His mind is all clogged up with excruciating thoughts,
and as he screams in agony, he knows no one could hear.
For those who did, they are what you call demons.
Those demons that stayed in him, and those that lingers around him.

He's lost and he's trapped in his own dark world, and no one is there to help.

I haven't seen my therapists in months
& everyone assumes that's a good thing.

I seem happier
& everyone thinks that I'm getting better.

I'm writing again
& everyone says writing is a healer.

They forget that therapists & medicine is for those who can still be helped. That being content is one of the final steps in ending your life.

My poetry is my suicide note and I'm writing again.

I crave a different state of mind,
Make me more honest, make me connect with people make me more open, smart and kind.

I don't crave the come down,
Make me feel tired, make me sleep but have bad dreams, make me feel distant, make my body ache and head pound.

So when the money comes around like it always does I'm constantly torn between up and down, a battle of is, isn't and was.

The envy I get seeing lovers,
Holding hands.
Caressing and beautifully staring
at their forever.

The wishful thinking that I feel seeing couples,
Happily walking.
Alongside each other
With the perfection they have for
one another.

The bitterness I feel seeing pairs,
Together, laughing
while I am alone
wishing of my own relationship
that others
would imagine as theirs.

I'm getting ready
for a Poetic War
all this time
been keeping Score
building a Poetic Army
is a good idea

though we are the Elite
our seat
is with
the Highest Command
in the World
comprised of Genius Ninja's
cloaked in love
sent from above
teaching Mindfulness
praying hands

prepare your Sandbags
the ones under your eyes
are nothing
compared
to the sleep
in counting sheep
you made me lose
and choose
a side

I pick me
you see
like Joan of Arc
I have a mission
to see to the end
my Unpoetic Friend
and Foe

Slay
with what I say
my words
you do not stand
a chance
regardless
of your dance
I am coming
in my anger
in this
I am ******
into Justice
my pen
unsheathed
for battle
my ink...is what I trust.


Cherie Nolan © 2016

some nights
I dream of worlds
that must have come from childhood fairy tales

people work happily in various trades
politicians are actually fighting for their citizens
    to make life easier and more rewarding

skin color does not matter
    nor does religious orientation
a person’s character creates distinction

women don’t live in fear of getting *****
nobody is sold into slave labor or prostitution
education is of high quality and free
    from grade school to college
financed by affluent corporations
whose shareholders just get a bit less

when I wake up
I recognize
the dream was just a dream

our reality is different

The early morning sunlight
bidding adieu to the gentle night

There are feelings left inside of my chest,
just waiting to be stirred up,
to heat up,
to erupt.
But I’ve learnt to bite my tongue
and tighten my fists
and close my eyes until it passes.
Because it’s temporary,
it’s always temporary,
just like everything we ever had
and I don’t hold on to the temporary anymore.
I breathe in and I breathe you out,
day by day.
My throat might clench
from every word I’ve left unspoken,
but it’s time to swallow the bitterness
and let it be forgotten.
I am not to be devoured by it,
I am not to be haunted,
I am not to be knelt down by a memory
that has always been blurry.
Even when you were right in front of me,
I could never see your edges,
as if my brain had decided right from the beginning
not to remember you.
Remember me not.
Remember me not.
Remember me not.