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The words are lured out of my throat,
Ripped forcefully from my mouth.
The sentences are snatched from my brain,
Poured out into the pages.
The paragraphs are grabbed from my hands,
Etched out in notebooks,
Mixed together with emotion and pain,
Drawn out into the open and slammed down onto the paper.
This is how I write,
With stolen words and sentences,
With feelings and sorrow.
One big messy world of oddities.
I liked the symbolism in this poem, it’s something I’ve been messing around with. Also, when I say ”With stolen words and sentences” I, of course, don't mean I steal other people's work, it’s more like I feel like I have this big stash of words and phrases and sentences all stuck in my brain, all locked away in some corner. Some days these things leak out and I grab them, other days I have to sneak in and take them. So, yeah, I guess I just wanted to clarify that.
Tick Tock
Goes the Clock
Another Minute Wasted
Tick Tock
Goes the Clock
Death Further Approaches.
Tick Tock
Goes the Clock
Now, What Shall We Do?
Tick Tock
Goes the Clock
Aimless Wandering
Tick Tock
Goes the Clock
I'll never be enough
Tick Tock
Goes the Clock
Wasted Time Envelopes
Tick Tock
Goes the Clock
Pressed Against my Chest
Tick Tock
Goes the Clock
Now This Poem Shall End
This is a poem commenting on how time ofter flies by, and how a lot of time I feel like I'm losing my grip on things, and that I don't have enough time. So I mixed that with a nursery about time, and I thought the results ended up well.
As I stare at the pages,
the words are sent a flutter,
swimming in a pool of ink.
Swirling and twisting,
forming into shapes and concepts,
collecting and holding together.
Suddenly, the puddles of words slip off the page,
dripping into existences.
It surrounds the world,
pressing into the cracks and crevices,
forming a new reality, an inky mess of wonder.
Enveloped in the incredible environment,
my minds wander down the worded paths,
breathing in the sentences ripped from its pages and tossed into reality.
As I close the book,
the world recedes,
weaving into its primitive inky state,
blending back into pages,
knitting words together,
creating sentences,
all plain and unassuming,
just words on pages.
Some people ask me why I like to read,
why I get so enveloped in the story.
This is why,
this journey that I take every time I open a book,
this is why I read.
This poem was inspired by The Book Theif, an amazing book you should all read. I had a lot of fun writing this poem, and I really like how it turned out.
Fires are for the hopeless soul,
the souls with nothing left in them but broken bits and bones.
They try to drown it out,
but it only feeds the flames,
soon turning it into,
an out of control raging inferno.

Floods are for desperate souls,
drowning any purpose of life,
they are pulled to and fro,
their breath all but dead.

Snow is for the empty soul,
cold and guilty,
void of anything but control.
Yet it covers them,
leaves them in a blanket of protection,
though it leaves there skin red and raw.

Hail is for the restless soul,
the pent-up energy,
the out of control,
the burning craze.
It cools there rage,
yet they can't see far in front of them,
they live in the here and now.
The hail hurts there skin,
leaving them cold and raw.

Earthquakes are for the broken souls,
the ones who worry to and fro.
Their lives are fine,
even great,
until the earthquake comes and breaks.
In an instant, it rips apart,
what had been a perfectly planned life.
It comes and cracks the land,
decimates it without a second glance.

Each of these has claimed our souls,
our lives, our time, our only goals.
and yet I trust you will go,
today with a message of hope.
If you try with all you have,
to fight these things I have said,
though it will be tough,
the journey long and hard,
met with troubles,
and many sorrows,
You. Will. Succeed.
And see the light again.
I haven't written a poem in about 2 weeks (or at least finished a poem, or came out with anything good). It feels really good writing something again.
Ruby,
You’re so deceiving and crude,
You whisper lies into my brain,
And convince me its the truth.
Ruby,
You're are persistent and rude,
Your silver tongue cuts like a knife,
And you weave doubt with ease,
With an artful craftsmanship
that sickens me to the roots.
Ruby,
Why do you seed such things in my mind?
Leave me to question everyone I know,
Make me believe I’m unloved.
You are a master designer,
Have everything laid out,
To slowly drive me insane,
One bit at a time.
Ruby,
Are you tired yet?
Of causing me to fear for my life?
Are you tired of keeping me up all night?
When will it be enough?
Will you ever leave me alone?
Or will your attacks be as persistent
As waves crashing against
The ever withering stone.
Ruby,
I have given you a name,
As to identify your game,
To know when these thoughts come,
They are not my own.
But the scary thing is,
I try to convince myself your separate,
Another being,
But you and I are one and the same,
Intertwined so tightly I don't know where you start and I end.
These thoughts are real,
While you are make believe.
So I will confusingly converse,
With you in my brain,
Until I feel so insane,
I can't keep things straight in my own head.
Ruby,
It's so twisted,
The way you make me feel,
Like somedays, you're my enemy,
And others, my only friend.
At times I feel like I have you under control,
Or at least in the back of my mind,
And yet when it all becomes too much,
And I isolate myself from this world,
You take a grip of my brain,
Of my emotions and thoughts,
And though I will fight tooth and nail,
I feel you grow stronger,
With each passing day.
I'm so afraid that you will reign over me,
And I will merely be a passenger on this ride.
I don't know how to stop you,
How to keep you in check,
I don't want to go back,
To living like I was,
Listening to your voice,
Telling me to starve myself,
Telling me to walk for hours on end,
Telling me no matter how hard I try,
I will never be enough,
Never amount to a single thing in the eyes of my family and friend.
I'm terrified of what you say to me,
Because I can't stop debating,
Whether there's truth in your words,
Or just more of your endless lies,
That constantly stream through my head.
Ruby
I don't even know if you're real or not,
How would I tell the difference?
What would either even mean?
Yet I can see you so clearly,
Right there in my head.
I'm more confused and scared,
Then I've ever been before,
And somedays,
Giving up seems so much easier than fighting you.
No, I can't think that,
Get out of my mind.
I don't know about tomorrow,
Or even the next hour,
But for right now,
I'm taking back control of what's mine.
I'll tell you one last time,
Just leave me alone,
There's only room for one in my brain,
So it's time for you to go.
Did that scare you?
Intimate you at all?
No, of course not,
You don't quite work like that,
Yet it made me feel better,
Even if it was just a minute,
So anyways,
I guess I will see you again tomorrow,
Old friend,
Old enemy.
Just to clarify, Ruby isn't an actual person, or at least not a physical person (as confusing as that sounds). She's that voice in the back of your head that tells you-you're not enough. She’s different for everyone, and for most people, she’s manageable. But for me, she's raging out of control. And I hate it. I hate her. I hate everything about this, so instead of exploding from all of this, I'm channeling it more into writing.
Loud.
Sounds.
Surround.
Me.

People.
Rushing.
Past.
Me.

Breathing.
Growing.
Faster.

He­art-Rate.
Raising.
Fast.

Muscles.
Clenched.
Eyes.
Wide

Light-He­aded.
Fog.
Encasing.
My.
Mind

Why.
Won’t.
It.
Stop.

I.
Have.
To­.
Get.
Away.
I.
Have.
To.
Run.
I.
Have.
To.
Hide.

Can’t.
Take.
T­his.
Anymore.

Everyone.
Walking.
By.
Like.
It's.
Nothing.

While­.
Tears.
Well.
To.
My.
Eyes.
Why?
I.
Do.
Not.
Know.
Anymore.

Dee­p.
Breath.
In.
And.
Out.
Calm.
Yourself.
Down.

You.
Have.
To.
Ke­ep.
Walking.

You.
Are.
Almost.
There.

Just.
Concetrate.
On.
You­r.
Friends.
And.
Ignore.
Everything.
Push.
It.
Down.

Make.
Yours­elf.
Numb.
And.
Don't.
Feel.
A.
thing.
I really don’t like the hallways in our school.
Fire is an exquisite thing,
intriguing, yet dangerous.
Its light can hold you captive,
yet if you stay for too long, it'll burn you.
You watch as the light slowly ebbs,
so the flames you feed,
giving it fuel to keep going.
So the question is,
how is it that something you made,
you feed,
can be so out of control?
Contained an controlled,
it's such a beautiful thing,
it can help you survive,
giving you warmth and shelter,
yet just one ember,
just one spark,
and your cheerful fire can rage out of control.
It can help you,
yet feed it too much,
it can fly out of your grasp,
wreaking havoc.
Or maybe it's just all a metaphor. Huh.
Hey, sorry it's been a while. So this is a metaphor, so... figure it out. Yeah, cool. Bye.
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