My life should come with a
Trigger warning: strong opinions
Trigger warning: depression
Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts
If you can't handle these things- don't read
Just walk away
I'm not sorry if these offend you
Because I don't put these parts of myself under a "read more"
It's a part of me,
Like the shows I watch
Or the music I listen to
I may apologise if I feel I've talked too long
But I'm not afraid to open my mouth
Trigger warning: mental illness
Should not be hidden
It is a part of many people's lives and,
Like any other illness,
Only gets worse if ignored
Just because my life should have a trigger warning attached,
Does not mean it should be hidden
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
if ever i want to see you
i simply close my eyes and there you are:
seared on the insides of my eyelids.
you're like an infection that just won't go away
yet it is a welcome pain,
a pain that i return to whenever i need to feel alive again,
or when i need reminding that there really is a reason to be alive
because sometimes it's hard to remember:
those little things do matter
those late nights will last
i matter to someone, somewhere
i'm not just some vagabond travelling through life
you've taught me that i may not always feel it
but i am loved
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
People idolise celebrities so much these days
We see them as perfect
Praising the good
Dismissing and defending the rude
It's gotten to the point where they're not even people anymore
God forbid we see them at a weak point
Hair messy
No makeup
Casual clothes
They're gods to us now
In shape
Never at fault
Always beautiful
We need to face the fact that our gods are people too
They have bad days
They make mistakes
They have personal lives behind the camera
Away from the flashing lights
We need to see them as such
And if they make a mistake
You don't have to defend them if they have no defence
In fact, you shouldn't
But you also don't need to forget about them
Saying you don't like your favourite actors, artists, singers
Just because of something they did that should never have happened
Everyone makes mistakes
And they are no exception just because they are in the limelight
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
Sometimes you just have to let your feelings out
They can't stay inside you forever
You let the words fall out of your mouth like marbles
They come quickly and thud on the ground
Leaving a sound you'd rather cover up
But the alternative would be to write it down
Letting the words stain the paper
But it doesn't work the same as telling someone
It's like putting a little band-aid on a gaping wound
When you know you should be getting stitches
But sometimes it's better
Because then you can read those stains again
When you feel differently about everything
You read them at 1am by the light of a candle or the moon
Letting them sing or scream or whisper
You let the speak while you half-heartedly try to drown them out with your favourite song
The lyrics swirl around your head
Distracting you from what you felt when you made these stains
If you don't let the lyrics distract you
You let tears fake from your eyes and intermingle with the stains
And ultimately they stain the paper too
You read these stains like music notes
They make chords and melodies
Until you decide to hit the pause button
And they are silent again
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
In today's society we learn to keep our words bottled up
Because the pain of letting anyone hear would be unbearable.
We keep ourselves behind lock-and-key,
Protecting our real personalities in a cage--
And we try our best
But all our beasts break free every now and then.
We try to contain them, to stuff them back behind those bars
But they lash out in the form of whispered words and late-night conversations,
Because prisons aren't adequate enough to protect us from ourselves.
We keep our lips sealed because this passageway to our mind is a two-way street.
If we open ourselves up and let people see who we really are
All we think about are the people who will infest that space where the words used to be,
Where the beast was kept.
We think about the people who will force themselves into our personality,
Paying semi-permanent rent in our very being.
We worry about the day they will want to act on the part that is temporary,
We fret about the day they will decide to rip themselves out of our core
Because by that time they've turned into a hangnail that we enjoy sharing company with-
We know it's there but it's subtle
And when it gets removed it hurts like a *****
It's not something that goes away immediately.
It takes a long time for this pain to go away
And even after it's gone it comes back if we're not careful.
If we don't guard our feelings, that loss returns with a vengeance.
We begin to regret everything that led up to this moment,
Everything that caused us this ache in the middle of our chest
Because keeping this all inside would have been better.
But as the good memories flood in we realise something:
Yes, keeping this all inside would have saved us the pain,
But it was worth it no matter how much pain they caused us
Because we are who we are thanks to them;
We can only hope they feel the same.
We can just add this to the growing list of scars that we have earned in battle.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
Women have so much to fear these days
We learn that when we're walking to our car in the dead of night
We should have our key jammed between our fingers in the fist of one hand
Poised as a weapon
And a jar of mace in the other
We learn to take catcalls as compliments
We learn that it is our fault if we get *****
Because when people hear about it, the words that should cross their lips--
"Is she okay?"
"Is the attacker doing time?"
--don't
Instead we hear "What was she wearing?"
Because if we dress a little less provocative
Maybe they will target someone else
Because we asked for this to happen
We are all learning the wrong way about everything
Instead of "ask consent" it's "don't get *****
Instead of "be respectful" it's "you should be flattered"
Instead of "don't attack someone" it's "protect yourself"
Does society not see how backwards this it?
Instead of preventing the crime altogether, it's "make sure it's someone else"
Because if it's not us, it's not happening
We say "ignorance is bliss"
But really ignorance is being stupid enough to think, over and over
It won't happen to me
It won't happen to me
It won't happen to me
Because it can
It can happen to anyone
At any time
And we need to try our ******* best to stop it
Because she didn't dress that way for you
And she most certainly didn't ask for it
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
You are musician:
Beating on your drum,
Forcing your way to the center;
But you do not use conventional instruments--
Your drum is not a drum,
But a woman.
You beat your music into her
Leaving only bruises and broken bones and insecurities--
And you.
You gain her trust before you begin your music,
And by that time her heart taps out the beat,
Shaping her own music to yours.
She may try to fight the conformity,
But your drums are so loud she can't drown it out,
And your music is constant--
You beat your drum until she can't take it anymore,
Until she is lying on the floor,
Broken,
Shattered,
Destroyed.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
is it a crime
if my poems do not rhyme?
i try to do spoken word
but my intentions must be blurred
just because my style is different from yours
doesn't mean others should get higher scores
the age groups have different maturity
but you expect us to keep our purity
you expect us to stay cliche
but that is child's play
i try to evolve my style
but you must think it is vile
i don't understand what i have done wrong
is it simply that i have strayed from the throng?
i do not regret what i did
only that my poem has been hid
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
Dear future self,
I wish I were you
so I would know if it was possible to stop hating myself.
I see other people do it so flawlessly
but every time I do I wind up deeper in this dark trench,
struggling to keep air in my lungs.
It's hard to do when you feel the ocean draining from your body
as if the tide were running low for now,
creeping farther and farther away from the shore
but i don't remember the last time the tide was high;
I feel like the waves will never touch the shore again.
The ecosystems along the sand are all ******* up
because this one small thing has changed;
I can't count the number of times I've tried pouring water on the dry beach
to trick the world into thinking everything was normal,
I wish it were that simple…
I wish I could throw up,
then maybe the burn of salt water in my throat will remind me that I'm real,
that I'm not just some empty cave,
echoing for eternity with my sobs,
but the water will only leave through my eyes.
It runs down my face and stains my faded jeans,
spelling out messages to me from the world:
"overdramatic"
"waste of space"
"get over it"
How could I possibly get over it when I can't even think clearly?
God **** it's so hard to breathe.
We as humans used to be able to inhale water without it hurting;
it was second nature to us.
but we quickly unlearn this the moment we take our first breath;
most of us will never need this skill again.
I often find myself wondering if I will ever learn how to take in the water like an old friend,
so it will stop being painful,
if my lungs will ever become numb to the sensation of water trickling into them.
Sincerely,
A girl too deep in the abyss to dig herself out
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
When you allow someone to tear you apart,
rip the mask from your face,
peer into the abyss to see who you really are,
you start to love the person they show you in return.
You don’t even know if that person is another mask or not,
but you love them with all your heart
and you can't imagine ever being without them.
But how can love make me feel so **** empty?
I think my biggest flaw is I fall too hard too fast
Even if there's no one there to catch me at the bottom.
I jump straight into the dark pit,
Love with my whole heart without looking down
even if I know it won't turn out well in the end.
Every time this happens I come out a little worse off,
A little more mangled than before.
I try to pick up my own broken pieces but it's hard when you're as torn apart as I am;
You stop being able to discern what piece of bone goes where,
Which pieces of flesh match up with each other.
I see myself as a puzzle that's all one colour;
I need to find someone who can tell the difference between my shades of black.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC