Why'd you have to do that
There's so much I still wanted to do with you
So much I still wanted to make you feel
I wish you never did what you did
I could've lived with all the bad we were
But I can never live with what you did to me
I care for you
I hate you
But I still care
I hope you get better
I hope life is everything you desire
I hope you treat the next person who cares for you better
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 6:49 AM UTC
They say I'm self-centered.
I say, I'm made in the image of God,
this is what He intended.
Recently, the sun hasn't risen the way it used to.
Instead I've found birds singing only to the moon like wolves crying out in the night.
I don't know what we did to turn ourselves into Nightwalkers.
But I know I can run my fingers through your hair and it'll touch me like dragon glass.
To say I haven't slept in years, is dramatic.
But so is writing poems at 2am about someone you'll never be quite strong enough to forget.
I'm rambling, because that's what I do. That's how my thoughts come through... have I told you about the abandoned waterfall inside me?
How since I last saw you all it's rivers ran dry?
They've been empty for years, but at least with you there was one or two storms that'd pass by.
I know this feeling will soon fade away. And still I will regret nothing except for all the things I put on you.
All the things I needed you to be.
I'm sorry I tried to acquaint you with my demons.
I forgot you had your own, waging war in your battlefield shaped mind.
I guess I was hoping you could tame mine.
I guess I was hoping I could tame yours.
I guess I put a lot of hope into just another bottomless chasm.
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 7:21 PM UTC
This noose around my neck is getting looser as I step beyond the line of what's been said I know my mind now must be dead cause I can finally go to bed.
My body's inept.
My soul has wept.
And I have crept'
Outside the hole inside the ground
The devil's laugh was the only sound.
My heart is finally on a cloud
And it'll never come back down.
Take my crown
Hold me down
Don't let me break free from inside the cage of this disease that I deny is apart of me.
Who holds the key?
Tell them to burn it
I'll never earn it
...
Now how do I word this?
What is our purpose?
Why am I nervous
To jump from the surface
Of my cursed devoted path of living past the horrid mask
Into the open
Into the ocean
Of current events
Of paying rent
To hide inside a body made of broken ribs and shattered hands through cluttered pots and pans
Pots and pans
Pots and pans
Pots and pans
I'LL CALL UPON THE SON OF MAN
BEFORE I REACH THE PRECIPICE OF MY DEMISE
Into the southern skies
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 9:52 PM UTC
A toucan flies to rest on a thought,
Branches reaching towards my heart.
Carcasses of childhood memories filled rooms with
Doors locked from the inside.
"Evacuate the premises, nothing to see here" a sign reads
Forlorn and tainted, stitched into the side of my psyche
Graves engraved with unsaid prayers.
Is life an option, when all I feel is the weight of my
Heavy, unrested eyes?
Jeopardize my future.
**** my hopes and dreams.
Living with
Manic Depression
Never allows the reassurance of stability
Or survival within the ocean of sentiment.
Parking lots outside the windows of my soul hold drunk spirits
Quarreling under a street light, broken beer bottles as their words.
Room for one more troubled soul?
Sure, come on in, 've poured so much of myself into people and
They still see the glass as half empty.
Uncrown me of my halo and tie it like a noose around my neck.
Veiled threats of "it'll get better" and "this too shall pass"
When? There's no pill for who you are.
X marks the spot doesn't it?
Yeah, sure.
Zoos hold less animals than the inside of my head.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
Before I met you, I dreamt of knights in shinning armour, but now i dream of Gods plucking fruit from the tree of life
If i could dream myself a god. He'd wear a crown of raven's feathers.
His eyes like onyx.
If i could dream myself a god.
He'd swallow suns whole and spit them out like seeds.
Planting light in every part of my spirit.
If i could dream myself a god. His hands would be wildfire. And I'd be a forest begging to be burnt to ashes.
He'd be the urge I had to collect stones.
To break windows.
To start fires.
If i could dream myself a god, he'd wear storms to bed.
He'd be an unspoken hallelujah.
I dreamt myself a god.
And he lights his blunts off falling stars.
He spawns butterflies and burns holes in my stomach.
He smiles like a playground. And I'm a child who never wants to go home.
I will hide in the corners of his mouth. Induce nostalgia for an angels sword.
He laughs like the ocean. And I'm a little rowboat getting pulled into sea.
His face does wonders.
I've been working my way towards memorising it with my fingertips in the dark.
So I can tell my children one day that I have the ghost of divinity still coursing through my hands.
He could be my complete destruction.
I could be his last demolition.
And when the time comes, i will drag his halo down to his feet with my teeth.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 9:47 PM UTC
An inferiority complex means you are always wrong, even when you're right.
It means in a room full of people you will be just another shadow.
It means no matter how loud your voice is, you'll never be heard.
It means when it's your turn to talk and someone else takes it from you, you let them have it because they have more important things to say.
When they are mad at you for no good reason, you will apologise for everything you've ever done because you know it was the wrong thing to do.
Who are you to live boldly?
Who are you to take the sword instead of the sheild?
To take a stand instead of your worn out seat?
Who are you to be yourself in a crowd of strangers?
These people do not want you.
You do not belong.
You will never be good enough and you will remind yourself of this everytime you try to make an effort to be something special.
Because you come from voices that have been lost in the wind.
You come from leftovers discarded in the trash.
You come from abandoned cities.
You come from empty homes.
You come from nothing ever acclaimed enough to stay around for.
You are reminded of this in crowds.
You are reminded of this in deserts.
You are reminded of this in the company of your own most cherished relationships.
You are the needed silence to voices more impregnable than your beating heart.
Your walls are not to be destroyed, because no one wants to see the wreckage inside the desolate castle.
No one wants to hear about the kings who have conquered your land only to find it wasn't worth the trounce.
Rulers will not even mention their triumph over your kingdom, for it will trivialise their feats.
An inferiority complex means you will fall vulnerable to anyone even remotely salient.
You will remain in the peripheral vision of history.
You will live and die on the fringes of society.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 9:45 PM UTC
I so badly want to be a galaxy filled with constellations from a different universe.
I so badly want to see a different sun. Taste a different ocean.
Feel a different moonlight.
I crave new experiences, but I so badly want to be that new experience.
I've grown so tired of my mistakes
I've grown so tired of my regret.
Of mountains of memories I wish I could forget.
My fingers are like matches constantly trying to burn everything of my past and my tongue like water extinguishing the flames.
Instead filling the buckets of regret.
I am actions on actions of please, god, no.
I am living in the moment and never enjoying as much as I lead people to believe.
Someone take me somewhere else.
Let me become someone else.
I no longer know what I've become, all I am aware of is that I'd rather suffer an unknown destiny on the sun than continue to suffocate in my regrets.
I do not ponder like man on moon.
I do not swallow suns.
I do not spit fire or breathe poisonous gas.
I am neither soft cloud, nor hard volcanic rock.
I am mangled in all the worst ways.
My eyes are never wallowing pools of crystal clear waters nor murky puddles of mud.
They are despair upon despair.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 9:44 PM UTC
Who are these people behind your pencil marks, why do some drawings look so much more detailed than others
Why didn't you draw his mouth
Why didn't you give her ears
Why do you take away their parts
What about it don't you want to draw
What about it don't you want to put on paper
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
I could stare at broken windows all day
And not once feel what it felt like
when I first realised I really didn't want to be put back together again
like dull crystals and melted snowflakes
I wish you would just notice me
I got suns inside me that would orbit you if you just as much as smiled at me
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 3:32 AM UTC
I've got mountain ranges trapped inside me like whistles on a broken melody of symphony
I speak in sonnets of Shakespeare my anxiety it's shakes fear
I've got oceans bottled up inside messages asking for saving
This is survival poetry.
So let me tell you about how I was saved by the colour brown.
They say fall in love with the girl with forests in her eyes
So my whole life I've been searching for hills to dive in.
Till one day I came across a mid-winter's night dream.
Of leafless trees and barren fields.
Of branches shivering in the cold wind of winters heart.
Every idea
Every sensation to exist
Every desire to consist-ently
Talk about how yesterday I was a graveyard but today I'm a orphanage
Not dead yet
Just searching for a home
For a family
I'm searching for serenity
Before I'd search in places made of gold and tender hands
Before I'd search in places that said the right things
Before I'd search in places called emotional abuse.
Called a trip down memory lane, except the memories were in the basement and I was pushed down the stairs.
Walking around with a broken halo and an excuse to call misery home.
But today I see sunsets reflecting off mirrors into the southern void of the Carcasses you once loved.
Scraping gum off the sidewalk of my spine.
Replacing them with burnt bridges and animal traps. Like claws saying, "don't **** with me."
You ever hear of the buddy system?
Well it's enforced a poor sense of self worth in me. Making me think that being codependent was survival. Making me think that I was incomplete in need of another half.
But I'm only now realising I'm both sides of the moon.
I'm the night and the day.
I'm the birds in the morning and the crickets in the evening.
I'm the ocean and the sand.
The mountains and the canyons. I'm the whole ************ in one.
The other day someone mentioned that whole and hole sound the same but are polar opposites and maybe that's why my whole life hearing the words "good enough" sounded like a request to empty an abyss.
Maybe I was misinterpreting. maybe it was a poor choice of words, like
i need you
But only to fill this void.
To take the pen and write a poem but then say, "it doesn't really mean anything I was just bored"
Bored like boarded windows and mean like the average amount of demons hiding in the brightest corners of my mind. (the answer is one less than the amount of hands clutching onto the pen.)
I'm addicted to this feeling of revealing every part of me in words that mean everything other than what they're inclined to be.
This world is Kryptonite in your veins and you've got are 24 steps left to reach the sun.
A day ago you were speaking about crystallized harmonies like your sister's violin chiming through the corridors of your two story childhood home. She had a room all to herself,but you had to share yours with skeletons in your closet, flies on the walls and the elephant who always seemed to be in the room.
However they weren't the reason you couldn't go to bed.
Cause after 17 years you've still got voices living in your head.
Father, is this our daily bread?
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC