srosep - Hello Poetry

I tend to love things that other people don’t Things that are deemed unworthy or unamusing or unlovable I like that they get to belong to me That I don’t have to share because no one else would want them And those that do love them know them exactly the way that I do I don’t have to explain or justify or debate They’ve already made up their minds Melodramatic 90s horror movies Overacted and underwritten Songs that no one I know has ever heard of That don’t exactly sound too great but also don’t try to Angry men That are broken and sad and misunderstood Boring games people might play but refuse to watch Gentle violence buried under 15 over-intellectualized layers of utter ******** Dated house decor Like Tiffany lamp shades and conversation pits and wood paneling Weird and awkward art Not quirky or cool but just so very weird They make me feel like no matter how unlovable I feel No matter how out of place I seem No matter how precarious my will to live may be Someone’s going to love me the way I need to be loved They won’t care that other people don’t get it They won’t try to paint over the imperfections Or try to hide the scars that make me less marketable They’ll say it all adds character Makes me feel warm and inviting The way a home is supposed to I’m someone’s cult classic Waiting to be discovered

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Oct 30, 2025

Oct 30, 2025 at 12:49 AM UTC

cult classics

I tend to love things that other people don’t Things that are deemed unworthy or unamusing or unlovable I like that they get to belong to me That I don’t have to share because no one else would want them And those that do love them know them exactly the way that I do I don’t have to explain or justify or debate They’ve already made up their minds Melodramatic 90s horror movies Overacted and underwritten Songs that no one I know has ever heard of That don’t exactly sound too great but also don’t try to Angry men That are broken and sad and misunderstood Boring games people might play but refuse to watch Gentle violence buried under 15 over-intellectualized layers of utter ******** Dated house decor Like Tiffany lamp shades and conversation pits and wood paneling Weird and awkward art Not quirky or cool but just so very weird They make me feel like no matter how unlovable I feel No matter how out of place I seem No matter how precarious my will to live may be Someone’s going to love me the way I need to be loved They won’t care that other people don’t get it They won’t try to paint over the imperfections Or try to hide the scars that make me less marketable They’ll say it all adds character Makes me feel warm and inviting The way a home is supposed to I’m someone’s cult classic Waiting to be discovered

31

I went out for a drink with my mother, But on this night she wasn’t my mother, And I wasn’t her daughter. We laughed how I was finally old enough for this, To drink, Like i had finally been invited to leave the kids table. She liked the shade of my lipstick, And I told her I took it from her room, And we laughed again, At how she wore it in college, And my, oh my how I was beginning to look like she did. There was a sort of sadness that sat between us, As we drank and laughed and spoke, A bitter loss, A fresh wound that bled pure grief, That we could have been friends, In another world or another life, Where she is not my mother, And I am not her daughter, And we met, In a booth at our favorite restaurant, Sharing a laugh and an appetizer, Swapping stories about our lives, Our families. They would love us in this other world. She’d have a husband who made her feel seen, Her father would still be alive, And I’d have a mother who loved me for being me, She’d be soft and gentle and kind. We would be so happy, To gossip and share and then go our separate ways, Catch up again on another day, But we don’t get to go to our own homes, Where she feels loved and I am safe. Instead I sit in her passenger seat, While the beer subsides, And the loneliness comes back. This is our world, Where she is my mother, I am her daughter. In this world maybe that’s all we’ll be.

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Oct 19, 2025

Oct 19, 2025 at 4:42 PM UTC

Mother and Daughter

I went out for a drink with my mother, But on this night she wasn’t my mother, And I wasn’t her daughter. We laughed how I was finally old enough for this, To drink, Like i had finally been invited to leave the kids table. She liked the shade of my lipstick, And I told her I took it from her room, And we laughed again, At how she wore it in college, And my, oh my how I was beginning to look like she did. There was a sort of sadness that sat between us, As we drank and laughed and spoke, A bitter loss, A fresh wound that bled pure grief, That we could have been friends, In another world or another life, Where she is not my mother, And I am not her daughter, And we met, In a booth at our favorite restaurant, Sharing a laugh and an appetizer, Swapping stories about our lives, Our families. They would love us in this other world. She’d have a husband who made her feel seen, Her father would still be alive, And I’d have a mother who loved me for being me, She’d be soft and gentle and kind. We would be so happy, To gossip and share and then go our separate ways, Catch up again on another day, But we don’t get to go to our own homes, Where she feels loved and I am safe. Instead I sit in her passenger seat, While the beer subsides, And the loneliness comes back. This is our world, Where she is my mother, I am her daughter. In this world maybe that’s all we’ll be.

41

I grew up here, Not just in this city or this state, But this house, With my parents’ room down the hall, The bathroom I used to share with my brother next door. I grew up on this street, Right next to the convenience store I used to buy candy from, Racing to get back before my mom got home from work, The same yard I’d wait in for my dad every night, The same neighbors. So much of this place is as it is in my memory, How it was when I was just a little girl. I asked my mother once, When I was small, If I could live with her forever, Scared of strangers, The idea of not making it home by the time the sun set. The thought that I wouldn’t just be older, But actually old, Was paralyzing. I’d be responsible for myself, For my life, For everything that happened to me. I wish I had grown up slower. I wish I still wanted to be here, Now that I’m stuck here. Most of all I wish I had become what I used to be so afraid of, Someone who was responsible, Someone who could take care of themselves. I wish my parents hadn’t flown me home, Fearing for my life and wincing at how skinny I’d gotten while I was away. I wish they hadn’t realized the damage they taught me when I was young, I wish they didn’t look at me with that guilt or shame or sadness, Like they took something from me, Like they broke me. I wish they wouldn’t keep reminding me that no matter where I go, What I do, Who I meet, I’ll always be that person I was when I was small, Fearful and clumsy and irresponsible, Waiting for someone to come home, Waiting for someone to take care of me. I miss when my fears were irrational, So far into the future they were laughed off. People used to think it was endearing that I thought about the future, Now it’s just depressing. Maybe I was right to be afraid. Maybe I’ve always known what kind of person I’d turn into. Maybe this will haunt me for the rest of my life, Falling asleep in the room I grew up in, With my parents down the hall, The ghost of my brother lingering next door. Is that sad? Is it sweet? I guess I’ll never know.

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Sep 6, 2025

Sep 6, 2025 at 10:06 PM UTC

i grew up here

I grew up here, Not just in this city or this state, But this house, With my parents’ room down the hall, The bathroom I used to share with my brother next door. I grew up on this street, Right next to the convenience store I used to buy candy from, Racing to get back before my mom got home from work, The same yard I’d wait in for my dad every night, The same neighbors. So much of this place is as it is in my memory, How it was when I was just a little girl. I asked my mother once, When I was small, If I could live with her forever, Scared of strangers, The idea of not making it home by the time the sun set. The thought that I wouldn’t just be older, But actually old, Was paralyzing. I’d be responsible for myself, For my life, For everything that happened to me. I wish I had grown up slower. I wish I still wanted to be here, Now that I’m stuck here. Most of all I wish I had become what I used to be so afraid of, Someone who was responsible, Someone who could take care of themselves. I wish my parents hadn’t flown me home, Fearing for my life and wincing at how skinny I’d gotten while I was away. I wish they hadn’t realized the damage they taught me when I was young, I wish they didn’t look at me with that guilt or shame or sadness, Like they took something from me, Like they broke me. I wish they wouldn’t keep reminding me that no matter where I go, What I do, Who I meet, I’ll always be that person I was when I was small, Fearful and clumsy and irresponsible, Waiting for someone to come home, Waiting for someone to take care of me. I miss when my fears were irrational, So far into the future they were laughed off. People used to think it was endearing that I thought about the future, Now it’s just depressing. Maybe I was right to be afraid. Maybe I’ve always known what kind of person I’d turn into. Maybe this will haunt me for the rest of my life, Falling asleep in the room I grew up in, With my parents down the hall, The ghost of my brother lingering next door. Is that sad? Is it sweet? I guess I’ll never know.

55

I am wrapped in my memories of you like a safety blanket, The smoke seeping from your mouth is entangled in my hair, Lingering in the clothes I stole from you, Some kind of comfortable asphyxia. The memories of us sitting on your couch, Drowning in tears and whiskey, Sobbing into your chest. Soft music pours from your phone and your lips, Old love songs I thought everyone else had forgotten, The tv is on but I don’t know what’s playing. The rain hits the grass in your backyard, The wind rustles the curtain over the backdoor. There’s a sadness there I can’t quite place. It sits between us. I don’t feel the pain I know is there, Physical or emotional, Despite the blood or the tears. All I can focus on is your arms around me, As we sit on the couch, As I sob into your chest. I feel your thumb brush against my arm, The even rise and fall of your breathing. It melts the pain while at the same time freeing it. I like to remember us like that, So small and so broken, No hope at all, But the love is overwhelming. Through the whiskey and the tears, Choking on the smoke, Shivering with the wind. All there is are your arms, And your voice, And your love. In those memories it's enough, To keep the sadness at bay, Keep the pain away, To fall asleep.

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Dec 14, 2024

Dec 14, 2024 at 10:30 PM UTC

smoke

I am wrapped in my memories of you like a safety blanket, The smoke seeping from your mouth is entangled in my hair, Lingering in the clothes I stole from you, Some kind of comfortable asphyxia. The memories of us sitting on your couch, Drowning in tears and whiskey, Sobbing into your chest. Soft music pours from your phone and your lips, Old love songs I thought everyone else had forgotten, The tv is on but I don’t know what’s playing. The rain hits the grass in your backyard, The wind rustles the curtain over the backdoor. There’s a sadness there I can’t quite place. It sits between us. I don’t feel the pain I know is there, Physical or emotional, Despite the blood or the tears. All I can focus on is your arms around me, As we sit on the couch, As I sob into your chest. I feel your thumb brush against my arm, The even rise and fall of your breathing. It melts the pain while at the same time freeing it. I like to remember us like that, So small and so broken, No hope at all, But the love is overwhelming. Through the whiskey and the tears, Choking on the smoke, Shivering with the wind. All there is are your arms, And your voice, And your love. In those memories it's enough, To keep the sadness at bay, Keep the pain away, To fall asleep.

37

You admire pieces of me Soft and beautiful For the pleasure they can give you You condemn my capability Practicality and spirituality You claim I can’t have it both ways I can’t indulge my senses and hold power the same Divine femininity has become synonymous with delusion In a modern world that will never love me I am aligned with the moon I am in tune With the rhythm of the waves And the passage of days You don’t know what I feel How it is to exist in a world not built for you Every living soul Assigning your worth for what you can’t control All of mankind is built on the principle That my body was built for your enjoyment That my life belongs to whatever man finds beauty in my eyes And peace in my silence Of course I turn to the tides and the trees and the breeze To find comfort in their embrace When you can’t hold me You mock me for connecting to something bigger than my body Loving Mother Nature more than the woman that brought Me into this world Yet you reduce my strength to beauty Tell me I am too weak and small and simple minded To understand a world you built Out of fear of me My divine femininity

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May 9, 2024

May 9, 2024 at 8:10 PM UTC

Divine Femininity

You admire pieces of me Soft and beautiful For the pleasure they can give you You condemn my capability Practicality and spirituality You claim I can’t have it both ways I can’t indulge my senses and hold power the same Divine femininity has become synonymous with delusion In a modern world that will never love me I am aligned with the moon I am in tune With the rhythm of the waves And the passage of days You don’t know what I feel How it is to exist in a world not built for you Every living soul Assigning your worth for what you can’t control All of mankind is built on the principle That my body was built for your enjoyment That my life belongs to whatever man finds beauty in my eyes And peace in my silence Of course I turn to the tides and the trees and the breeze To find comfort in their embrace When you can’t hold me You mock me for connecting to something bigger than my body Loving Mother Nature more than the woman that brought Me into this world Yet you reduce my strength to beauty Tell me I am too weak and small and simple minded To understand a world you built Out of fear of me My divine femininity

32

The world around me has become so loud, Drowning out the sound of my existence, As if I don’t exist at all. I’m still there, Ripples in the puddles I drown in, Whispers of wind through trees I fall from, A rotten fruit. I’m hidden somewhere in the Earth, Suffocating beneath the weight of the soil and my memories. I don’t want them to go away, I don’t want the pain of the past to leave me, But it’s running down my legs, A thick red liquid, It’s infecting my dreams, Smothering me with smoke. I need it to be quiet, Let me breathe. The dull ache I’ve spent a lifetime keeping at bay, Chained deep within my brain, Rising to the surface, Screeching along its tracks as it careens towards me. I feel so small, So fragile, So weak. I can’t hear myself think.

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Apr 3, 2024

Apr 3, 2024 at 1:11 AM UTC

noise

The world around me has become so loud, Drowning out the sound of my existence, As if I don’t exist at all. I’m still there, Ripples in the puddles I drown in, Whispers of wind through trees I fall from, A rotten fruit. I’m hidden somewhere in the Earth, Suffocating beneath the weight of the soil and my memories. I don’t want them to go away, I don’t want the pain of the past to leave me, But it’s running down my legs, A thick red liquid, It’s infecting my dreams, Smothering me with smoke. I need it to be quiet, Let me breathe. The dull ache I’ve spent a lifetime keeping at bay, Chained deep within my brain, Rising to the surface, Screeching along its tracks as it careens towards me. I feel so small, So fragile, So weak. I can’t hear myself think.

25

One day I will wake up weightless, With a steady heart, With rested eyes that will not cry. One day I will have only good dreams, Free from fear, Free from sadness. One day my mind will be calm, My thoughts will be good, My hands will be still. One day I will live to be alive, Not just out of spite or guilt, Not just because I feel I owe it to my mother. One day I will be here because I choose to be, I will want to be, I will hope to be. One day I will be sorry for who I was in the meantime, One day.

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Mar 27, 2024

Mar 27, 2024 at 9:00 PM UTC

One Day

One day I will wake up weightless, With a steady heart, With rested eyes that will not cry. One day I will have only good dreams, Free from fear, Free from sadness. One day my mind will be calm, My thoughts will be good, My hands will be still. One day I will live to be alive, Not just out of spite or guilt, Not just because I feel I owe it to my mother. One day I will be here because I choose to be, I will want to be, I will hope to be. One day I will be sorry for who I was in the meantime, One day.

17

I wish my existence could be as poetic as my subconscious, As graceful, Elegantly dancing through life, Like metaphors on a page, Rain filling puddles, Mud filling cracks, Swaying arms of willow trees. I think that I used to be that way, I appear to be in the hazy happiness of my memories, But I don’t trust my mind. I look back on a life lived in pastels, Baby blue skies, Blush pink cheeks, Sage green eyes, Lilac dreams. It’s all daisy chains and braids, A freckled face, Ferns and worms, Rolling clouds and running streams. I wonder now if those memories are just dreams, Did they ever really happen? Was I ever really happy? Or was it all just manufactured to protect me, A safety blanket, A quilt handcrafted by my mother? I wonder now if my life is just an amalgamation of stolen moments, Memories stitched together by glorified nostalgia, Fabricated by a veil so thin, Made entirely of imagination, A fictitious eulogy written by me as a child to remember the life I wish I had, A life I’ve never lived, A tortured poet trapped in a painfully privileged portrait. Who can I trust if not myself to remember my own life? I grew up cold, Stuck in the rain with a broken umbrella, With stormy eyes and a stormy mind, Deep greens and blues, Scarring scrapes from the sharpest scraps of misery. I was born in the image of hatred, Generational distaste that I inherited, The quietest violence, Gentle wrath buried beneath the softest reflection. Tell me I’m beautiful, Oh, how sweet, Tiny and weak. Admire all the lies I’ve told myself to stay alive, Hiding my agony in metaphors, Tucking it neatly between stanzas, A great illusion, Fallacious lines describing a person I'll never be.

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Mar 12, 2024

Mar 12, 2024 at 6:28 PM UTC

Tortured Poet

I wish my existence could be as poetic as my subconscious, As graceful, Elegantly dancing through life, Like metaphors on a page, Rain filling puddles, Mud filling cracks, Swaying arms of willow trees. I think that I used to be that way, I appear to be in the hazy happiness of my memories, But I don’t trust my mind. I look back on a life lived in pastels, Baby blue skies, Blush pink cheeks, Sage green eyes, Lilac dreams. It’s all daisy chains and braids, A freckled face, Ferns and worms, Rolling clouds and running streams. I wonder now if those memories are just dreams, Did they ever really happen? Was I ever really happy? Or was it all just manufactured to protect me, A safety blanket, A quilt handcrafted by my mother? I wonder now if my life is just an amalgamation of stolen moments, Memories stitched together by glorified nostalgia, Fabricated by a veil so thin, Made entirely of imagination, A fictitious eulogy written by me as a child to remember the life I wish I had, A life I’ve never lived, A tortured poet trapped in a painfully privileged portrait. Who can I trust if not myself to remember my own life? I grew up cold, Stuck in the rain with a broken umbrella, With stormy eyes and a stormy mind, Deep greens and blues, Scarring scrapes from the sharpest scraps of misery. I was born in the image of hatred, Generational distaste that I inherited, The quietest violence, Gentle wrath buried beneath the softest reflection. Tell me I’m beautiful, Oh, how sweet, Tiny and weak. Admire all the lies I’ve told myself to stay alive, Hiding my agony in metaphors, Tucking it neatly between stanzas, A great illusion, Fallacious lines describing a person I'll never be.

50

It’s raining In this place that doesn’t rain This place that’s made of dust Rocky and bright It’s raining And I’m crying The trees are being watered As I am withering Life is being given to death Barren land Empty scenes And I’m dying In the rain where it shouldn’t be raining Rain that is not like home Let me go home The home that I left The dungeon I escaped Let me go back I want to go back Where pain made sense Where rain was supposed to rain Where tears were supposed to be shed I want my mother to hug me while she screams Bruises and bad dreams I want my father to leave me while I weep Unwilling to see I want that pain Anything over my vacant brain I want to feel again Anything I was invisible Forgettable So completely free My mind was mine It wandered and it dreamed Please Put me out of this empty misery Take me back home where nowhere feels safe I want rain where there should be rain Pain where there should be pain

0

Feb 12, 2024

Feb 12, 2024 at 10:08 AM UTC

it’s raining

It’s raining In this place that doesn’t rain This place that’s made of dust Rocky and bright It’s raining And I’m crying The trees are being watered As I am withering Life is being given to death Barren land Empty scenes And I’m dying In the rain where it shouldn’t be raining Rain that is not like home Let me go home The home that I left The dungeon I escaped Let me go back I want to go back Where pain made sense Where rain was supposed to rain Where tears were supposed to be shed I want my mother to hug me while she screams Bruises and bad dreams I want my father to leave me while I weep Unwilling to see I want that pain Anything over my vacant brain I want to feel again Anything I was invisible Forgettable So completely free My mind was mine It wandered and it dreamed Please Put me out of this empty misery Take me back home where nowhere feels safe I want rain where there should be rain Pain where there should be pain

40

I listen to male artists, Men who remind me of my father, And his pain, And my pain. I imagine they sing to me, Protect me, Love me, Give me all I've never been given before, Everything I was supposed to feel, Everything that was supposed to show me how people work. I listen to deep, strained voices and reflect, Connect to things I’ll never experience. Men are angry, Worthy of their feelings, Allowed to unleash their rage in screams and electric guitars and unnecessarily loud drum solos. I listen to music sung by men, But I also listen to Stevie Nicks, Joni Mitchell, Janis Joplin, Joan Baez, Even Dolly Parton. Hell, even Olivia Rodrigo. I listen to women who are angry, Angry and still women, Surviving through agony and still women, “Leather and lace,” Black clothes and black makeup, Singing about beauty and moonlight and darkness, Female rage. I don't have to be at peace to be a woman, I don't have to be happy to be a woman, I don't have to be pretty to be a woman, You don’t have to like me for me to still be a woman. Let me be angry, Let me feel pain, Let me be lost, Let me like the darkness, Let me find comfort in the night, Let me chase impossible dreams and impossible feelings, Let me feel everything I feel. Women are put in a box of emotions, Too sensitive, Too dramatic, Too simple. I am not sensitive or dramatic or simple, Don't put me in that box, Don’t tell me what I am, Don’t tell me how to feel, Don’t tell me what my feelings mean, What they make me, Don’t project your weakness onto me, I am not weak, I am not weak, I am not weak. Let me be raw and witchy and honest, Let me be intelligent and intuitive, Let me see more than you'll ever see in the world, Let me be frustrated and misunderstood and just a little too loud, Let me be a woman, Let me be me the way I should be.

0

Feb 11, 2024

Feb 11, 2024 at 3:42 PM UTC

let me be a woman

I listen to male artists, Men who remind me of my father, And his pain, And my pain. I imagine they sing to me, Protect me, Love me, Give me all I've never been given before, Everything I was supposed to feel, Everything that was supposed to show me how people work. I listen to deep, strained voices and reflect, Connect to things I’ll never experience. Men are angry, Worthy of their feelings, Allowed to unleash their rage in screams and electric guitars and unnecessarily loud drum solos. I listen to music sung by men, But I also listen to Stevie Nicks, Joni Mitchell, Janis Joplin, Joan Baez, Even Dolly Parton. Hell, even Olivia Rodrigo. I listen to women who are angry, Angry and still women, Surviving through agony and still women, “Leather and lace,” Black clothes and black makeup, Singing about beauty and moonlight and darkness, Female rage. I don't have to be at peace to be a woman, I don't have to be happy to be a woman, I don't have to be pretty to be a woman, You don’t have to like me for me to still be a woman. Let me be angry, Let me feel pain, Let me be lost, Let me like the darkness, Let me find comfort in the night, Let me chase impossible dreams and impossible feelings, Let me feel everything I feel. Women are put in a box of emotions, Too sensitive, Too dramatic, Too simple. I am not sensitive or dramatic or simple, Don't put me in that box, Don’t tell me what I am, Don’t tell me how to feel, Don’t tell me what my feelings mean, What they make me, Don’t project your weakness onto me, I am not weak, I am not weak, I am not weak. Let me be raw and witchy and honest, Let me be intelligent and intuitive, Let me see more than you'll ever see in the world, Let me be frustrated and misunderstood and just a little too loud, Let me be a woman, Let me be me the way I should be.

60