Darling.
tell me,
how many times
have you lost yourself
while trying to make a home
out of someone else?

My heart is an open museum where people walk in and out for free. Exploring until they can’t find find what they intended for, so they walk away. And I stay with myself

“These bones could not contain my breaking, I am titanium plated, I harbor a splintered existence. My breath leaves rust on my lips. I still cannot end my poems in ‘I love you’, at the end I can only find loss

The ironic thing about pain is how beautiful a poet can make their sadness seem

There’s lightening in my heart.
It beats like thunder.
My chest echoes like a cave.
My ribs crack and my bones shake.
My veins like rapids.
There’s no room for air in my lungs,
And I gasp.
Anxious with open eyes

“Loneliness is black coffee and late-night television; solitude is herb tea and soft music. Solitude, quality solitude, is an assertion of self-worth, because only in the stillness can we hear the truth of our own unique voices

Applying a clown face and pretending everything is cool and content.

“I hope there are days when you fall in love with being alive.”

“I spoke about everything,
My heart did,
My voice, the bearer of my symphony,
The continuous hum of purity,
My heart said,
The words that I spoke,
And in my misery, I spoke about everything,
From the darkness in the corners,
Those shadows that pricked at my neck,
The trees that were too tall,
Or too short,
And the rain,
Too heavy or tickling my skin,
Or if it was the sunshine,
Too bright, or never enough,
I spoke of the ones I loved,
Too much, or too little,
I spoke of the ones I loved,
Too many, or too few.
I spoke, to the one I loved,
I spoke,
Too much, too little

I'm drowning, I'm done fighting a battle which will never end. I'm at war with my mind, yeah, I'm smiling but I'm drowning. I am still alive but I'm bleeding and I'm numb...I deserve the rain not the sun.

I have the words
but they are out of tune,
so write me a song.

I don’t play guitar
and I don’t read the notes
so write me a song.

I can give you words, but I won’t
cause I want your own
so write me a song.

And maybe we’ll sing it together,
Or i’ll sing it alone
Doesn’t matter, just write me a song.

Or a stanza,
Or a line,
anything, just make me something.

please,
write me a song…

The only mortal that can heal me is myself and until i learn the art of self-healing, i'll be a broken spirit.

“If you don’t feel like you’ve been stabbed in the chest every time you write poetry, you’re not doing it right. Because the part of you that’s hurting needs to bleed, needs to die. That’s how a poem is born.”

I feel like ****.

“I wrote my suicide notes days , no weeks, no months, no over a year ago today
But still
I stand here breathing
And there is a ghost standing over me from my past that I can’t seem to shake
So even tonight
I lay in bed
And wonder
Will I never want to take the bottle full of pills”

“She’s a bunch of broken maybes, never certain, never known, not even to herself.

What is happiness?Happiness is a short lived moment in her life. Sadness or darkness will always be there to stay forever. Bad energies, stress, unbalanced emotions are what she knows and will know forever. Her sun is always hidden. Where is she even going in life?She asks, hoping the maker will respond.

"Let me braid your hair, let's play a game of truth or dare.. Rather 'dare', because 'truth' will expose that you are broken"- Hlengiwe Mbatha

“If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.”

Time isn’t going to heal your wounds. It will just make them easier to conceal to the point where you forget you have them

Hoping for a miracle yet fearing for the worst.

Sometimes I feel like a wrong answer someone blurted out by accident, I’m awkwardly hanging in the air, wrong and stupid, hoping someone else will come in with the right answer and save me from the embarrassment of myself

Turned lonely into solitary confinement and apathy into a ******* contest.

They say "Your darkest hour comes before the dawn" but I am forever suffering and I still don't know what happiness feels like. I was at a funeral today, staring the coffin, I envy the person in it. When will my time to find peace in a coffin come? I am suffering and tired of waiting. I AM SUFFERING!

Why do we need sanity
when we can match the
colour of our shoes with
the bags under our eyes?

Let them tell you just
how good your anxiety
goes with your depression.

(Insomnia comes free when
you buy them together.)

Do you think she’ll tell you
where she picked up her neurosis,
and I wonder if they have it in my size

"Make-up, a content originally made to compliment a woman now corrupts her connection to a man's conception of what quality content is..."

“Two months in and all you know
is your new medication
makes your hands shake.
Twenty-four years old,
and you’re finally starting to understand
that calling a place home
doesn’t make it feel like one.
Yesterday, you learned how to change a tire, but
you still don’t know
how to love someone without
cracking your ribs open
and spilling through the fault lines,
like some kind of natural disaster.
You’re pretending if you keep laughing
you won’t have to admit
you’re afraid;
pretending like love’s gonna
solve all your problems;
pretending you’ve got it all together
when you don’t have it at all.
You have made so much
out of so little–
you built yourself tall
on the backs of every person
who told you you couldn’t.
You flew your colors in a war zone–
made it back wounded and alive.
You have done everything you know how,
and it means something
to have tried.”
— Twenty-Four

...Because paper has more patience than people.

We need to move away from this constant need of coming across as calm, cool and collected. We weren’t built to be calm, cool, and collected. If we were, it wouldn’t feel so exhausting all the time. It would, you know, come naturally to us. You know what comes naturally to human beings though? Being open, being messy, being raw, being unfiltered, having lots of feelings. Why should we have to stifle our true nature? Let’s go after the things we want, let’s love each other brutally and honestly, and not worry about the consequences. Let’s release the feelings inside of us and let them land somewhere special. Otherwise, we might have a lifetime of longing in front of us

“If you could feel the way my hands
shake when I write your name,
you would know how much you
mean to me and you would see
how much of my blood runs through
my veins for the sole purpose of
keeping you in existence because when
you are written across the pages
of my notebooks, it feels like you’re
still here, it feels like you could
never die– but my hands,
my shaking hands– they’re enough
evidence to show you’re no longer alive

I can hear it, can you?
The voice in my head that says; let’s just have one, maybe two
Try as I might, fight, fight, fight
I always give in to the craving
Straight down to the pub, I feel a little strange
I feel dazed, and confused, why am I here?
I feel guilt and I feel shame
It’s not going to happen again
I’ll never touch another drop, after this shot
Last hangover was death
I felt I would die
I felt anxious, I felt crazed
I felt like running away
Why did I drink until dawn the next day?
Now I remember the day I got drunk
It felt like a calling, a job to be done
you’ll drink until you’re happy, don’t answer back
and so I obeyed, until my whole world went black
And here I am again, preparing to drink
standing in line, waiting for service
anticipation, my heart races faster
I know it’s not good, but I just can’t help it
The thought of the sweet liquid, warming my heart
the laughter I’ll share, the fun I will have
then I hear the voice, urging me on
let’s just have one drink; it’s nice to feel nice
No! I hear you this time
It’s over, my friend
I see you this time
You are me, but I am not you
I grab my coat and head for the door

My whole world is grey. I'm seeking for my flashlight but unfortunately, sadly I am surrounded by darkness, grey. No light at the end of the tunnel.

Day in. Day out. I am relentlessly consumed by contemplation. He , who is the insatiable flesh and blood of my uninhabited imagination. My mind steadily overflows with thousands..millions..billions of unborn possibilities that lay dormant within our connection...And basking in its golden glory, lies communication, key to activation.We both know something is wrong. Gut feeling. Subconscious. Intuition. They all sing the same song, don't you see? The further we dive into passiveness, the more this..problem..grows strong.

“i can feel autumn in the air tonight, and as always , my lungs feel so heavy. the trees are turning color, and i am turning pages. a new chapter begins for me. i can’t help but feel better when the wind is cooler, when the sky is grayer. this season matches my soul. all rusted, where the living goes to die, where the old washes away in the rain. a place where dead looks so pretty, where it’s okay to fall away from what keeps you elevated. i breathe better, the air isn’t thick around me, suffocating the soul that lives in this body. gloomy never looked so beautiful, and i secretly hope, someone will look past the dead pieces of who i once was. the remnants i carry in my pockets, and on my smile. i hope they can see the beauty i offer. despite the dying soul i may have.”

You must understand that I am a deeply unhappy person. I grew up memorizing all these cracks in the walls.

The only reason I cannot stop writing, is that because I have no more tears left.. yet I need to let the burden out.

I was initially attracted to him depth of feeling.
Even her pain I found appealing

I have bruises on my fingers from the things i was not supposed to write about. Creation will **** you.

They say old wounds heal with time but why does it feel like I could die?

I am sinking deep. Someone rescue me.

My life is a mess.

I deceive myself, this illusion that I love myself at my own free will. My body is my own battlefield. Naked I stand and without you my poetry is lost land. I am forced to see that the responsibility of self worth is none but my own. Now I stand trying to regain myself.

“There are enough stars in your
eyes to form galaxies but
here you are crying over
the girls and boys and other
spiteful kids who broke
your heart–darling listen to
me, you mean more to this
world than they will ever
comprehend because you
are absolutely magnificent;
you’ve got moons in your
palms and the sun in your
smile, you control the gravity
around you, darling you
make the tides turn and you
are your own beautiful
world– just because
some people don’t understand
space, doesn’t mean you should
let them bury you in hatred.”
— Don’t let them take over your universe

Happiness is just a phase.

“I found God in the cracks between the tiles
of my bathroom wall,
as I puked my guts and
my melancholy
into the toilet.
I lost God for the first time
in my first love’s eyes,
the way the unearthly brown flecks
of his eyes caught the fluorescent lights.
I lost God in the way
I swore to love him for the rest of my life,
and in the way the “I love you”s soon
turned into nothing but fragile syllables to break
the uncomfortable silence.
I found God in he hastily wrapped cigarette paper,
but He only lasted before
specks of withered ashes
could hit the ground.
I lost God in the bottom of
the pill bottle,
and at the threshold of the tub,
where my toes lingered to touch
the steaming hot water,
where I sat for hours on end,
staring at my reflection,
begging him to stop me…
begging him to be real.
I lost God in the midst of the
soft music,
my hands on a girl’s waist,
my eyes devouring her.
In my head she was God,
the most divine, exquisite immortal
(I made her immortal,
for I had put down on paper the way
her body moves beneath mine).
I think God was calling for me,
telling me to snap out of it.
But everything else
was too vivid for me
to hear.
I found Him in the blood
under my fingernails
after heated nights where
I was too frail to dial
my best friend’s phone number.
But I washed my hands,
and he was gone again.
I evaded God
in the bends of her body,
the bends of her smile,
the bend of her tranquil manner
when I told her
that I loved her.
I have lost and I have found God
in all the places I have been told
he would usually avoid.
The back of a car with a boy
whose lips were venomous,
the cramped bathroom
where I rashly thought
to end my life,
and in body of a girl
who still cannot love me back.
I think that even after all this time,
even after the vile, decadent side of me
still denies Him a space in my heart,
another part of me still hopes He’s real.
A part of me still hopes He’ll save me.”
— this is how I lost and found and lost god again

He said there is poetry within my soul
smooth,sweet, golden and jazzy with indigo undertones
And 7 shades of peace, love.
He said there is poetry beneath my skin, within my soul, where God reins. Crossing over..

“All poets have their own personal problems
If we didn’t
We wouldn’t exist”

"My heart have wrinkles in it from stressing too much."

Drowning in depression. Drowning in stress. Drowning in anxiety. Drowning in hurt. Seeking happiness and peace yet all I do is drown in sorrow.

“She will sleep
with her heart strings
knotted and forgotten
on the bedroom floor
while he will lay awake
wishing he had
used his hands
instead of a knife”