“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

“I claw and scrape across my veins
in an attempt to find a release,
but no matter how hard I try,
the substance that seeps out
is not you.”

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

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

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

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

“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

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

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

“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”

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…

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.

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

"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

I feel like ****.

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

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!

Hoping for a miracle yet fearing for the worst.

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.

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

“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.”

"Make-up, a content originally made to compliment a woman now corrupts her connection to a man's conception of what quality content is..."

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

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

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

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

“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.

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.

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

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

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

“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 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.”

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

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.

I am sinking deep. Someone rescue me.

Happiness is just a phase.

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

My life is a mess.

“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”

“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

Everybody keeps telling me that
it’ll be okay and I’ll get through this alive
and that I have nothing to be worried about
but ****– I am so tired of hearing about
how I am supposed to make it through the day;
I just want somebody to tell me that yeah,
I might crash and burn, I might crumble like
a decrepit building under a roof too heavy
to hold, I might falter and trip and break
a few bones, I might not make it out of
this mess as neatly or as happily as I came
into it– and I want somebody to tell me that
it’s okay to **** up and it’s okay to fail and
it’s okay to make a mess of my life because
I’m so tired of these standards I’ve set for
myself– I want somebody to tell me I can
let go once in a while, I want to be able
to let go without losing myself I want to
be able to fall without going straight to hell–
I want somebody to tell me that I can be human
and that it’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
— I have been hiding the human inside of me in hopes of being perfect

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

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

Rap, poetry and books is how I escape reality. I just want to listen to good music, read good books and meet cool people but it is a still life.

"He never spoke much, but I couldn't ignore the conversations his eyes communicated

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