sallytomato
South African
A LOT OF MY STUFF IS JUST RIDICULOUS NONSENSE. Uh, so the gist of it is that I don't know much about syntax or the different structures of poetry, you can forget about punctuation too, all I want to do is write what I feel and hope someday I make somebody feel the way I do when I read other peoples writing. Yeah. / I've read thousands of beautiful pieces, thousands of authors and poets whose names I cannot recall on account of god awful memory. / / / "There's nothing worse than a writer with nothing to say." - Won't remember.
My heart tells me I'm alive, but am I really living?
In a world full of takers, what am I actually giving?
A half-mast, half-assed, half-empty cup of ****
Masked in awkward silence and sharp pointed wit.
I'll blame it on the others, say they aren't the same.
When I haven't given reason to remember my name.
Because it's easier to mask the fact that I'm a wreck.
By simply hiding on the wall like a speck.
Doubt and remorse will eventually take it's course.
I'm seeking inspiration, but am blind to it's source.
Hindrance and distraction caused by my reaction,
To the vices that provide me with cheap satisfaction.
Maybe I should simply just give it all away.
Leave town, just drive, without a word to say.
But that would be easy, with admitting defeat.
Another cycle of life that's stuck on repeat.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
Love me so much that it hurts?
Why not love me the amount that feels good inside?
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
but when he lost heart,
a girl
uncensured desperation,
insane he chose
******
thirty years
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
if i wrote you poetry
it would be art
but i would not explain it
or reveal its meaning
i would leave it open
to interpretation
i would let it have as many meanings
as there could impossibly be
but it's human nature to
want to understand everything if there is
no understanding
and no meaning is given
YOU WOULD JUST GET ANGRY
and not embrace its mystery
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
i'm becoming my mother
not the young, beautiful
confident woman she was
at 22
i'm becoming my mother
not the hopeful, brave
fearless woman i see grinning mischievously
in the faded, yellow picture
not her that was
but her that is
her
now
the only her i've seen
the one afraid to change
the one who won't take chances
the one who doesn't want to be seen
i'm becoming my mother
the lonely, bitter
sad old lady
the tired, faithless crone.
i'm becoming my mother
and i'm only 23.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
Writing is my most
Selfish act
I don't write for anyone
But myself
I don't write because
It's a want
I write because
It's a need
But I did once write
To bring you back
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 7:12 AM UTC
I have no confusion
I know what you can do
you are in my sight
you are in my eyes
what you don't see
does not exist to me
all that's falling
you take in
pieces whole to you
fixed is boring
you talk lightly
I hear nothing else
you're not from here
it's different
you're different
teach me
your luminosity
I want in
I'm like
all the others
find in me
a bend a buckle
single me out
high up
observe
I am alone
alone
high up
I will laugh
it will all seem
silly
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
I have all the pills
that fill
that ****
that settle me
each time I spill
restore me
when I'm ******* ill
warm me
when I feel a chill
nurse me when
I'm crying still
carry me when I
don't have the will
my pills patch up
infested wounds until
my fettered heart no longer thrills.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
Eyes are lifeless, limpy sack
Shells are barren, print-less tracks
How uninteresting you are to me
You stand there, departed
Like the bark of a tree.
You’re lacking in that something good
No rough patches on your silken wood
You touch me, dull, and frozen stiff
It’s not my intention to be insensitive.
But you leave no lasting impression
With your expressionless expression
And I laugh and cajole
Try to set fire to your soul
And yet not even a hint of aggression.
I try my hand at CPR
It doesn’t get me very far
You’re silent and empty
It kills me, you don’t care
It shouldn’t have to be this hard.
911 help me I’m clueless
How can one be so useless?
I fear that this pain will surely remain
And make this sad song become tuneless.
I’m fighting in vain
Buckling under the strain
Denial now my enemy
You’re just a dead brain.
And I scrap, battle, blow
But unlike the tree,
You have no capacity to grow
I really am afraid
You’re a dead brain.
And it dawns on me
You have no place in my journey
And you don’t even see
You’re the dead brain on the gurney.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 4:32 AM UTC