Sometimes you have no reason to stay,
and realize that's a perfect argument to go.
And that taking an entirely new way,
is the sore but single method to grow.
If you're washed-on abeyance's bight,
and you feel decision's heavy heft:
To choose the left where nothing's right,
or go to the right where nothing's left.
Remember it matters not where you proceed,
or which mountain you want to ascend.
It does not matter whether you succeed,
it is the journey that matters in the end.
Don't tell me I'm pretty
Tell me that I'm passionate
That I have drive
Tell me that I make you laugh
That I know how to make your day better
Don't tell me I seem nice
Tell me that I'm kind and compassionate
Tell me that I'm not afraid to dream and to dream big
Don't tell me I'm perfect
Tell me the you love me despite my flaws
That you want to spend the rest of your life with me
Don't tell me I'm beautiful
Tell me that you'll be faithful and forever true
I used to wonder how people fell asleep in class
Now I wonder how they stay awake
I used to wonder how people failed their classes
Now I wonder how they pass
I used to wonder how people were alone
Now I wonder how they have so many friends
I used to wonder how people were sad
Now I wonder how to be happy
I used to wonder why people cut
Now I wonder how they live without self harm
I used to wonder what it's like to stay up late
Now I wonder what'd it be like to sleep enough
I used to wonder how they thought something was wrong with school
Now I wonder how somebody sees something right
I used to wonder how people want to die
Now I wonder how they stay alive
Time of death:
When you told me you don't love me anymore.
Place of death:
The park where we met,
on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
I remember the dreaded words which escaped your lips,
the heat in your words,
the look on your face,
as I took a metaphorical bullet to the chest;
it hurt like Hell.
Cause of death:
When you stabbed me in the heart for the first
and last time.
A fatal blow.
But in the coroner's office,
all the report will ever show is:
time of death:
Cause of death:
Trauma to the chest.
When your heart gets broken by someone, it feels like you've been struck in the chest. The air feels like it's been knocked right out your lungs and you feel as though you can't breathe. You feel a mixture of emotions all blurred into one mess. You play the final exchange in your head over and over again, and each time it gets harder and harder. Heartbreak. It feels like you've been stabbed in the back and shot in the chest all at once.
Imagine what would happen if suddenly
All of our technology just vanished?
I *know that most think
Life would become serene and peaceful
With socialisation and healthy leisure
All year round
But if we stop and truly picture
This new world
What we will see
Is chaos and confusion
With no understanding of how
To socialise besides our
And with no clue how
To yield a bat and ball.
Beyond this our drone-like minds
Wouldn't be able to comprehend
How to read or draw
Magical talents belonging to
An older world.
How pitiful existence is
With all of our life force
Being ****** into these gadgets
And how truly unlucky
For the new generation
As all their talents and mind are wasted.
//What I believe will happen in our near future//
If only you knew
How many of both my loving and aching poems
Were written because of you.
i have anxiety
sometimes it feels like my head is stuffed with crumpled ***** of paper: the things I never said, the things I should have never said, the things that someone never said to me.
all of these things are written on every piece of paper
there are so many right now that no more would be able to fit
yet i can't stop thinking things, i can't stop saying stupid things, i can't stop wishing things.
i sigh I reach up to my forehead and i grasp my bangs
with my shaky hands and pull
i'm hoping one day when i do this
the top of my head will yank open
all of these crumpled pieces of thoughts
will pour out in a pile
on the floor
i will kneel down
and uncrumple each and every piece
i will read each one
until my head fills up again.
— The End —