How wonderful would it be if I could twirl around on my toes like I always craved to do since I was a few thousand days old?
How fantastic would it be if I could paint a masterpiece as big as the solar system and add the details of every star out there, even the shooting ones?
How phenomenal would it be if I could glide beautifully on thick beds of glistening ice while music invades my ears?
How outstanding would it be to take a bite of golden victory as the anthem of my country performs along in the background?
How bizarre would it be to skate my bow on rosined chords and shape ethereal harmonies?
I wake up every morning full of wonder, puzzling, wanting to try everything there is on Earth and to savor gold as I live every illusion there can be.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
i cannot explain this bitter feeling of feeling like you are being forgotten, like you don't exist for a moment to the person that you name stars after and all I know is that it eats you from the inside out starting with emptiness filling the stomach, a dull pain in the heart and making its way to the mind, filling it with cyanide.
it makes its way to the eyes and rivers spill (if they haven't poured out already) and it keeps you from feeling the least bit cheerful enough to do anything.
all you know it that you loathe yourself for not being intriguing enough for them to at least spend treasured seconds of such relatively short life to send a good night message when more than just dear seconds of your relatively short life turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours to ponder and puzzle, to overthink and look for keys that are not there.
i cant explain this poisonous feeling of not feeling enough for a person that sparks metaphors and poetry that will not be read by a single soul, not even reread yourself.
and this is where you crave another body, another soul, some peculiar and truly fascinating pair of eyes.
you sink yourself lower and lower than you accustom to until rivers turn into oceans and you hit the Mariana Trench.
your insides have tightened, your eyes have iced and you cannot feel a thing.
you just want to have the honor of reaching every corner and junction of that person's brain all twenty-four hours of the day like they linger in yours.
you want to have your eyes compared to at least shining stars like you compare theirs to galaxies, to dedicate at least precious seconds of their such a lightning life to you, just like you dedicate beloved hours to them.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
here's the price for playin with fire
I'm the dealer you're the buyer
one way ticket to hell
i sense your eagerness, i know it well
STOPPIN FOR PASSENGERS
get some rush thru your vein
here i am to step up the game
okay sit back relax
check your arms .. their full of tracks
moving on to your femoral vein
a 5 mill needle gonna rush your brain
watch out for the DVT
the NHS amputate for free
sit back and enjoy the ride
you're about to lose all your pride
you just handed it to me
i ain't finished yet ... you will see
here i am to make you hurt
as I grind your life into the dirt
(C) MANDY RIGBY 23.06.214
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
Buy me ripped skinny jeans
And feed me LSD
Maybe then I'll be happy
Earlier this night I traveled down memory lane
Please call my friend Mary Jane
She'll help me forget
I'm in this ****** life I know I'll never win
Unless I get my veins full of heroine
I don't even know how to keep myself sane
Without a hit of *******
All I ever wanted was to leave behind a legacy
But the thing is I no longer feel the ecstasy
That's supposed to be lingering in my ways
I'm in no position to pretend that I'm holy
Especially when I'm always seen
With my good friend Molly
Cause who am I to avoid all this
I'm just a sad lonely teen
Feeling psychedelic
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
It is a growing issue
that the amount of metaphors
never used before by the hand of man
is decreasing significantly
and needs to be addressed soon
because the number of poets appearing
out of nowhere
is increasing exponentially
because we all want to
compare our love to the wind
forever competing
for self entitled originality
and instant gratification
until all we have left in this world
is cliche
after cliche
after cliche.
Where will we find ourselves
when we find out
all the words are taken?
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Echoing in a room of memories
Struggling to understand themselves
Words stuck on a ruined tongue
Aiming to become anew
Benefits of a scam
Of a game
Of a plan
But the benefits of a failure?
That's one to undermine your proficiency
Not excluding the fact that your allocation of thoughts are all over the place
Varying off center
Unintended
But carried efficiently
Like the assumption of happiness
Of trust and honesty
Subtle hints that should not be ignored
Regardless of the fact that you're in another's door
And i'm highlighting the points that should have stood out
The warnings
The symbols
Screaming, get out.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
I've spent restless nights writing poems to and about you with heavy eyelids; poems you'll never read, poems I'll never have the guts to let you read, poems you'll never even know about.
I've described every single part, perk, quality of you with the most beautiful words I can find in the dictionary because you don't deserve simple, ordinary words.
Even your flaws are beautiful.
And still, I cannot string any of the million words in any language together to describe you or my love for you perfectly.
And I write about you like you sank your paintbrush in a cup of universe and created hundreds of galaxies; like you placed the stars in the sky, neatly arranged them into beautiful constellations.
Here is yet another poem for and about you, written with eyelids as heavy as the ocean at 3:36 in the morning, after deciding there was no way I could sleep as my mind was still awake and thinking about you- as always.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
I'm tired of writing poems about love
Poems about sadness and darkness
Can I write about something above?
Like clouds and the brightness
In the big infinite sky?
I want to forget the madness
I wanna set my head up high
And write a poem
About how the birds fly
About the waves in the ocean
And the sun above all the beauty
Throw away the emotion
And write about how the leaves fall
Like in autumn above all
But let me not forget
To write about how I don't regret
Falling into darkness and hate
Because it made me stronger
And that it's just great
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
The shadow of my past
Follows me everywhere I go
Whatever I do last
It has to blow
The pain will never leave
I just learn how to deal
With the burning in my soul
With the questions unanswered
With the things that never happened
I only see the beginning
But I can't see the end
I can't see who's winning
I can't see were I went
I'm stock in here
The worst part of my life
Why can't I see clear?
Why can I see the light?
The air within my lungs
Is fulfilled with poison
With uncharged guns
And the twilight zone
The thoughts can seem to leave
The "what if "seems to stay
The bad regrets can't let be breath
And is everything in the same day
No night
No moon
No light
Only a large tune
There's no end
There's no start
Perhaps I'm dead
And that's why.
- G.R
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC