Growing up I was told America was the home of the brave, but I'm not feeling so brave right now watching the riots go down.
The virus eating us away.
The plastic bullets bouncing off.
We are the targets.
We are the one's being fought against, but America is the home of the brave.
Just how do you stay brave when the death toll is rising each day?
Not from a virus, but from a fear and desire within us all.
Growing up I was taught that America was peaceful, but I'm not feeling much peace right now.
Our emotions just ricochet.
I was taught a president would hold us together in our nation under God.
Just, where is he? Where are they? My president doesn't care and God has never been there.
What is left in this so called home of the brave?
Our nation once said to be under God is fading away.
Welcome to America!
I got the amber alert years ago.
It was a girl.
A girl that isn't me, well not today I must say.
She was short and fair.
Skinny and nice.
Kind and soft.
Now she's six feet below.
She was a happy girl,
She was me.
But the amber alert still is there.
I can't seem to clear the notification.
She's just a missing girl,
A missing girl that once was me.
Now she's flesh and bones,
No meat to be found on her.
She's so frail and pale,
You hear the grave calling her.
She's sick and scared.
All she wants is to find the missing girl for she is the real me.
I miss writing poetry.
It just feels like death to me.
My thoughts under lock and key.
How do you write when you don't have rhyme?
It's just trauma on a page.
Why would anyone want to read?
My thoughts are so tangled up now that thou is dead to me.
Poetry where has thou gone?
I feel so lost and numb.
It's all too much to say.
Trauma takes over me.
I ruined yet another friendship today.
It didn't make me cry this time.
Instead, it brought me here.
I've lost so many things.
I just feel like an empty drawer.
What am I to do?
There's nothing left to say.
Last night a tear dripped down my cheek onto my pillow.
You sat there on the other end of the line and listened to my sniffle.
It pains me to think that my sniffle brought on a ripple.
Tonight I sit here and wait for yet another tear to drip down my cheek onto my pillow.
Because my sniffle is a never ending ripple.
For that, I owe you an apology the next time you pick up the line to my tears dancing down my cheek onto my pillow. And you hear yet another sniffle.
I never knew love until I met you.
I didn't know how it tasted.
How it left a tingly feeling on my tongue.
I never knew something could be so sweet.
I don't know why it took so long for me to fall for you,
But once I did I knew it was love.
The love where you can go back in time.
The love where you can still go on dates at the playground and eat ice cream by the pound.
I never knew love until I met you.
I hope you feel the same.
I still love the art of poetry but that drive really isn't there. I feel like I've said everything I can and my pen needs to rest.
A friend opened up to me a day or two ago.
She held a story up to me, a story she'd never told.
I don't know why,
But I could feel her scars engrave into me too.
I could feel his hands creeping up me like they once did to her too.
They seemed to hold me in all the wrong places,
Nothing about it was comfortable.
It all felt so real, it felt like something I had been through.
I didn't know how to tell her I had been there too.
So I just shook my head and cried with her too.
I hope she knows I share those memories too.
So it's been a long time. Honestly I've been too scared to write and that that I do too scared to share. I feel so vulnerable, but it's time to be me again.
Life is a book.
An ever-growing book.
365 new pages a year.
A new page each day to read.
Each page opens a new opportunity.
A chance to change the characters.
A chance to change the scenery.
A chance to change the loop.
The cycle that feels never-ending.
And then it snaps.
And there are no more opportunities left to change the page.
The book feels like it's never going to end until it does.
Until you see yet another person lie down their book to rest.
Then it all hits you.
Whether it be today, tomorrow or many years down the road each of our books will come to a close.
There will be no more opportunities to change our outcome.
No more days to change our page.
No alternate endings to choose from.
It's just a book we have to finish reading.
No giving up midway.
Growing up my mother told me to follow my dreams.
Step by step I grew.
From teaching to cardiology, all the dreams I wanted to pursue.
It's just then the day came.
When my clock was coming to a slow.
The ticking about to stop.
And my future here for me to pursue.
My mother told me not to let the world hold me down with their dreams for me.
But when my clock was out and it was time to leave my mother laid some rules.
It was no longer about my happiness.
It was not my future I had to pursue.
It was all her dreams for me.
She told me I must grow old and have a family.
A dream I never had for myself at all.
She told me these words "Lauren you are a career-oriented person, but that is not what you must pursue."
All she wanted for me was a future.
A real one.
But it was not the happy world I had wanted to pursue.
So I had to let her down.
And live the life I had always envisioned.
The one I wanted to pursue.
So I don't exactly remember how to do this whole poetry thing. I hope this is okay.
I wish I could go back in time.
I want to change everything.
You told me if it hadn't of happened I'd be on the team.
I just want to be one of them.
One of the strong.
Not one of the weak.
You told me if it wasn't for what had happened to me I could be more like them.
I don't want to be different.
I just want to fit in.
Sadly, I'm stuck here with this disability.
I just want to go back in time.
I want to change everything.
Sadly, you can not change your circumstances these are the cards I have been dealt and must learn to wield.
What is poetry?
A lost art form I can not seem to remember?
Wow sorry it's been so long. I don't even remember how to write I've been so stressed and exhausted from school.
Two shootings in one day.
What has our world come to?
It's so easy to get a gun nowadays.
The other week I was behind a man in the store checkout line.
He wanted to buy a gun.
It was no hassle for him, simply sign his name on the dotted line.
They asked to see his ID but the man was not from this state where it is so easy to get a gun so they let him pay and he later left
grinning from cheek to cheek.
This is America our children once would say.
I'm proud to live in a nation where no harm will come to me.
If only they could've seen that in the future in El Paso Texas a deadly shooting would **** 20 people and injure more than two dozen others.
And in a span of less than a day, there would be many more.
9 people killed and 27 more injured in Dayton Ohio just 13 hours later.
How are we expected to raise our future children in this nation where there have been 249 shootings in the past 215 days?
For every 100 American citizens, there are 122 guns.
Why must our world result to such violence?
I'm not a politician person but this current situation is just digging at me.
My feelings are soft and tender.
Easy to break and even easier to melt away.
My love has always been a sensitive feeling.
It's hard to find it within me.
It's always missing when the good people come around.
It's always there when the bad people come to find it.
It's yet another feeling in my magical bouquet of broken.
I've never known who to trust my feelings with.
Where should I send them when my body must go?
I just need a vacation.
A chance to grow.
Grow feelings that aren't so fragile.
Something that won't melt away in the scorching summer heat.
A feeling that I can not break.
This is a happy poem.
Proud of myself poem.
Confident in where I am at poem.
Poem I never write poem.
Today I have a purpose.
My lungs are still breathing in air purpose.
My heart is still pumping blood purpose.
I am feeling proud of myself purpose.
What a happy poem.
I have a purpose.
I never take the time to put my pen to paper.
It's always thumbs tapping in a rampage to type my feelings out.
My mind storming and swirling.
My lungs compressing.
All trying to keep me going.
To keep me alive.
But it's not working.
Has it ever been working?
My heart never wants to pump its next pint of blood.
My legs never want to take their next steps.
It's always a process I can not get to end.
Just I can't seem to make it work properly either.
So what's the point?
What's my purpose?
I have short curly hair that never looks just right.
My hair is a light brown it has no depth it has no life.
It is thin and frail yet stays volumes to keep me looking alive.
My eyes are a dark blue some may say they look grey.
They look like windows to a soul that has been numb for far too long.
I have fair skin.
Skin like Elsa's frozen tales.
It does not look healthy at all.
I have short legs.
They can not carry me far.
I have a small frame not much to keep me up.
I am still shrinking.
I have tiny feet it's a miracle I am still standing.
All of this makes me who I am a plain girl with not much to her name.
Why would you ever want to know me?
Such a plain girl.
Have you ever wanted to be someone you are not?
Breathe air from someone else's lungs.
Pump blood from someone else's heart.
Think in someone else's mind.
Fall in love from someone else's body.
Just be someone you are not.
Live someone else's life.
A whole different world waiting to be discovered.
Mistakes and all.
I just want to be someone else entirely.
I'm open about my sexuality but right now I really just wish I was straight.
Drunk on the "innocence" of our youth.
Ready for another shot of liquor.
We down quicker and quicker.
It's always seemed to be this way.
Our pupils dilating larger and larger.
Not ready for the hangover.
Not ready for it all to be over.
Drinking makes the demons go away.
No more chatting in our minds.
Tonight we get to be normal teens.
Just drinking the "innocence" of our youth away.
Letting it glide down our throats
Quicker and quicker each time ready for the gulp.
The gulp that makes it all go away.
I hate the thought of drinking growing up and seeing how it makes the people I know act.
I never wanted to be here.
Not in this room.
I never wanted to be me.
Not in this body anyway.
I've always wanted to leave here.
Leave this body that has treated me so unfair.
I never have given any care.
Not to this body.
It doesn't care for me anyway.
I never wanted to slice it open.
See its blood.
I never wanted to see my blood.
I never wanted to see it drip.
Feel it drip.
Make it drip.
I've just never wanted to be alive.
Not in this world.
Not where I have been treated so cruel.
I've never liked all the slurs.
The hurtful things they scream.
I don't want to hear them scream.
And I can't.
And I won't.
And I still stay.
I just want to leave.
I've never wanted to be here.
Not with them.
Not in this body anyway.
Looking at you I can't help but wonder if you've been crying all day.
Your eyes seem to want to fade.
Looking at you I can't help but want to pump the happy back through.
Back through your veins.
Looking at you makes me feel dead.
Your skin looks so grey.
Are you okay?
Looking at you I can't help but want to cry too.
Cry all day.
All because I looked at you.
Looked at you today.
I can't really feel my poetry anymore. It's more words on paper than feelings.
The smell of death has always been a 6th sense to me.
I do not know why but the second something I once held dear to my heart passes on I smell the smell.
A smell that's so nauseating I can hear it.
Hear its rumble.
Hear its beating on the no longer pumping heart.
Hear the smell.
The smell of rotting.
The smell that brings tears to my dull eyes.
The smell I've always seemed to recognize.
The smell of death.
The blunt reminder that they are gone.
Gone like the smell.
The smell I feel trapped in.
The smell of death.
My 6th sense.
* my voice echos *
I want to tell you a story.
A story that goes like this.
A story where my voice echoes over the bustling room.
A story where I can get real quiet when talking about sensitive topics.
A story that goes like this.
It all begins loud as I tell a violent tale of the girl that was hit last week by her boyfriend.
Then it seems to fade.
My voice fades into a bleak whisper as I tell the tale of two lovers one living with a mask over her face.
A tale of two fates.
Two people that will never seem to cross paths no matter the story.
I want to tell you a story where I can tell the truth.
A story a lot like this.
A story of vulnerability.
I want to tell you a story.
A story that will help the world see the true me.
I guess I don't want to tell you a story at all.
I just want to tell you the truth.
I want to tell you my truth.
Time to start where it all began.
* my voice fades into a shallow whisper
What's it like to wake up comfortable in your own skin?
No doubts of your beauty just ready for the day.
What's it like to not weigh yourself multiple times a day?
Calculating every gram that puts your astray from your Instagram model body.
What's it like to look good in anything you wear?
Not too big or tall.
Not too small or short.
Just perfect for everything.
I wish I had that beauty.
The kind where your skin glows even in the driest of seasons.
The kind where your legs are always soft no hair to shave.
What's it like to be perfect?
Perfect like you?
My family has never seemed to get themselves weaned.
Not from the drugs.
Not from the alcohol.
Not from the smoking.
Not from the abuse.
Not even from the bleeding.
Year after year another resolution.
I will change they always seem to say.
Relapse after relapse they always seem to peruse.
We have never been weaned.
Learning our habits from one another not knowing that's what we should not do.
It's become our DNA.
Our flesh and blood.
Self-harm took me over too.
2 years of cutting watching the pain watching my blood go down the drain.
Yet another one not able to be weaned so soon.
Crying in the bathroom full of fears full of tremors full of hopelessness.
Yet another lost hope.
Life was useless to me
A dream I would never be able to see.
I couldn't be weaned.
Each night I tried to stop.
Just breathe and look at the ceiling.
Remaining yet another lost cause.
I never knew how small my room was until I was enclosed in the space that I couldn't escape.
I never knew how large my mind was until I was lost in all of its emptiness.
I couldn't be weaned.
Night after night memorizing my scars adding on to my collection.
It took 3 years without help to finally get here.
I just hope I can stay.
Hope I can change my DNA.
No more losing blood.
No more watching others struggle.
We all will be weaned.
Weaned of the drugs.
Of the alcohol.
Of the smoking.
Of the abuse.
And even the bleeding.
Some days I wake up and wonder why I'm still alive.
I look in the mirror and the view of rotting flesh cascades over me.
My body is too fragile to be my own.
Breaking limbs and an unwilling soul.
”Why am I still here,” I ask my own self?
I do not want to leave my body.
But do I really want to leave this home in this body either?
My limbs seem to crack every step I take.
Societies pressure for me to be perfect is breaking me.
I don't understand why I am still here.
I am hung up in a world bigger than I'll ever know.
Just searching for an exit.
No more morning wonders.
Searching for a home I can call my own.
Both my body and I the residents comfortable in our own new home.
I'm too tired to see no sleep in days. I hope this poem is okay. I don't think it's done but here it is.
Anorexia why must you return to me so soon?
I look in the mirror and see you now.
I thought you were gone.
Why must you come home?
My body was getting strong once more.
Feeling so happy again.
Then you came home.
My body knew no better but to let you back in.
You moved into the chemicals of my brain.
You changed me to satisfy yourself.
Anorexia I just want to be alone.
I once found a home in the foods I wanted to consume.
But now anorexia I can't seem to find a home in my own body.
You have eaten me raw.
All skin and bones no fat to call my home.
No room for a lover all that I can host is you.
You've made my body a structure I can not keep up.
A frame with no foundation.
Anorexia this is not who I'm meant to be.
You're not supposed to be.
Not with me.
We're not meant to be.
I know we once got along.
The two of us looking beautiful in that red dress.
The compliments we ate up as our only protein for the day.
"Oh you're so thin," they would say.
Anorexia I don't want to be with you anymore!
I feel like I'm breaking.
I'm sick of watching my weight.
5'2 and 40 pounds under.
Anorexia this is not how I'm supposed to be.
Just let me be.
Not you and me.
Let ME be.
I find myself missing the people I never seemed to know.
Not up to date on their name change
Yet I find myself craving them.
Craving their forgiveness for my cluelessness.
I wish I would've known better then.
I wish I would've listened better then.
Listened to what they were going through then.
But I'm afraid it's too late.
I made the mistake.
I wish I could've apologized to them.
If only I could go back to then.
Back to then when they were them.
Back to the time, I didn't comprehend them.
Back to a day, I could explain myself to them back then.
I guess this poem is as close as I'll ever get.
I feel sorry.
But I bet they've moved on from then.
I just wish I could apologize to them.
I can not see the shades of brilliance each color has to offer.
I can not see their variations of pigmentations.
I hear the word scarlet
But I can not imagine its complexion.
The word cobalt sparks confusion in my mind as to what one should see.
Colorblindness affects me every day.
When you look the color vermilion in the eyes a sense of anger glares back at you.
You say the color is violent.
To me the color is blue.
Sadness glares back at me.
I guess it has always been this way.
All color does is confuse me.
Why can't I be the same?
Living in the Bible belt is like living in hell.
Oh, the irony of it all.
Christ equals heaven that's what I was always told.
But does it really?
Oh does it really?
Really really really?
Does Christ really equal heaven in this hell?
From the age of zero, I was taught a religion that I couldn't understand.
My tiny ears couldn't even understand my own mother's words fully.
Yet, I was taught about a lord I later disowned.
Not to mention the scorching heat of it all.
The words their religious mouths set ablaze every Sunday afternoon.
The toxicity of it all.
Each Sunday afternoon sitting in a pew waiting to be pumped full of a venom I can't allow myself to believe in.
This is hell.
Yet I'm stuck here fighting because I know no better place to call my home.
A Poem Dedicated to one of my dearest friends
Today's your birthday!
You've made it yet another day.
Let us celebrate.
A life well lived is a life well loved.
Although there are hard times.
You've made it through.
5,110 days you've been on this earth.
7,358,400 minutes of achievements.
88,300,800 breaths keeping you here with us.
Let us celebrate the one we love the most.
Today's your day.
24 hours to just be you.
1,440 minutes we get to be proud of you.
Today just keep breathing those 17,280 breaths and let the world celebrate you.
Today's your birthday!
We love you.
Here's to 14 years of your life!
What is it you see in me?
Are my words too real for you?
I hope your heart has not been broken this way too.
Your poor eyes young girl.
You've read more than one should bear.
How do you stay so strong?
May I have a piece of your point of view?
To the girl always liking my poetry.
I feel so bad.
All I ever do is complain to you.
What am I to say to you when all I ever do is complain?
I just want to joke with you but I can't when all I ever do is complain.
I'm in pain.
I want to tell you why but I can't even try.
It's all a predicament I don't want to be in.
And I don't want to be here.
I don't want to be in pain.
I don't want to complain.
I want to be strong for you but how can that be done.
It sounds so plain.
Just be strong Lauren.
Why must you complain?
Did your mother teach you no better?
Did your life fail you that hard?
Lauren why don't you just stop this already?
Lately I've been crying at night.
Letting the tears drip down my face.
Lately I've been sad all day.
Hiding my pain.
I take my pills but lately I've felt conflicted.
Lately I've been searching for a reason.
A chance to not feel so lost.
Lately I have no words to say.
No way to describe my pain
Lately I've been full of regrets.
Why'd I give up on therapy?
Poetry was my only option left but I do not know what else to say anymore.
I have no wisdom left.
No advice to give myself.
So lately all I have been is lost.
I guess this is the end.
You hit me up.
It's 1 AM and you think it's a good idea.
Sliding into those DM's after years.
What am I to say?
We once where best friends I cannot lie.
You and me till the end.
You and me in my bedroom just being friends.
I still remember everything.
The late-night texting just like friends do.
The conversations we refused to share.
Just giggling at the lunch table when all else was silent.
I remember when we were once only girls.
No relationship drama to intersect.
It's just we grew up.
No more braiding hair life got too serious.
I do not hate you and I hope you feel the same.
It's just I didn't know what to say in those times I needed you the most.
The times I just needed a good hug from you to get through the day.
I guess that's why we're here today.
Sitting across a table trying to figure things out.
Can I give you a sip of what I think?
We all messed up.
You got too close to her for my heart to handle.
It felt like you'd shattered all our good times.
No more you and me it was all you and her.
I knew she wasn't good for you.
A toxic girl only there to **** your blood and break your heart.
Just what was I to say?
You cannot tell someone their new found best friend is toxic after they've left you.
You got with the wrong crowd the people you knew I was not comfortable around.
The people I first knew and introduced you to.
This is our reality now.
I will not be your best friend because you have Changed more than you needed to.
Now you're just a ***** with a best friend itch.
I will not hold your hand anymore.
This is bound to be the worst poem I have ever posted but here it is anyway.
My quiet love wasn't enough for you.
I tried and tried,
But I bet she said the things I wanted to tell you first.
The things I didn't have the guts to say.
Like "I love you".
Love never ends well for a girl like me.
Not when you're shy.
Not when your voice trembles more than you speak.
I thought I warned you!
I told you not to break my heart.
"I'm fragile," I said to you.
Yet you did it anyway.
Made me shatter in fragments impossible to see.
For you I was venerable gave you all the parts of me I was afraid to share.
The parts of me that were not perfect.
The parts I was still revising after my last quiet love story.
But you left me!
You dumped me!
Left me feeling like I had done something wrong!
Our love never meant **** to you.
I told you I was shy yet you discarded of it the same way you dumped me.
I'm sorry I could never say "I love you".
I hope you're happy with her.
Happy with her love.
A love that speaks louder than I could ever.
This poem is actually inspired by the lyrics of a work in progress Girl In Red song: my quiet love wasn't enough for you i bet she said the words i wanted to.
Something happened today.
Something I can't say.
I didn't choose to answer that phone.
They said my name on the other end.
How was I to react from within.
So then I denied the allegations.
Hung up the phone for this was the end.
2 minutes later they called again.
Left a message my ears where unwilling to hear.
They told me news I was shocked to receive.
He had done it again and gotten seized.
I am still quivering.
Trembling from the news.
They asked me to come in but I refused.
Unwilling to accept the reality that she too had been abused.
Sooooo I washed my hair last night.
Not because it was gross just because I had the motivation.
I know this whole motivation thing is absurd.
Only doing things when I feel like my body can withstand them.
The audacity of it all.
Sooooo I didn't tie my shoe on the way to lunch.
Not because I didn't want to.
Just because it felt as if I would snap.
One more stretch and the whole system would be out of whack.
Sooooo I did something I didn't need to do.
Washing my hair so I could feel more real.
Using my new found motivation in favor of my future.
On the contrary, I didn't do something I needed to do.
Tying my shoe so I could walk without stumble.
Conserving my energy all for the fall.
Not breaking in the action but breaking from the reaction.
It's crazy what motivation can do to you.
He touched me.
He yelled out to me.
Peacefully walking down the street when he reached out for me.
Making all the motions not seeming to care.
They said it was my fault.
But was I really asking for it?
Skinny jeans and a T-shirt.
Was I really the one to blame?
My hands were trained.
We keep to ourselves in a shameless game.
Why must we be trained?
Countless years in therapy still unable to erase the pain.
His force upon us.
Why must we learn to forget?
The scars are still there yet our eyes must not weep.
The tears shall not commence.
Because I was trained after that day to keep my mouth shut.
"Nothing happened to me" I was taught to say.
I am not an object.
I am just simply afraid to this day.
He touched me and that's all I am here to say.
Just from this day forward, I will keep my mouth shut like I did before.
My tongue is tied like it was taught to before.
I remember touching his hand.
You asked me if he felt dead.
If he felt cold.
You said I would feel sad.
Like I had lost a part of myself.
Yet I felt alive.
Like nothing had gone missing.
No need for searching.
When I touched his hand I felt the loss of blood.
The lack of emotions.
Like there was no one.
Yet I stayed calm.
It was as if I never knew him to be alive.
It was all the same.
The hand did not change.
From free to casket nothing was different.
He was only gone.
But was he ever alive to begin with?
Inspiration I find myself looking.
Looking for something to do something to say.
Exploring this new place.
A fondness of delight.
A curiosity not yet fulfilled.
Inspiration where are you?
I've been looking for you in all the wrong places.
In all the wrong creases.
This place is not your home.
Inspiration why did I think you would arrive here too?
Why must you be so rude?
Inspiration why won't you come with me.
I'm searching and searching.
But where are you?
How will I live without this longing being fulfilled?
Inspiration all I want is you.
To hold your hand in this unknown land.
For us to be in this together once more.
Inspiration it's time.
I love you.
I have all these ideas but I can't seem to write.
I do not want to be depressed.
Mom I am trying.
I can not keep apologizing.
I took the blade to my own skin it was not a demon from god.
I'm just trying.
Mom will you listen!?
I can not apologize.
Mom I do not believe.
Why must you say that I brought this upon myself?
Mom god did not send me a devil.
You can not drown my depression in a sea of Jesus.
Mom I brought this upon myself it is all my own mind.
Mom I can not believe.
Not in a god you claim made me this way.
I do not want to be depressed.
I just want to be me.
To be free.
Not free from a demon
But free from me.
This isn't based off full truth but here's a poem.
I do not feel at home here in this cathedral of emptiness.
Not a place to lie my head only a place that will break my heart.
Snap my bones.
Then throw me out.
How do you expect me to feel at home here?
Whenever I stay here I hear thumping in the walls.
It's as if someone is coming to get me.
How am I supposed to feel at home here?
Sleeping in the rooms marked "do not enter".
You hide me as if I am a creature.
I do not feel at home here!
I need a break.
A breath of air.
I'm sick of this darkness!
And I'm sick!
I'm sick of being sick!
But you keep hiding me.
Will you stop?
Send me home.
I do not feel at home here.
Not in this cathedral of emptiness.
Not here where I can not lie my head only break my heart.
Snap my bones.
Then be thrown out as if I was an unwanted creature.
A useless guest.
Just a waste.
This is not home.
Am I not allowed to be me anymore?
Can I not be free?
Must I seek your approval?
An object in your fantasy.
That is not who I am.
That is not who I love.
I do not think like you.
Why must you hurt me?
Can I not just be me?
Just simply free.
Lesbians are not here to be your fantasy. We are not objects we are simply human. We love who we love no apologies.
You told me we needed to talk.
The words that upset me the most.
The words you frequently spoke.
Not due to anger.
Just simply being disappointed in your own spawn.
Every time I apologized you said it was fine.
If it was truly fine then why must you yell?
Why must you yell "we need to talk."
Your voice raising to interfere mine.
Why must you take that tone?
The sounds never interlocking only blocking.
"I'm sorry" is all I know how to say.
Yet you continue to raise your voice
Because "we need to talk."
You where never one to strike my interest.
Walking around with your mallet yet missing every cue.
Must I keep tempo for you?
Each beat to lose myself in.
Yet another tick from interest.
Will you ever learn the rhythm?
Will you ever strike my interest?
It seems like all you know is walking around with your mallet missing every blatant cue.
Must I help you?
Recently I went on a vacation in which I felt very inspired writings 2 to 3 poems per day. Now that my venture has ended and I find myself home again once more I have no choice but to force poetry. This is not anything I enjoy to do. The thoughts come but can never be put together. Sadly this is where I am.
Today I'm feeling done.
I know it's bizarre.
Only one feeling to represent a day not yet done.
Just today I'm feeling done.
Today I can see the end.
I can see the blood drip.
The drain clog.
The finder cry.
Today I'm feeling done.
Not the I want to die done.
Instead the I'm already gone done.
The 15 years of trying and 0 achieving done.
Such a simple word to represent such a strong feeling.
Such a bizarre word for what I mean.
4 letters to represent a whole day.
A whole life.
Today I just feel done.
I feel like I'm watching through someone else's eyes.
A glaze over mine.
This world is yours not mine.
It'll never be mine.
It's so blurry here.
Is it just the air?
My eyes don't feel like they're mine.
Will they ever be mine?
Is it just a lost cause?
Maybe I'm in a game.
A game I can not control.
A game where I'm the pawn.
A game where there is no win.
My only outcome is death.
I guess this world really will never be mine.
I'm just a guest with eyes that are not mine.
It's been a while.
I missed you.
How are you?
It's been so long.
Why didn't you answer my texts?
Let me cling on to you.
No one else will ever love you.
Why won't you let me love you?
If I can't love you then no one can.
I miss you.
I love you.
If you leave me I'll do it.
I still have the pills you told me to get rid of.
That's all you'll ever be.
"I thought only sick people took pills."
Oh honey the things the world will tell you.
The things I want to teach you.
Don't believe everything,
It's not all truth.
But honey your eyes will deceive you.
The deepest pains lie innermost where you can not see them.
These pills tell a different story.
A tale of two worlds one you can not see.
A world that lies within me.
A world where broken isn't visible.
These pills are the only link between my worlds.
The reminder of reality.
The reminder that I too am sick.
Honey what you must know is sick isn't always visible.
Broken isn't always beautiful.
Pills are not only for the sick but the day dreamers too.
My poetry is a work in progress.
Before I can finish one I'm on to the other.