Some people
Belong in this world
But perhaps there are those
Who simply don't
and simply can't fit
And I'm scared
That I might be one of them.
I don't feel okay.
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 12:54 AM UTC
The ink on my pen comes straight from my veins
And is refilled from my thoughts, not my heart
Cause when I write, only one thought remains:
The frightful truth that I’m falling apart
When the demons come, my heart seems to stop
My whole body shakes and no air comes in
My words fail me, but I can form teardrops
As I relive every one of my sins
Where my pain lies, white roses seem to grow
And seem to make my demons look pleasing
When I share them, the readers always show
Enjoyment from all my disguised bruisings
It was that moment my demons would be
Beautiful tragedies for all to see.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 11:10 AM UTC
Hello there
Miss Stranger
I'd like to know your name
If it’s all the same
Of course, this might seem rather strange
I'm afraid all we've had were passing smiles
And slight conversation
Friendly waves and sideways glances
Of our own creation
All of this happened
From two seats away
Please forgive me for staring
I’ve been itching to talk for days
A shy girl taking classes out of her league
And passing them like it’s nothing
A girl who rarely says a word
But her eye’s always reciting something
I knew I just had to know more
So I waved for the first time
And when you smiled and waved in return
I thought this would be alright
Hi there!
Miss Stranger!
All across the way
I enjoy the smiles we pass every day!
In class
The hallway rush
I wonder why I enjoy it so much!
We've rarely spoken small talk
Much less what we believe in
So why does a smile from you give me such a happy feeling?
This isn't love
I've made that mistake before
Maybe you seem nice and I wish to know more
Oh dear, this may seem a bit much
I assure you I'm not after affection or lust
Just a smile
And your name
If it's all the same!
Hey there
Miss Stranger
It was such a lovely day
I finally got the nerve to say
That I'd like to be friends
After days of finding the words
For days on end
I finally approached
Defying every insecurity and doubt
For talking to strangers can be rather difficult
And it makes my nerves want to shout
And even if you said no
I would be proud of myself for talking to you
To my pleasant surprise
You were delighted to!
It's always exciting to gain a new friend
For adventures and memories beckon as soon as they are created
It was a shame I was to blind to see
The end of us that awaited
Hello there
Miss Stranger
Do you remember the words we shared?
It’s a pity that you didn’t seem to care
What happened then?
Was reasons did you find
To let our friendship end?
Was it my daily messages?
Or my eagerness to know you?
Was it something I said
That may have caused you to rue?
We slowly faded back
Into the strange stage of strangers
And we left every possibility
Behind on the back hanger
Oh, well
I suppose I should've seen it coming
History repeats itself
And it always leaves me numb.
Take care
Miss Stranger
And thank you anyway.
I'll always be here to smile
When we pass every day.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
If I were to write a book
Based upon the entire life of you
Including the smallest of detailed details
Such as how your breath stays in perfect four/four rhythm
But changes based on the slightest change of emotion
And the way your lip quivers more upwards than downwards
When you are struggling to keep your composure
And how the sensations you felt spread smoothly throughout
your body from the source like a wave
And all of the billion little details like this
All of the little details that make up your life
Your history
Your memories
Your love
Your life
Your pain
Your regrets
Your dreams
Your importance
I wouldn't be able to complete it
For all of the trees in the land
Accessible by man would be cut down
And used for paper just for this book
And yet, it still wouldn't be enough
Your history alone would take up several volumes
Every breath would be chapters
Your birthdays would take up dozen of pages each
Your tears make up the changes in the exposition throughout
And your laughs make up the climaxes of each part
Biographies are made about specific persons
Only describing their general history
But none of them can truly capture that person and their value
For there will never be enough words
Or enough pages
To completely convey how special someone is
How important you are
You are important.
Remember this.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
She was only 17 and smelled of cigarettes and sorrow
Standing under an old streetlight on the corner of
42nd and Harlow Avenue in the latest the hour can be
Why was she there, on the corner of 42nd and Harlow Avenue?
Nobody knew
Not even she did
Or how she got there
But that part wasn't entirely important
She still had her phone, her purse, her dignity
And most of her clothing?
Maybe just her phone and purse.
Her intoxication had taken over
Her vision is slightly blurry
And her head feels as though it weren't even there
Her senses are tricking her
For she hears a familiar rhythm from behind
Getting louder and louder in 4/4 time
She only realizes what it is when it stops right next to her
"How Much?" The man asks her
His eyes are full of greed
And his breath's filled with Whiskey
Hers probably smelled the same
Along with the result of an empty Camels pack
"Well?" He asks again, his eyes fixed on every curve her dress made
"How Much?"
She looks at him
Dead in the eye
"Life has no price when one wishes to end it."
He stares at her for a few seconds more
Then walks off into the shadows to find satisfaction
She watches him go
And keeps looking long after he's gone
She opens a new pack
And blows through half of it
Toying with the idea of taking three steps into Harlow Avenue
Seemed a fitting ending
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
Maybe I misspoke when I told you to leave.
When I told you to get out,
I also meant to get out of my thoughts.
I don't appreciate you hanging around there all the time.
Maybe I should put up a "No Loitering" sign in my brain,
But you never listened to me, anyway, so I don't think it would work.
I told you I was tired of the games,
But you're still playing hide and seek.
Cause everyday I see you in the crowd,
And every time I lose sight of you,
You vanish
I told you to leave me alone,
But every night
You whisper in my ear for hours,
Causing me to lose sleep
And to dream of the memories we shared.
The good and the bad
And boy,
Were they ugly
It's so bittersweet,
Because to me,
It feels like you never left.
I didn't really want you to leave, anyway.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
My life is a cassette tape
that is playing in a tape deck
in the middle of nothingness
under a single light bulb that keeps on flickering
threatening to go out any second
The songs are the stages of my life
the beginning of the mix
full of soft melodies and light harmonies
peaceful and careless
with a hint of minor chords
as all songs should have
I have progressed through Side A
containing a mix of songs that have been
progressively getting slower
softer
sadder
each song more so than the last
And as I approach the end of the side
I become scared
for if the songs go down this current path
I might not ever reach Side B
I have hopes for what the next side contains
Songs with hopeful notes
and delightful rhythms
but if I fast forward
I might miss where I want to be
and if I rewind
I would eventually wear out the tape
and every now and then
with the current songs
I'm tempted to stop and eject the tape
But my favorite song is coming up
and eventually
if I keep listening
and be patient
I'll make it
this song in particular has a hint of hope
in the form of a new light
that I can hook up
over the tape deck
Maybe this mix won't end as bad as I think it will
maybe if I hit play
I'll be okay
I just hope
that this light will be there until the end of Side B.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
My last cigarette
Doesn't have the same affect as the first one.
The nicotine doesn't take the pain away anymore,
Doesn't fix that emptiness in my chest.
That's still there.
Just filled with smoke for only an instant.
Oh well.
At least the red glow adds a little colour to my life
When everything else around me
Is dull,
Boring,
Uninteresting,
Lifeless.
There used to be another colour besides the red of the embers:
Green,
In the Iris of her eyes.
Waking up to them in our own little place in a broken city,
To them staring at me
With a slight glistening
And a pretty, grey smile
That made the rising sun seem irrelevant.
It was a beautiful sight,
One a Polaroid couldn't quite capture ,
Or paintings quite express.
How could something so wonderful exist in a world so colourless?
I wish I knew,
But I'd never know,
And I'd never be ready to lose it.
Even after you left.
Nothing has given me quite the same feeling
Of happiness and curiosity,
Because no matter how hard I look
In any direction,
I see the same shades of nothing everyday,
And walk through these streets full of people, full of activity,
But it feels so dead.
I'm so tired of it.
I miss the green that lit up the world in the most miraculous of ways, that made it prettier.
It's a stunning sight.
And I'm still in a daze countless packs later.
I used to think it would always stay that way, us together,
Taking on the blackness of reality.
I should've known better.
I was a fool.
I'm sorry.
Now you're gone,
And cigarettes can't replace you.
Since then,
and every night on,
I light a cigarette,
My new lover,
And count all the ash I've let fall.
I've lost count ages ago.
But I'll light another one, anyway.
So here's to you, sweetheart.
Here's to our memory,
Our lost possibilities,
and those pretty emerald eyes of yours.
~
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Hello there
Miss Stranger
I'd like to know your name
Of course, this might seem rather strange
I'm afraid all we've had were passing smiles
And slight conversation
Friendly waves
and sideways glances-
from two seats away
Please forgive me for staring
You just caught my interest
A shy girl taking classes out of her league
And passing them as if it was simple elementary
I just had to know more
So I waved for the first time
And you waved in return
And thus, we were acquaintances
Hi there
Miss Stranger
All across the way
I enjoy the smiles we pass everyday
In class
The hallway rush
I wonder why I enjoy it so much
We've rarely spoken small talk
Much less what we believe in
So why does a smile from you give me such a happy feeling?
This isn't love
I've made that mistake before
Maybe you seem nice and I wish to know more
Oh dear, this may seem a bit much
I assure you I'm not after affection or lust
Just a smile
And your name
If it's all the same.
Hey there
Miss Stranger
Wasn't it such a lovely day?
It was the day
I finally got the nerve to say
That I'd like to be friends with you
After days of finding the words
and the courage
I finally approached
Defying every insecurity and doubt
For talking to strangers can be rather difficult
And even if you said no
I would be proud of myself for trying
To my pleasant surprise
You were delighted to!
It's always exciting to gain a new friend
For adventures and memories beckon as soon as they are created
It was a pity it was such short lived
For not even days after
We returned to our routine
Of smiles and waves
On an endless repeat
How did this happen?
Was it something I said?
Without warning
We slowly faded back
Into the strange stage of strangers
I guess I shouldn't complain
Could've been a lot worse
Though every possibility our "friendship" had
Faded away right along with your desire to know me
So it seemed
Oh, well
I suppose I should've seen it coming
Take care
Miss Stranger
And thank you anyway
I'll always be here to smile
When we pass everyday
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
They say that "You're your own worst critic."
In that case, I have it out for myself.
I say this because whenever I create something, whether it be poetry or fiction
I find every f̶l̶a̶w̶
Every e̶r̶r̶o̶r̶
Every m̶i̶s̶t̶a̶k̶e̶
Every word
And point it out
Showing myself the absolute m̶e̶a̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ nothingness they convey
Reminding myself that
All my work is a̶c̶c̶e̶p̶t̶a̶b̶l̶e̶ terrible
I a̶m̶ ̶a̶ ̶w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶r̶ am not good
I should c̶r̶e̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ give up
And with that
The familiar feeling of doubt continues to crawl under my skin and through my head
Whispering sweet nothings into my ear as I type
As I look at the screen,
As I look at what I have accomplished:
s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶
Nothing
I l̶o̶v̶e̶ hate it
I leave it be
Unfinished and hated
For d̶a̶y̶s̶
W̶e̶e̶k̶s̶
Months at a time
Until I come back
Remembering the words
Remembering the hatred
Mr. Hemingway had once said “You shouldn’t write if you can’t write.”
Brilliant man.
Brilliant writer.
However
People seem to enjoy my words and my writing
So the question arises:
"What if I can write, but am convinced that I can't?"
Should I still give up?
Should I force myself to write, as I am now
Hating every w̶o̶r̶d̶ flaw?
What should I do if the only force that stops me from writing freely
is my own self hatred?
The only option to combat this doubt
is to convince myself that I am g̶o̶o̶d̶
T̶a̶l̶e̶n̶t̶e̶d̶
C̶r̶e̶a̶t̶i̶v̶e̶
A̶m̶a̶z̶i̶n̶g̶
A̶r̶t̶i̶s̶t̶i̶c̶
Me
****
My own d̶e̶p̶r̶e̶s̶s̶i̶o̶n̶ worst critic.
**** you for being right.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 7:56 PM UTC