Don’t say this
Don’t say that
Don’t touch this
Don’t touch that,
Is this a parent thing
Or just a terrible trap,
Sit up straight
Don’t slurp your tea
What ever they say
I shall not agree.
Smoking is bad
Alcohol is a sin
All this parenting
Thing is growing thin.
Mum and dad making
My life a
living hell
Im thinking of getting out
Explode and rebel
Got a slight problem
My sister agrees brother
She said your only three.

I want to be okay
I want to be normal
I want to be loved

But I’m not
I’m not okay
I’m not normal
And I’m not loved

But that’s okay
It’s normal not to be normal
It’s okay not to be okay
It’s lovely not to be loved

I think

I don’t want to cut myself
I don’t want to feel bad
I don’t want to get worse mentally

But that’s fine
Its normal to cut myself
It’s okay to feel bad
It’s lovely to worsen my mentality

Its normal
Its okay
And its lovely

I’m normal
Okay
And lovely

The worst they could say is no.

Every time.

For decades.

The worst.

I’m almost a poet.
I almost make sense
Enough to impress
Others with my senseful nonsense

I’m almost a poet
And I almost understand
Others’s poems and other poets
In the end no use, I tried to no end
But I like to pretend.

I’m almost a poet,
My metaphors are almost immersive enough
And my edges and corners are almost not rough

I’m almost a poet
I’m almost there
But not quite
I’m almost a poet
Almost - a man.

_M

It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come