Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
My type of poetry
Is not meant to bring
Joy, happiness, and warm feelings.
It is meant to cause
The hardest of hearts to feel,
The driest of eyes to cry,
And the toughest of men to feel weak.
It is not meant to be read aloud;
It is meant to be read while
You are alone at night, crying
Because you are tired.
It is meant to let you know
That someone else out here
Feels your pain and knows what it's like.
It is meant to break you down
And help you build yourself
Up again because you are strong.
You will make it through this.
You'll make it through
Because deep down,
You know you aren't searching
For poems about depression
Late at night because you want
Inspiration to **** or hurt yourself.
No.
You want to know someone else
Out there in this cruel
******* world understands.
You want to know someone cares,
And that someone else feels the pain.
You want to know it gets better,
That there is in fact a light
At the end of the tunnel.
And let me tell you,
I struggle too.
Most days, I can't see that light,
That faint residue of hope.
But that's okay.
Because it's the journey that counts.
And you and I
Are on this journey together.
February 24, 2017.
Everyone struggles. Everyone goes through the pain of life. Some of us have it worse off than others, and that's okay. Because we all have the same strength. It's not about being weak or not, it's about having the ***** to get back up and try your hardest to make it a better day. And I know you can do it. It's been hard for me the past few years, what with battling my depression and also dealing with some minor PTSD, panic attacks, and the like. But I'm still here. I have bad days, and worse days, just like everyone else- but I'm still here. And that's what counts.
It will get better, I know it will. Just believe in yourself, even when no one else does. Because one day, you will be able to stand up tall and say "I did it. I made it. I've won."
Stay strong, everyone.
Much Love,
Liza.
My eyesight is fuzzy
My thoughts are static;
Tonight's show is on:
Depression and Madness.
February 24, 2017.
Gasping for air,
Sobbing;
Trying to grab ahold
Of something.

Crying out in pain,
Shaking;
Trying to call out
To anybody.

Screaming at the world,
Trembling;
Trying to make them
Hear me.

Going silent once more,
Hiding;
No once cares enough
To listen.
February 24, 2017.
Don't mistake my smile for happiness
Or my laughter for joy;
Deep down, my soul is
Tearing itself in two.
February 24, 2017.
If a poet falls in love with you,
Don't take it for granted;
*They don't write poetry
For just anyone, you know.
February 24, 2017.
Her mind is a storm,
Her heart is the ocean.
But he is the firm land
In which she plants her feet.
February 24, 2017.
Guess you don't have room
In your ocean for little old me.
February 23, 2017.
I have room for you, but you're too busy for little me I guess. The first part I said "pond", but my friend has more friends and a busier life, so I decided to use something bigger to represent that part of him.
It seems that adulthood means
Spending a disproportionate amount of time
Calling some big company that doesn't care
If you have more important things to do

You're always on hold.
Next page