Its hard to write a poem when you don’t feel anything
I’m not quite numb
But nor am I happy or sad
I’m just here

Its hard to write a poem when you aren’t sad
I try to describe the feeling of everything but nothingness
But all that comes out is not how I feel
I try to describe the feeling of having a ******* cloud over you
But thats not what I say
And I try to describe how it feels to have a blade across your skin
But whats comes is misplaced words

Its hard to write a poem when you aren’t happy
I try to describe the feeling of love when my girlfriend holds my hand
But all that comes out, is nothing like how it feels
I try to describe the way she plays with my hair and the love in her eyes
But all that comes out is mumbled words with a stutter
I try to describe how she lights up my day
But all that turns into is sadness

Its hard to write a poem when you don’t feel anything
When I’m as happy as can be
But I still want to cut
Its hard to write a poem when you don’t even know your own feelings

The monsters under our beds never left
They got bigger and stronger as we got older
Unlike what the movies said
We was told they were suppose to leave
They were gonna leave us alone and let us live
But the monsters under our beds never left

The ghosts in our closets never died
They became louder with words and learned more actions
They found ways to escape in the cracks
And crept up on us in the worst of times
We were always hoping they were gonna pass along
But the ghosts in our closets never died

The night-lights beside our beds burnt out
It was advertised as never ending
Suppose to protect me from the demons
Keep the light in and dark out
We were always happy when it shined
But the night-lights beside our beds burnt out

The crack under our doors only got bigger
Not physically of course but they somehow allowed more things through
The door is suppose to block out the bad people
Its suppose to protect me from the unwanted
And always keep me safe
But the crack under our doors only got bigger

Our dads always got stronger
We were told parents are suppose to be there for you
Protect you from the imaginary things
But he became the monsters and he became the ghosts
I tried to keep myself safe
But our dads always got stronger

We became more scared
Growing old is suppose to mean growing out of childhood terrors
But the monsters never left
The ghosts never died
The night-lights burnt out
The cracks got bigger
He became stronger
And we are now always terrified

You hurt,
And you cry
You scream, shriek, yell
But it's silent-
For silence is empty
And the emptiness is deafening and full.
People are full of emptiness
Remain this shallow,
With the same questions
You constantly repeat.

Life is a competition, a game
But what if i don't want to play
Where do i end up-
Alone, outcasted
I say I don't care, but no one truly never cares
Nothing will leave my mind.
I used to think this different was good,
But now I'm not so sure.

The world is the same with its differences
But different is never different enough
To be the same is not similar enough
Nothing is ever going to be enough
We can never be satisfied
Because people are quiet
And people are empty.

when your mind clouds over
like the sky on a rainy morning
when your heart starts to fracture
as if it were a ligament to be fixed
when your eyes become oceans
with threats of tsunamis in the waves

there is nothing as peaceful as that

I am tired of conforming
I am tired of smiling
I am tired of covering up
I am tired of pretending
I am tired of fighting
I am tired of being tired
I am tired of life

Ode to a Poet(writer)
I know you,
All alone
4am is when you feel most at home.
I feel you,
Blank page, full pen,
I see you,
Looking at a page waiting for a tale to unfold,
Behold!
When it starts, it flows,
I am you,
Hiding away, writing my pain,
Escaping reality,
Day to day,
We are art,
In the way we move,
We are the dreamer's and believer's
Pad and pen in hand til our dreams come true.
C. Tyler

419

We grow accustomed to the Dark—
When light is put away—
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye—

A Moment—We uncertain step
For newness of the night—
Then—fit our Vision to the Dark—
And meet the Road—*****—

And so of larger—Darkness—
Those Evenings of the Brain—
When not a Moon disclose a sign—
Or Star—come out—within—

The Bravest—***** a little—
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead—
But as they learn to see—

Either the Darkness alters—
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight—
And Life steps almost straight.