Stand as tall as time.

It's 01:29. I can feel the stress creeping in. I can also feel the energy shift. It's not a good one. IGCSE will humble you. I will know my fate in a few.

He used ink that bled from his wounds to write poems about her.

I feel like ****.

Happiness is just a phase.

My life is a mess.

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

“I’m afraid to get used to the breath-taking glory of the midnight sky.
I’m afraid to lose my sense of wonder to mind-numbing routines.
How do I keep myself alive

I wish for a better world where people smiling everywhere. Children happy as can be. No wars just peace and loving so please pray for our mother Africa.

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

I have died a million deaths
Became a haven of more graves than I dared to live
Became a widow of my own soul
Covered myself with the cloak of death mourning the glory of loss upon us
Dressed myself in more insults with a dash of curses than your devotion
As I dangled from the roof of your mercy petitioning for your worthy heart
Became an ambassador of your threats to disappear than your affection
But again and again I return to you
In hope that one day
you might believe that I am not what you are used to

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

Searching for refuge in this world of uncertainty. My soul is slipping away. I can feel the energy shift. It's not a good one.

Each of us wages a private battle each day between the grand fantasies we have for ourselves and what actually happens.

...Because paper has more patience than people.

Be proud of yourself. Remember the nights you crumbled under the weight of your pain, and the mornings you fought to open your eyes, and won. Remember how you put yourself back together, brick by brick; remember the ache in your shoulders as you laid each stone. Remember that life is often the more difficult choice, and that it takes a special kind of bravery to choose it anyway

“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.”

A girl with broken dreams like a guitar with broken strings.

They say wounds heal with time but why does it feel like I want to die?

Please stop trying to fix her.
Broken girls are vibrant sorts,
with eyes that glow with sadness,
but also with a gift for understanding
lost souls like themselves.
They endure sleepless nights
and learn about trauma young,
to help others when
they endure the same
They understand the power
of a random act of kindness
more than anyone.
But most of all.
Broken girls
know how to fix
themselves,
without destroying
Those cracked parts
through which the light
shines through.
So please.
Stop trying to fix her.
And let her fix herself.
”
— Broken Girls Are A Gift not a Burden

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

A coffin seems more like a peaceful place to lay just silent and resting. No more hurting and melancholy. Just peace and serenity.

Depression, a strange yet comforting company.

It starts out as having "fun" and then all of a sudden you are doing more things that you wish to list but secretly of course. He would never go public with you. I guess he will never see you in that way. His touch makes you forget the holy thoughts you guide yourself by. You do your best to contain but it is hard to retain yourself. You want to go there but then you remember you don't even share his last name.

“You draw constellations
in my freckles.
I mean you ask me
not to fall in love with you
and then you go write poems
with your tongue
and draw constellations
in my freckles

Corruption is never beautiful, that’s something i have always believed in until I saw the way her soul looked like. It was corrupted and destroyed into little pieces but it looked like art and writing about it couldn’t be harder. Her sharp edges didn’t scare me,I embraced her with my shaking hands and hoped she wouldn’t feel the vibration of my sorry heart. she had the most unsettling poetic thoughts. she cries poetry and smokes dreams,she hopes for a better life where she doesn’t feel as homeless as she does now. she writes the way an angel does and aches the way a devil does, she wants to write to free her angel but the devil is taking control of her pen. She will break you, shatter you until you can’t see the light, but she’ll hold your hand and guid you in the darkness, show you her veins until your sight returns, you’ll see the universe in her palm, she is a creature of Venus or maybe the stars. You could never know her not the way you want, the puzzle you’re trying to solve is missing a piece. I see her in everything surrounding me,the rays of sunshine and the whispers of the night,I see parts of her in me and parts sprawled around existence itself. She sometimes seems like a fancy, a greek god you read about or a song you listen to,I sometimes feel like she only exists in my mind. She is a storm, a hurricane but for some weird reason Im not scared to drown in every inch of her soul

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

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.

When the road is dark and you no longer can see.

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

Maybe dawn is not in the sunlight every morning, maybe it is in the middle of the night when you hold yourself against the darkness. you are sitting quietly and feeling yourself break apart yet knowing this hour, this very hour, you are finding yourself. maybe this is your dawn. maybe for you, the first light appears in the middle of the darkness, when pain clings to your throat. sometimes dawn visits you at night.

Dear Monday
I come to you
Burned and bruised with sins of yesteryear
Covered with the blood of disloyalty
My speech cluttered with tones seeking salvations
Battered with tales of remorse
Seeking pardon to all I've erred
I come to you
Bare
Without riches
Heart yearning for change
and I ask that you lead me closer to redemption

When will my best be good anyway?It's being afraid of being alone with your own thoughts inside your room but not wanting anyone with you, taking 5 showers a day but still not feeling clean. I could get a hundred hours of sleep and still feel tired as hell, searching for a real definition of self. It's that thanks for nothing look that people will tell you to pray & everything will be okay. Biting you're nails till they bleed. You wouldn't call me crazy if you knew how much I hate me.

"Here I am stuck in the empty waters, struggling to get out. The water so deep I can't feel the ground. I can't feel the ground. The darkness is in the air. It almost feels like I am drowning, there's no room to breathe I'm going under."

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.

Slowly dying inside each and everyday. I'm no longer trying to survive. Actually, I'm done trying with all of this. I scream "Anxiety, go way!No one likes you" it's always there pulling me down. Never been destined for happiness in my life and I'm done trying finding it. Something awful repeatedly happens. I'm always waiting on my flashlight, some light would be wonderful for once but I guess there is no light. I'm done. Done.

I'm done trying, I'm dead. I'm dying and nobody's crying. Feelings are gone, no connection of reality. It's just me stuck on the dark side of the earth.

Don’t you dare, for one minute,
believe that my kindness makes me
anything but insurmountable.
I did not unzip my chest to every kind of hurt,
and stagger back, wounded and alive,
just to hear you call me weak for trying.
I opened my door to Heartache–
I gave her the ******* key.
My softness for wayward strangers
has made me nothing less
than a halfway house for aching soles.
So when you open your mouth
and call me ‘baby’
understand that I am not your next victim
in a laundry list of broken girls.
You think I don’t know you? People like you?
People with mouths for hands.
I’ve got skin like topsoil
and your teeth could never take root.
So when you go looking to make a plaything
of a sunburst,
you better look for someone with less fire
than me.
Because softness or no,
I will eat you alive
before I let you make a meal of me.

There are downsides to living in a small time,
And I’ve seen every single one of them
Because there are only so many roads you can go down
And so many store corners you can duck into to avoid seeing that one person
There are only so many ways to get home
And only so many houses
And when you’ve been in the same place since you were born, there are only so many ghosts you can outrun
And these days
I’m getting really tired

“We cling to words like drowning men to straws. But still we drown, we drown

"I've sunk to my lowest point, I've drowned."

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

I can’t understand why emptiness is the heaviest feeling of all.

“These days, I’m at my emptiest.”

“I have written a thousand poems. And nine hundred of them are about you. Do you know what that means? It means you’re ****** heavy. Get off my heart, and get out of my mind. I’ve had enough"

Fact is I will never be happy. Fact is depression is my destiny. Fact is I am drowning in my own tears. Fact is I wish I could die at 18.

We all have become so exceptionally good at faking our happiness…We no longer know when we are actually happy or when the smile is only for the world to see and not to be felt.

"I'm falling deeper, I can feel the crushing of the shells on the bottom of the ocean floor. I'm letting go of the drift, I've hit rock bottom."

I'm living in a permanent funeral.