Suicide; society tells me it’s a ***** word

Blackens your tongue and brands you an

Outsider to your beloved community;

Tarnishes your dazzling reputation and

Takes a beautiful, cherished, short-lived, soul.

But why did society not raise me like the

Painstakingly adored roses amongst

Its garden of thorns; why can’t I be

That happy girl. Why have I been

Doused in fertiliser, a wretched ****

Amongst a garden of beauty, growing

Faster than lightning, roots of gnarly

Agony and shoots of grey, blurred hatred for

Every atom of my being- screams for the ****

Killer to embrace me by the neck, apply a-

Seductive dose of love-dripping pressure

And set this crow free; unchain my bruised wings

And I promise I will leave you be, I will never

Bring misery or misfortune again.

But suicide; is a ***** word, a cheek

Burning, soul smouldering, darkening

Shadow on the pretty plastic cases over our,

Mechanical hearts. Not for the great pain of

Losing a barely, blossomed flower- took one

Heavy dose of white-pain sunlight and

Wilted away into the black, bottomless soil.

Not for the gaping loss of a singular

Fertile crop in an endless year of draught and

Famine. Suicide, is not a tear-wrenching,

Palm-sweating word for the, heavy and huge hole

It leaves in society’s newly plastered walls-

But it is an unspeakable word for the pure

Shame. The surly shadow of unspeakable

Shame that it leaves like a, stain of red wine

On the pretty, sensible woman’s white blouse

Like a ****** tattoo on the arm of an infant.

We do not grieve their death. We grieve our pride,

Our bruised and bleeding pride at not preventing

The stench of failure as a race of people, in the death

Of one melancholy drowned person, we practically

Placed the boulders in their pockets and said drown.

And I am holding my breath; tight roping this

Misery that smothers me at sunrise, see I am

Permitted a feigned slumber of peace in the dead

Hours of night yet I awake to the,

Asphyxiation of pain, eyes bulging in terror of

What awaits me when I run out of time, oxygen fast-

Fading and the orange, pink of dawn lights a

Fire in the honey pools of my eyes- small, mocking fires

That sneer at my desperation to cease, at my plea for peace-

Tight, burning stabs that tingle in my throat and

I’m running low on air, on time, almost there-

Deliria, ecstasy, glee dripping from my limbs

And- the noose I fabricated in my non-

Functioning, disabled mind slips away, faster

Than I can catch it and refasten, and I am, cold

In my bedsheets once more. Welcomed again,

To the now bellowing daylight of, depression

Another flightless, fruitless day of carefully,

Hand-stitched smiles and sinfully pre-tuned

Laughter. The world tells me to stand on the

Pinnacle of misery with one broken leg and

If I dare fall, I am a branded shame on the surface

Of the earth, I am the centre of all failure in the

Universe so I, valiantly ride into no-mans-land,

A knight in shining armour except, I have no steel

And no bronze to, protect my heart from the cannon fire

Of pain, I have no shield to shelter me from the

Poison gas of self-hatred. But I am perfectly okay being

Defenceless in the brazen gunfire; I am still breathing,

The titanium arrows of misery protruding neatly from

My mangled limbs and my broken heart.

And that word, sombre and dark as ever

Flashes once in my head and I swat it away with

Deep-rooted disgust, and a dire hunger for such a desire.

Suicide;

Society tells me it’s a ***** word.

Should I be afraid that I no longer feel?

That I stare death in the eyes, hold hands with

Pain, kiss fear on the cheek and embrace heart

Break like it is the one thing that holds my

Worn being together, desperately clutching

At the frayed stitches of my body and

Fervently keeps the hemline of my soul intact

Like the nightmares of this universe are what

Keeps me whole, keeps me from crumbling entirely

Because my heart knows no better than pain

Because I have never known a world without

Agony and grief, and mellowed screams and

Lullabies of sobs and birdsongs of quiet pain

Because my fields are infertile without grief,

Because my skies are starless without heartbreak,

Because my soul is void without my scars that

Scream. They scream the stories that ignite

the raging wildfire behind my damp oak eyes

Each word, on each page, of each blood stained,

tragedy, pull the threads of my being into a living,

Fighting, person. There is beauty in melancholy,

Tears that birth sunflowers that blossom without sun

Light, that glares through the cracks of my heart,

Without a match to light it. Only silent, sobering

Pride, that I have made it to today. That I have seethed

Through the stab wounds and gunshots and blistering

Burns of unspeakable pain, and I have survived with

Grace, with a smile that embraces the worn corners of

This earth, and with a heart that leaves love wherever I go.

Today is a different kind of fight
Today is not bruises and cuts
Grappling with darkness to see
Light and find a sprinkling of
Happy. No, today is darker
Today is fighting just to survive
To taste oxygen in my lungs and
Not bitter sadness or poison
Of hope that never really existed
In the first place, and time waits
For none and honey even memories
Must die. Today is heavy hearted
Tongue biting, palm digging pain
Hot teardrops, throat constricted
Shallow breathing, hurt. Today is
Counting seconds till i can sleep
And smiling pretty for the camera
Even when my eyelids are heavy with
Uncried cries and unslept sleep that i
So desperately need. Today is my broken
Reflection in the mirror, staring hopeless
At this stranger, cutting my finger on the
Shattered glass and I’m bleeding, red and
Oozing rage and i’m- losing myself.
Tomorrow is putting the pieces back together,
Shard by shard, tear by tear,scar by scar
Tomorrow i will not look so unfamiliar,
And this deep longing to know myself
Will fade away. Today is survival and
Tomorrow is living,
Tomorrow is living.

The blackbirds know my secrets all too well
That I am just a kid who grew up too fast
Felt my earth tremble and my sky crumble
Too soon to savour the fleeting taste of joy                              
That I was born with coal in my veins.
The waning moon has seen me cry
And has cradled me in its ***** and
Taught me that my chaos is not fruitless, it has
Painted my life with colour and purpose
My wild heart has tasted the society-poisoned
Make-believe elixir of love
I was kidnapped from reality because
I left the door to my soul slightly ajar,
That is how it begins, engulfed
In memories and if-onlys and I am
Dancing with the ghosts in my head.
I should revert to loving poetry, music, sunsets
You see, even the chirpers outside my window at
Dawn were silent with grief and turmoil
The day my golden heart blackened and broke.
Well let the roses wilt grey and the moon
Fracture in two because I will not stop
Loving or feeling or existing too much
These tears are fireworks doused in a sea of hope and
I am made of stardust and rainwater and pain
And my beauty lies in the many, many pieces of my heart.

Yes, she’s got eyes that are golden and lips that scream lust

She’s got a sharp, consuming beauty and a

Laugh that would make you smile for days.

She’s got a little waist and an hourglass figure

She turns heads and evokes whistles when she saunters

And darling I am not beautiful like her,

But I’ve got eyes that hold an ocean, weeping

Full and heavy with love and emotion

I’ve got a heart big enough to hold

All the pain in the universe, and a little more

I’ve got a smile that breaks hearts because

I find all the little reasons, to be happy

When I have all the reasons, to not.

I’ve got hands that mend the broken and

Tend to the lonely, arms that embrace the

Lost and unloved. I am not profound or gorgeous,

I don’t have her golden eyes or her lips,

I don’t have her hourglass figure or little waist

But I have a voice that speaks raw truth even when

I am shaking in fear of being seen, for me.

I have words that remedy melancholy and

Wipe tears without me extending a hand.

I am the last one crying at the movie,

I am the girl who stops to smell the roses

Just because they deserve to be appreciated

I am the woman who loves more than she loves

Herself, who gives you her strongest parts and settles with

Jagged shards of the ghost of who she once was,

I am fragile and iron-strong all at once,

And I am difficult to understand,

Impossible to figure out, and a

Challenge to love.

But I am not my flaws,

And I am lovable,

Whether you choose to, or not.

You think I could do better 
I think you could do better
So why do we force it 
When it’s all broken fully 

I could easily forget you 
If I deleted your picture 
Forced you out of my mind 
You’d vanish from my life 

You’d be a memory
And we’d get rid of all this 
Hurting and arguing 
Constant misunderstanding 

Pretending that it still works 
When we know we can’t forgive 
Mistakes have been too many
I lost count while crying myself 

To sleep without you hugging me 
You don’t get me anymore
Or maybe you never did 
I just wanted it so bad 

I lied to both of us 
I needed you back then 
But now it’s just a burden
If you don’t understand anything

Another stanza, another, empty poem

Another line of cliche sorrows and oh

Don’t forget a splash of self-hatred and a

Sprinkle of age old, seasoned, melancholy.

How many words will it take

How many conscientiously polished

Lovingly carved, painstakingly painted

Smiles and rueful laughs will it take

For you to realise my love there is, no, end.

This won’t end, you won’t find

Your soul or your peace in hollow

Worthless words that you purge from

Your heart and- smear onto paper

Poets are lonely, where did I read that?

You don’t cry, you bleed silent agony

Into ink, into words, into poetry

You scar page after page with your

indecipherable rage at this universe

And you tarnish another pearly white sheet

With your coal black pain and silenced

Tales of lonely, lonely days wasted by-

Desperately scribbling, madman letters

Frantic to understand, the millions of

Atoms, nerves, bone, flesh that is

Pathetically, tragically, you.

And you knife away at your thoughts with

A pen in a homicidal attempt to

Slaughter the hurt inside and bury them under

Empty words and barren phrases

Poetry will not teach you to love your

Jagged edges like razor blades or your

Missing parts to the enigma that is well,

Yourself. Poetry is your hideaway from the

Ugly, ugly truth that you my love,

Don’t know who you are at all

So you continue to bleed in ink,

Cry in words and bruise on pages.

But this? Is just another stanza,

Another, empty poem.