T'was the night before school,
And stuck in her house,
The teacher was stirring,
Over her computer mouse.

Names on the folders,
Written with care,
Was there an extra?
Right over there.

T'was the night before school,
And all through the town,
Parents were cheering,
It was a ritious sound.

"A free day tomorrow!"
Is what the wife said.
"Yes," said the husband.
"Now lets go to bed."

T'was the night before school,
And kids were tucked into bed.
Memories of homework,
Filled them with dread.

New pencils, new folders,
New notebooks too,
New teachers new friends,
Their anxiety grew.

Their parents laughed and they giggled,
When they learned of this fright,
And shouted upstairs,
"GO TO BED! ITS A SCHOOL NIGHT!"

I forgot.
I'm sorry.
If I don't know it's important to you,
I won't give it a second thought.

You yelled at me,
Because I didn't know.
That's like a math teacher,
Getting mad at a second grade student,
Who can't multiply.

If I don't know it,
Don't blame it on me.
I forgot.
I'm sorry.

A Monday morning,
Slamming your face on your keyboard,
Ripping through the everyday sorrows,

Yeah.
One of those days.

Bleeding out your guts to people,
Letting it spill out on the floor for all to see,

One of those days.

No coffee
Means
No energy.
No energy
Means,
Tiredness.
Tiredness
Means
Not wanting to get up,
Splitting your face on the floor,
Crying your ever loving soul out,
And not having the energy to get back up.

One of those.

Staring in to the void,
Hoping for a soul to reach out from it,
Assuring you.

"It's okay. I've been there."

Those days.

Where your life seems it's shattering to pieces.
And guess what?

You have to get up,
And do it again tomorrow.

Me, myself and I,
Don't see I to eye.
Me, myself and I,
Don't get along.

Myself: There's three of us on the scene,
And I don't wanna sound mean,
But let me tell you that-
I'm happy without Me!

Me: Myselfs holding me back,
And now I'm on the wrong track,
Because:

I: Finally I'm free!

I: From here on out,
We can do things separately!
Without all the struggle,
And internal strife!
So now that we're separate,
We can do anything!

Myself: Don't let the door hit you-

Me: Have a nice life.

Me: I'm through with Myself,
I'm better of without Him.

Me, Myself and I,
Dont get along.
Without Him.

Time to explain:
Even though this is a poem site, I wanted to make something clear.
I've been going on several hiatus lately, and it's because I'm lost.
I know most people will say this is normal, but I wanted to make sure.
I'm completed drained of ideas, and each time I go to write, play music, draw...I feel empty. It's not giving me the same feeling anymore. Everything has become dull. I just wanted some help/reassurance.
Sorry for bugging you guys, but I needed to put this somewhere publicly where I knew there would be people that would understand. And if you read all of that just to help me, a Radom stranger...
God bless you.

My poems are getting shorter,
So is my will to live.
My scars are aching,
So is my back,
My feet,
My heart,
Drained of love,
My mind,
Drained of thoughts,
My eyes,
Can no longer see beauty,
See happiness,
The colors of the flowers when the bloom,
And most of all,
My body.
Drained of all hope.
Can't eat,
Sleep,
Laugh,
Cry
Hope,
Love,
I'm drained.

I want to scream.
I want to cry.
I want to break something.
To hurt something.
To hurt myself.
I've already hurt my friends.
Now it's my turn.
Get out.
Get out.
Out of my head.
Out of my mind.
Out of my life.
End it.
End my life.
Break glass.
Just like me.
Broken.
Inside me.
Feelings.
Stuck.
Helpless.

TrApEd.

Best friends are people who make your problems,
Just so you don't have to go through them alone.

Let me tell you 'bout a story of a truck drivin' girl,
In a custom made monster truck she took for a whirl!
That little speed demon, gonna be a star!
With her learners permit, and an adult in the car!
She may be out for a lark, but she can't parallel park,

She's a truck drivin' girl!

One day she'll get her license, and she'll have it all,
She can pick up her friends, and take a drive to the mall!
That little red head, gonna rock my world!

She's a truck drivin girl!
She's a truck drivin girl!

She's a,
Tire spinnin'
Gear grindin'
Clutch burnin'
Back firin'
Paint tradin'
Red linin'
Over heatin'
Throttle stompin'

Truck drivin' girl!

I've written about loving someone,
But I'm not in love with anyone.
Why do you write lies, you ask.
Coming up with poems is such a simple task!

I hate when people say this.
I'm sorry, it's true.
I do write lies,
But it's all for you!

I write poems for the public,
Not for me!
You may say it's all a hoax,
It's true you see!

Some things are lies,
Some things are true,
But in the end,
It's all for you!

I can't believe that all this time,
You never said a word,
Although it's possible you did,
And I just never heard.

I never even noticed,
I guess I wasn't that alert,
Now that I look back on it,
You were being quite overt.

We could've been together!
All you had to say was when.
I thought I was so over you,
But here I am again.

What might have been.

Going on walks I find so may pennies,
Where do they come from?
Do people have that many pennies?
Do people DROP that many pennies?
Maybe angels through them down to cheer me up.
They see me feeling blue, so the drop a penny or two.
When your feeling sad, you usually look down,
Maybe you take a walk,
And angels through down those pennies,
To make you feel,
A
Little
Bit
Better.

Valentines is torture,
And my birthday is a mess,
New Years is a lot of noise,
And Arbor Day's A pest,
Halloween's a horror,
But I guess I must confess,
That I really don't hate Christmas!

Flag Day is infernal,
April Fool is just a bore,
Mardi Gra's A waste,
Unless you own a candy store,
All these other holidays,
I admit that I abhor,
But I really don't hate Christmas!

So you say you understand,
What does that even matter,
You're just a person on the internet,
And sorry for the latter.

I may sound like a hopeless ****,
Who only sleeps and never works,
The one who makes others cry in fear,
The one who makes people shed a tear.

It's just hard to think someone understands,
Even if they do.
How do I know
If you know,
What I'm about to do.

It's hard to let these emotions out,
In the right form or pattern,
Trying not to scream so loud,
To the point where glass will shatter.

I try mostly to keep inside
What I cannot hide,
When life,
Makes a ride,
All of it to end,
Me just left to die.

Everyone says they understand,
How is that possibly true?
Even though I've barely said it,
I'm still no better than you.

Screaming, Crying,
Aching, Lying,
To the point of almost dying,

So back to the matter at hand,
So you say you understand?

(This poem was made without thinking, and I'm sorry.)
I was just spilling my guts out.

For I am just a boy,
I'm still afraid of death.
What happens after the day God decides
That you will run out of breath?

Will it just be darkness?
Will it be blue skies?
Will the depths of hell,
Overwhelm,
In the fiery realms,
Be my utter demise?

This sounds existential,
And needless to say, that's true.
Don't think I'm looking for attention,
I'm still no better than you.