When I was young I didn't think I'd spend my nights like this I don't really know what I imagined But I know that it wasn't lying in bed at 3am Trying to fit suicide into my schedule like lunch with an old friend
I can put any insignificant thing into words, why on earth would I want to do the same thing with you? I could give you thousands of metaphors of love but it will end with broken hearts on the sidewalk and I could give you hundreds of synonyms of happiness but it will turn to fear of being alone soon enough
you should now by now that my writings are not the place for things that I love.
I asked you who you were and what you like to do and you responded with a list of girls you want to ****
I asked what music you listen to and what TV shows you watch and you responded by telling me that the girl at the coffee store counter in the black coat with the dyed hair and dark blue lipstick probably had a tight *****
I asked you if you care that I think you're defined by the young girls whos names don't even matter to you as you drag them through the mud
I asked if you thought a woman is worth anything more than tight jeans and fully-made faces
I asked if you thought that a woman had something more to offer her legs and whats between them
and you told me to shut it with that feminist ******* and help you get that girls number etched into your bedpost
the streetlamps are broken and so are the stars - but I'll find my way home by the light of my phone - It's not the glowing screen that lights my way - your voice on the other end is what blurs the dark away
AND FRIENDSHIPS BEING TORN APART RIGHT BEFORE THEIR EYES
*THAT'S THE TEENAGE SPIRIT!
I've been very interested in mass murderers lately. I read the journal of one Eric Harris (a shooter at Columbine), and it inspired me to write. He was a very angry young man, and he felt left out and isolated by his peers. This poem is from his perspective. I do not condone his actions or attempt to glorifey them, I just find his motives for killing rather fascinating. Especially considering it's a very normal teenage thing to feel isolated and angry, but most teenagers don't become notorious mass murderers.
I've lost my way with words recently, you know that I mean, I stutter like a nervous wreck and the things I say are pretentious as all **** but even so you make me want to write something sweet and sincere you make me want to shout ****** ******- my heart is beating so fast! you make me want to laugh so hard we fall in the mud and even though we're filthy we keep on laughing like the morons we are I want to be still for you, no more fits and no more tremors but most of all? I want to kiss you and enjoy the simple pleasures of being two teenagers in love
i retract everything this poem says. the subject of it was a lying *******. It was not written about anything based in truth, and therefore it is only a work of fiction. all references to a real person are accidental, because there were no real people in this poem. only a lie.
The feeling Simply made way For new things to feel
And I Will move on Away from her
And she Away from me Will move on
And in The burning memories in front of me I found peace
I miss her, and I will never stop missing her. But I have found peace, despite the fact we will never speak again. The things we shared will always be something beautiful, even if we were young and ******.
I don't write that kind of poetry you know the type, pretty flowing words that trickle down the page like a quaint little waterfall in a fancy garden while daisies open themselves up with so much confidence without any doubt
and I say something about myself without saying anything at all
the three dimensional poems that you could take a stroll through and you can lay in the summer grass by the lake you could get lost in the meaning
even though you're not so certain what the meaning is, at least not for sure
no, I'm not so good at that
my words are more like... running through the forest while it's dark and cold because you want to get home and you're positive you just heard something rustle in the dead leaves behind you
like telling your blaring warning signs to calm the **** down, it's just an uneasy feeling
like telling the paranoiac to grow up and walk the **** pathway
it's shameful, annoying, it's just some dumb feeling
no, I don't write the sweet paintings kind of poem
I write my heart out into my notebook before I scribble it out and decide I had better not bother
my poems are regret- regretting putting something good in my butchered understanding of art and words
every piece is the best I can do and that's about it
When I was younger I loved the world I saw no suffering Pain is a distant myth Bees fly high in their way Birds singing their cheerful melody Cats and dogs played chase till sun's end
That was a wonderful time
And what did you do to it?
"****** boy, that's not right" Your words were foreign to me I have not heard them I tilt my head and ask you "what?"
"Dumb boy, you have an attitude" These words again No definition in my mind I ask you again What do you intend with these words?
"Your mother has done wrong in raising you, undisciplined, disobedient, you'll get nowhere in life" Am I one to be trained like a dog? I begin to think What have I done? No answer comes to mind But maybe what I do right is wrong? Maybe that's what it is It must be No other reason explains it
What have I done right? I can't tell Not anymore The lines between right and wrong start fading It was right, right? Or definitely wrong. Or is that wrong? I don't know
Now years later I still don't tell I can't Not because I lack the effort to try Just the motivation I tried again And my efforts are failing me So why try now?
It all makes sense to me Good and bad I can't understand your reasoning That's my downfall Empathy is not something I am not capable of But I don't think you are
I think I might of been able to tell Long ago But you beat that out of me
The perfect vision to see I see no lines anymore Colourblind to green and red
It's not that big a deal I stare at the food dropped carelessly into the sink It's only spilled I can make some more I look at the empty bowl beside me It's not that big a deal I mean I'm hungry and I haven't eaten all day But I guess it's fine And I guess I was really trying to be healthy again But that's okay mistakes happen And I guess that things haven't been going too well And the only solace I can find lately is little things that show I'm still capable Simple things like having a meal And now it's all in the sink And that's fine that's fine I'm so hungry and tired and I don't have any energy left It's alright I guess It's fine I'll just wash away the mess And go without food today
I CAN LOOK A KILLER IN THE EYES AND TELL YOU THAT I DON'T BELIEVE IN EVIL BUT SOMETIMES WHEN I LOOK INTO THE REDDISH BATHWATER AND SEE YOUR REFLECTION STARING BACK AT ME I SERIOUSLY QUESTION MY JUDGEMENT