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Spencer Smith Jun 2018
I left for a few weeks,
To think over things.

I lost someone I loved dearly,
And wasn't thinking clearly.

I forced some words of comfort,
And built up the walls of my mental fort.

I flash a couple hollow smiles,
To hide the pain I keep in piles.

I wanted to scream "I"M IN PAIN!",
But I simply refrain.

I burn inside with hollow smiles,
As my family stays in denial.

My best friend took their life,
Instead of facing strife.

They grabbed a knife,
As they suffered in silence, a pain filled rife.

I cut for the first time,
As I thought of his collection of dimes.

Gone he is, Gone he'll be.
For the rest of eternity.
This poem is dedicated to my best friend Ernie, may he rest in peace.
Spencer Smith May 2018
My words bunch up in my throat.
I want to comfort people with my words, sweet as honey,
But they're too thick to come out.
I finally get them out, but they're weak and useless.
How do I get them out?

My touch falters.
I try to reach out and help with a gentle touch,
But it lands awkward and uncomfortable,
People edge away not wanting to be touched by me.
How do I fix my touch?

My eyes betray.
I try to tell stories through my eyes,
To spare people my words, that stick like honey,
I look to try and keep my poisoned hands away from them,
But all they display is hurt and sadness.
How do light them?

My writing helps.
I write down all the thoughts that stick like honey.
I try to touch the reader's heart with my words.
I hide behind a screen so they don't have to see my eyes filled with sadness.
How do I do this without a screen and keyboard?
Spencer Smith May 2018
Her favorite color was yellow,
She said it was perfectly mellow,
When we went to the meadow,
She picked them and put them in her hair, streaming out the window.

My favorite color is red.
It burns with a ferocity that fills my head.
It buzzes in my mind, even when I lay down in bed.
It puts a pop anywhere, even in the mead.

Together we made orange, vibrant as the sunset.
We held our hands to the sky our eyes gleaming and wet.
Because we knew all good things come to an end.
We memorized each other because we didn't want to reach a bend,

Where we would part forever.
I stare at the sunset over the river,
We used to love with fervor,
But now my arm feels emptier,

Not holding you beside me.
I stare at the sunset, feeling bleak.
I think of when I had you by me.
I miss you so much it drowns me like the sea.

I take a deep breath and let go.
I can't hold onto your yellow.
I let it flow into the air, it turns my mood even more mellow.
I kiss the daisy in my hand goodbye and let you go.
Spencer Smith May 2018
It holds me down with an iron fist.
At least that's what I tell myself.
It pins me to my bed,
Not letting me get up to do anything.

I finally defeat it,
But he is not a forgiving force and he keeps pulling me down.
I want to get up,
But it's strength is more then I can handle.

I just want you to leave me alone,
Though if I'm being logical,
I'm not sure if you're the thing holding me down,
But if you are as John Mayer would say,
"Gravity, stay the hell away from me."
Spencer Smith May 2018
I speak my mind,
And I'm rewarded with blank stares.
"You're too young to not feel fine!"
Yet I wake up every day to despair.

I feel my hands trembling.
I see their confusion.
They aren't understanding.
They yell at me to come back in unison.

I'm only Thirteen,
And I feel as if I have the weight of the world,
Weighing down on me.
Suffocating me, blocking out all my words.

I write with my blood,
I've watched my arms be drained,
They see my cuts,
And ask me how it happened.

They think I'm too young to feel pain,
But I have it in Spades.
I can't tell them how it happened, so I run into the rain,
Panting, exhausted, and lost, just looking for somewhere to stay.

They don't understand,
Your just a kid,
Are you mad?
Just because I'm young doesn't stop pain from digging a pit for me.

I crawl into the pit every time,
Knowing it's the only peace I'll ever have,
Even if it is discomforting.
They see me suffer in silence, with a confused look, they'll never understand such a young soul to be tormented like this.
Spencer Smith May 2018
You're like a bruise.
Every time something touches you, you hurt, but you're fine when left alone.
I try to heal you with my touch but only hurt you.
I give you space so you heal, but you hold on so stubbornly.

You're like a cut.
I try to let you heal, but can't help but pick a little like a child,
I try to pull you off but only hurt you more.
You cling on until you heal, and then you are gone.

You're like a knife in my side.
People use you to hurt me.
They twist the knife, to inflict hurt on me.
I try to pull you out but I can't find the guts too, so you stay there, until I pull you out painfully.

Why can't you see you're hurting me?
You insist on holding onto me until you feel better,
Then you toss me off like a used garment, beyond repair,
Until you run out of other clothes to wear, so you use me.

Making me hold onto your pain until you heal.
I try to get rid of you, but only hurt you so much more, and,
You know that I love you too much for that.
So I sit and wait for you to heal, but some wounds don't heal.
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