Bound by society,
Trying to free her wings
Balancing truth with conformities
Leaving her hung like a child on a swing.
Torn by expectations,
Each piece a clue to her mind
Ragged in clothes not hers, but theirs
Bearing with them, of her, no sign.
Leaving it, she'd attempted,
'Integrate', they said
'Lose yourself, to join us'
They could've said instead.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
Love to many people means just the
Phisycal things love to others mean to be able to trust the
Other person with their feelings to be able to love them and only them to love them with their whole heart forever but really does love EVER last I mean sooner than later love dies either in life ending or just no longer a flame or because someone thought love was a game if you take a step back and think Does Love Really Ever Last?
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
Sometimes a sadness comes over me.
And I drag myself under the porch
like a wounded dog,
injured and ashamed
ready to die, alone
I never let the rest the world see me like this.
My friends and family,
What would they think?
probably the worst,
Maybe they wouldn't think about it at all,
It didn't make much difference.
I howled and moaned and wept,
And sooner or later,
when I built up the courage,
Usually, after a night in a tall glass,
drunken spit,
and flickering cigarettes,
I drag myself back out.
I shake out my bones,
and start all over again.
I know one day
I wont have the strength to crawl back out from under the old porch ,
But that's okay.
We never really had a shot anyway
did we?
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
I collect poetry for pleasure
because i'd rather drown myself
in words that explain how i feel
and what i'm thinking, then
drown myself in peoples thoughts
and opinions about me.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
We are young men buried in books
Shoveling words every day
As we are gradually shaped into tools.
Ours minds drained deep in the pools
Of knowledge. So they say
We are young men buried in books.
We find ourselves caught in hooks
Of wisdom seekers shall we pray?
As we are gradually shaped into tools.
Exhausted, some will turn into crooks
While we proudly remain grey
We are young men buried in books.
We bear fruit of hope from the roots
Of pain so follow the rules we lay
As we are gradually shaped into tools.
Are we zombies in schools?
In our paths we never stray.
We are young men buried in books
As we are gradually shaped into tools.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
The spark of passion ignites the heart, until it is engulfed in a conflagration of notions, as curiosity triumphs over caution.
The seed of wisdom, planted in fields of knowledge, is cultivated and refined in kingdoms of intellect to innovate speeches of freedom.
Blisters in sweaty palms, rubbing against the pen, as it drifts between the paths of future and past, where hope is met and joy is felt.
Consumed by epiphanies, the heart-beat is felt by trembling hands, squeezing the pen for inspiration, to bewilder imaginations, giving birth to new perceptions.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
She said, "I can't swim"
With a voice so confident
The ocean believes
They're still best friends.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
Its 12:46 and I'm wondering if she's the one you're staying up late for. Does she fill your stomach with butterflies, like I did? Does her name sound so sweet it melts in your mouth when you say it? Does she graze your skin with her fingertips, like I did? Does the taste of her mouth get you drunk? Does she stare into your green eyes and melt into them, like I did? Does she point out when your lower lip trembles? Does she curl her fingers into yours, like I did? Do they fit just as perfectly? Does she kiss you deeply in the morning as she does in the night, like I did? Do her hips fit perfectly in your hands? Does she tell you how much you mean to her, like I did? Do you hesitate before saying it back? Does she smile at you from a distance, like I did? Does she bring you laughter even when she's gone? Does she love you as much as I did? Do you love her as you loved me?
Or did you never love me to begin with?...
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
Her mind was
a storm
her thoughts were
a hurricane
her eyes were sad
her smile was fading
her heard was breaking
but she lived
she was lost
in her own mind
her own world
she drank herself
into oblivion
she smoked
partied
surrounded herself
with people
and still she
felt empty
with no cure
but death.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC