Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
SteamPhunk May 15
10 am,
You're sitting in the therapist's office,
Hands shaking as you tried to explain what was running through your head.
Words catching in the back of your throat.
The sun was shining so brightly through the office window,
It felt as if it could have burned a hole through the seams in your jeans,
The more you tried to talk,
The tighter your chest became,
' On a scale of one to ten, how bad is this feeling? '
At this moment, it's surpassed the scale,
It was like you were standing on a cliff edge and you were looking down at all the waves crashing against the rocks.
Like one wrong move and everything would come crashing down around you,
' About a four... '
You finally managed to say,
You knew it was a lie and so did your therapist,
Deep down you wished you could be honest,
But you just couldn't.
See, you sitting there made you feel things.
Things you'd rather not have felt.
Just then you would have prefered to be completely numb.
You wished you could scream, scream until your lungs were burnt dry and sore,
But every time you tried, it was just silence.
It was like you were drowning,
But everyone around you was seeing you swimming,
You... you who couldn't speak,
You who had lost your voice,
You who'd spend their weekend mornings sitting on that blue leather couch.
Trying to empty yourself so that you wouldn't have to feel for the rest of the week.
You, the grey-faced kid at the back of the class,
You who I met before I understood what it was to feel grey on the inside and out,
And you who said, for no reason, that you could buy a £100 mirror and only ever see the flaws,
You who brought black eyes and broken teeth home,
And then sit unreachable,
Until someone who couldn't understand told you to move along.
You who sat under your hoodie, as if the fabric could absorb all the names they called you,
As if by emptying yourself, you would feel nothing,
You who were made up of one part medicine, two parts sadness,
You who sat alone as the rain soaked your coat and mixed with the blood on your face,
But the part I miss was you,
You who used to make bad jokes, laugh and drink coke,
Laugh even when it wasn't funny,
But you are gone,
And you aren't coming back.
This is a collaboration between me and my friend Maddie.
SteamPhunk May 14
Burning, falling,
Smoke rising, thick and choking,
Eyes fogging over lost in the burning wreck that was your mind,
Heaps of memories, discarded, unwanted,
Origami doves crushed under a dozen boots,
Ripped pages fluttered through the air,
Not enough energy to even cry,
Fluttering, falling, broken, fractured, dying, dead,
But the bird that is your soul turned your mind to stone and your heart to iron.
Picking yourself up through the dry and cracked dirt.
You kept going, running even though your legs were broken,
The universe gave you wings, and wings are meant for flying, not for falling.
You are an art gallery,
You store so many strange and peculiar things,
That only certain people can see and understand the beauty of.
To the rest of the world,
You're just scribbles.
So don't give up yet,
Not when you have so much left to give,
Keep your chin up or the crown will slip,
You have to keep on marching.
You have to prove them wrong,
Prove you cannot be broken,
Because wings are meant for flying,
Not for falling.
This is a collaboration between me and my friend Maddie.
SteamPhunk May 14
I cut my wings off,
I didn't want them then and I don't want them now.
I am a fallen angel,
I don't want my wings, but they grew back,
So I cut them off again,
I don't want forgiveness, I found a place for myself in this hollow world.
I wasn't asking for forgiveness, I didn't want it then, and I don't want it now.
I sinned again and again,
Yet still, you forgave me,
I don't know if you think I'll stop sinning if you keep making my wings grow back, if you do, then you're wrong,
I'll just keep cutting them off,
Again and again,
I'll fill garbage bags with angel wings, make a bonfire and burn them all.
So quit making them,
Because I'm not coming back,
You crushed me,
I was a broken jigsaw piece,
Yet you still tried to make me fit,
You said you loved us unconditionally,
But you still tried to fix us.
Let go of me,
You are wasting your time,
I left because you wouldn't accept me for me,
You wanted me to be something I was not.
Stop trying to give me wings,
I didn't want them then,
And I don't want them,
Your Sincerely,
Fallen Angel
This is a collaboration between me and my friend Maddie.
SteamPhunk May 14
' Why are you so loud about *** rights, all the time? '
' Why does everything have to be about The ****? '
' It's 2019, why do we still need Pride? '
Because in the U.S.A, there are more than fifteen states where it is legal to fire someone for being ***.
Because same-*** relationships are still illegal in 72 countries,
Because in some countries, it's legal to stone people to death for being ***.
Because Chechnian authorities can still issue statements like ' **** your *** children before we do '
Because despite only 7% of American youth identify as ***,
*** youth make up 40% of homeless youth in the U.S.
Because the average age of a trans person is 35.
We may have come a long way,
But we still have a long way left to go.
I respect your beliefs,
But not when they are damaging my human rights.
I am sick of people debating my right to exist.
We are proud, we are loud and we will celebrate our existence.
We are celebrating our ability to exist openly without facing intolerance and hatred,
Which in this world isn't guaranteed.
We are celebrating our rights to be treated as equal to everybody else.
SteamPhunk Apr 17
When I say ' message me anytime '
I really mean it,
Not small talk but real conversations,
I'm happy to sit and listen to you rant about being alone at lunchbreak,
Tell me all about your day,
Even the littlest details.
Message me at 1am just because you're bored and you can't sleep,
And we can stay up and talk until 3,
Even though we are 543 miles away,
At least we're under the same sky.
Distance means so little when someone means so much,
So if we ever stop talking,
Send me a song,
Because I never want to lose you x
This is a poem for my beautiful Dutch friend Lieke! <3
SteamPhunk Dec 2018
Dusk and Nostalgia are old friends,
They sit drinking orange soda on the porch,
Reminiscing about the old days.
Dusk is all floral sundresses and sandals,
Nostalgia is all leather jackets and converse trainers.

The air is hot and thick with the breath of summertime,
It's like everything is going in slow-motion,
Everything is tinted with this warming yellowish glow.

They watch as soft sun filters through the trees,
The clouds purple, the skies painted pastel pink,
These are the moments you wish could last forever,
These are the moments that make you feel as if you are living in a Polaroid.
SteamPhunk Nov 2018
If you were to go looking for Icarus,
You'd have to travel all the way to the end of the world,
New York City!
The city where dreams come true,
You'd have to travel to a run down lower Eastside apartment,
You'd find a failed theatre student,
Lining up empty wine bottles along his windowledge,
Like he was arranging a stained glass mosaic,
This city is just a shallow concrete pipe dream,
Nothing but burnt-out hopes and broken promises,
A city where Icarus would fit right in.
He listens to Debussi and waltzes around his kitchen.
He drinks dollar-store liquor like it was holy water,
He smokes Marlboro lites like they'll really save him.
He sites on his balcony and paints the city skyline,
Even though nobody will ever see his paintings,
They are his salvation,
His confessional.
He flinches whenever he sits down,
His wounds are still sore,
A reminder of his recklessness,
This is where you'll find Icarus,
In a run down lower Eastside apartment,
In the city where dreams come true.
Next page