead eased my head for a while but still have to replace my frown with a fake smile. After all i lost a sister, when i needed someone to talk you were never there. Instead i just found myself cutting and dyeing my hair. This is the year you feel your fathers strong hand as you tremble below it. This is the year you tremble in fear this is the first year you want to die
Thirteen
To my thirteen year old self, im sorry life doesnt get better. im sorry that this is year your parents admit they don't care. Im sorry this is the year you hear the three words no one wants or deserves to know their pain. Even though the words "I hate you" Were uttered in vain. Im sorry no one was there to hold you in there arms, im sorry of how when looked in the mirror every morniing after you showered telling yourself its a new day and the pain is past. Im so sorry of how you found out how long the pain really lasts. Look at what you have achieved though, this is the year you win first in all categories invited to Kick Canada to again win. You achieve a bronze as a group, silver in your weopons, and gold in kickboxing. With you feeling weighed down your still weightless, with your amazing place and the smile on your face to look in the croud hearing the aplause. Somethings missing though your parents no where to be seen. Im sorry they wernt there to say good job im sorry your dads hand still strikes strong. This is the year you say enough though, you say no and strike back your foe. He stands stunned for a minute and walks away, the bruises faded away from the surface, but inside i still see them. It is the night of my birthday i fall asleep praying tomorow will bring a better year.
Fourteen
Im sorry this is not the year it gets better, your father never lays another hand to your dismay doesnt matter for his and your mothers word fly freely. This is the year they make you cry, only to insult you further "your nothing, your trash" there tounges did lash me. Til i crashed under hate to my untimly fate, your mother is sick and you walk into the room as she slashes the blade across her wrist, you watch her bleed amd scream for help but she pretends u dont exsist she spends the next year and eight monthes in psycitric care. Left in a house with nothing fair in the air my invitation ti nationals came and past i did not go in fear of leaving my mother would effect her more vast, past her yelling at ke eberyday i walked in the light blue room with the curtains always closed filled with gloom . While my mother on her last heartstrings looked for strength from her groom . Only to be filled with hate she saw me as a reminder he exsists and how he doesnt visit but i did. I walked the long path every **** day to see my mothers face still i wasnt good enough but that is just my luck. It is my last night of this age. The house is empty amd quite but still remains okay just praying thiis new year brings joy to the now broken boy.
Fifteen
This is not the year it gets better neither, but this os the year your mother is released. It took a week for the smiles to wear away. Then i saw once again the skin tare from her flesh. Soon hate took over the tone under her breath and malace mixed with spite is the only thing left of my mother i once knew. This is the year you once again face death, you and your mother are in a car driving counting breaths singing along to eminem, reciting robert frost. when suddenly a car passes us and my mother is crossed the mid age lady on her phone swirving around, not paying atention to anyone or anything i still see her frown. She ran a stop sighn without a thought hit by a garbage truck in front of our eyes now i know the cost of when her cellphone conversation stopped. This was the first time i watched someone die. Still shocked my mother had to call the abulence as i and the garbage man saw the damage in case she still did breath. In the end blood filled the scene as me amd the garbage man covered the front window with a sheet to protect what is left of this womens dignity. This is the year you fond a little blue pill that not only eases your pain if snorted aslo goves you a thrill. This is the first year that you almost sucsessfully **** yourself going to sleep for this living hell praying next year could be better aswell.
Sixteen
This year is a self medicated blur, this is the year you forgot who you were. T3s replaced with perks and shots only to be soon replaced with oxys in your black box crushed and lined one at a time up your nose the powder glides. The first night you try an 80 you overdose nearly comitoce as you spew a frothy white fluid from your mouth but my freinds saved me to this day i dnt know how called said i passed out and cant drive home so my parents could never figure out how i lay on the tiled floor back from death after this a pill is never again accepted that is your debt 2 days to your birthday that cursid day your sober but that was just babby steps and i promise little soilder babby steps you would not regret.
Seventeen
This is the year you stopped praying for help thinking you did this to yourself i promise it wasnt you. How could it be your still just in youth. This is the year you watch your father fall. You find the trail of debt 100 thousand dollars owed mine aswell of been a million for we can barely live so how would you like us to pay it back i finfd him stealing money from my backpack. This is the year you find out your dad is the same worth of a rat and you dont have to take his crap. This is the year he snaps and instead you help him back up. He was in achoma five days as you stayed never slept jus sat beside his hospital bed praying this did not mean death. Death came in a different way with your cousin brit stabbed to death by her husband on febuary fith.. this is the year you wished you diddnt exsist.
Eighteen
This is the year.... you found the courage to see you will always be...good and thats enough for me.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 6:56 AM UTC