i've run out of poetry,
and now all i'm left with
is gray.
gray surroundings,
gray people.
i'm lost in a world
that's lost in itself.
i can't find the words
to even say what i'm feeling,
because all i see is confusion
staring right back at me.
i'm in a room full of mirrors,
my own reflection
not appearing
because i've lost myself
in the depths of my thoughts.
someone,
please find me,
someone, anyone,
i'm gasping for air
that's not even there.
no one understands,
yet you're all here to listen.
there's only one problem.
i can't find the words-
i've run out of poetry.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
Damaged people love you like a crime scene
Before any crime had been committed
They kept their running shoes right next to their souls every night
One eye opened in case something changed whilst they were asleep
Damaged people love in the most broken way
Damaged people love in the most gentle way
Damaged people do not love
Damaged people love too much
Their backs are always too tense, too tight
Made this way from carrying too many broken things
Because we all know broken things are the heaviest
Just look the weight of a broken heart
Damaged people will love that too
Damaged people love broken things
Because they remind them of themselves
Damaged people take broken things
And love them to the end
Trying to find that one broken thing
That will fit their cracks.
Damaged people love so well
They love like this because they have already seen Hell
And they know that every evil demon
Was once an angel before they fell.
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
I wrote something once.
I don't know where it came from,
or when it will come again.
I try so hard to put words on a page
so I can feel like myself,
but still they don't sound like me.
Words burn in my chest and
I can't spit them out.
Beer cools them, and so I drink it.
But the words go to my heart
and they squeeze and squeeze
and then I lose them.
They mean much to no one,
and not to me.
But left alone they squirm
and squeeze and shout
so I can't hear what they mean
or what I'm trying to think.
I can't get rid of them.
When I listen, they help.
When I don't, they burn.
I want to spit them all over,
so you can feel what they do to me.
But only if you're ready.
They're like worms, the words.
They eat, and sleep and breed,
and there's more of them.
And there'll be more tomorrow,
and if I can't get rid of them
they'll eat me alive.
When I put them on a page,
they stay still.
And then more come,
and I'll catch them too, hopefully.
Then they'll stay still
so you can see them.
The words.
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
quivering hands
grip this blade
invisible to all eyes
soul annihilated
ash descends
slowly
muffled abyss plunges here
apologies stifled
lick, diminish
**** collapse
swallow, ruin
quivering hands
clutch this crushed heart
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 11:41 PM UTC
Get up.
Get dressed.
Go to school.
Come home.
Go to Sleep.
Repeat.
Easy as pie!
A schedule right in front of you!
Easy to do!
Follow the steps and you’ll be fine!
Easy as pie!
But you are human.
You think,
And feelings overtake.
Easy as pie?
I don’t think.
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
Why do you feel the need to apologize for taking up space in the world?
Stop saying you are sorry
For existing
For living
For being human
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 11:08 PM UTC
i was born
with a heart too big to fit
inside my chest
and a soul bigger than my body
so i have chosen
to leave pieces of my heart
in the places my feet have known
in the people i have loved
in the words i have read
in the beauty my eyes have seen
and my soul-
i have scattered it like seeds
and i have left parts of it
in songs,
in poetry,
in the laughter of children,
in the arms that have held me
and the hearts that have loved me
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
she used to write so much
about love and other
nonsensical things
she was passionate for words
her mind filled with
imaginary memories
now her papers are blank
pen's lying on the table
and her hand
fitting perfectly
in another
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 3:17 PM UTC
Absence doesn't always make the heart grow fonder
Sometimes it makes it forget
And what doesn't **** you doesn't always make you stronger
Sometimes it tears you apart with regret
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC