it’s almost never ending yet I know it will come to an end
if its tangible it’s temporary yet I can never seem to mend
no matter how many nights I spend
with liquid pleas running down my cheeks
trying to inspire myself to be one that gets up & seeks
Yet I am lost in the middle
Life to me is just a complex riddle.
Times running out and I’m getting older yet I gain no value when my life fits into a folder
all my days are caged
All my smiles are staged
All my misery is contained yet it escapes sometimes
Hitting me as a strong wind hits its chimes
My sadness is unbearable yet I’ve not committed a crime
Why am I sentenced to fade into my blues until the end of time?
very raw and unedited yet life has been overwhelmingly closed to me & this is what I came up with to convey and escape. Hope you like it.
We’re all kept on a leash
theirs just happens to be twice as long
While I suffocate to breathe
Fabrics on my body decide my worth
So I bury myself under a cloth
To spare myself from their wrath
When their leashes are loose and mine is taut
They scream at the audacity of my request to breathe
and continue to smother and punch and squeeze
To render me helpless (it’s really a breeze)
So I continue to suffer while they’re at ease.
The world is helpless & I am chained
My attempts to escape are all in vain
And I just sit around and cry
wishing I didn’t have a brain.
what is life then?
If not *****, scarlet nights and cigarettes
Can it be music so loud that it vibrates within me? pumping through my veins,
Harmonizing with my pulse
isn’t life just one big song?
I hope mine isn’t mellow and quiet
I’d like to see it end with a Big Bang
Like the build up in a rock song that leaves me heaving
And yet I’m stuck in the beginning
Repeating every day
over and over
Like my life is a broken record
And the song doesn’t play past the opening sound
And so I find myself in a hospital gown
wondering why my song isn’t great
how it’s not getting better at any rate
while I ponder my worth under a fluorescent glow
******* to a bed watching my favorite show
grasping at straws with hopes of ‘you never know!!’
life passing me by at lightning speed while I’m going slow
Dragging my sadness that never seems to leave
and all existential crisis in tow
I will not be this young forever
my bones are bound to weaken and tatter
yet here I am trying to mold myself into something you’d rather
instead of just being me
I remember my own incessant laughter
while I was eating myself up about turning grey
what will become of me then I wonder
will the tongues of people become a predator & I their prey?
I look at myself in the mirror & think
about the times yet to come where I lose and sink
with the weight of my existence drowned in pink
with a childish dream of a future where I sing
tears do not turn back time
regret will only sting like lime
on memories I try my best to suppress
of the times I killed my self
little by little,
just to impress
something I realized while looking into my bathroom mirror this morning.
the maid in our house raised me
and she loves me like her own I see
but when she asked for a raise
my father said she wasn’t worthy of such praise
And it kind of put me in a haze
for I see her working 16 hours a day
in freezing winters and in the middle of May
without so much of a complaint
no matter what she’s going through a smile on her face she’d paint
I’d come to see her as a saint
For she ironed my clothes and kept me fed
& didn’t mind my temper and some lousy words I’d said
She forgave everyone before going to bed
and never had time for a tear to shed
long mornings and short nights
She lived separated from our world and it’s heights
Thinking of the mouths to feed millions of miles away
So she worked till her feet ached without any dismay
My respect for her was always great but my anger is greater
Because what is this world where money and wealth kills us sooner or later
and we are never equal
because someone is a pheasant while others are regal
my paper planes don’t equate to your steel ones
and yet I should smile I say that money isn’t everything
While someone starves eating mud while you some show off their new diamond rings
so tell me how is that fair?
can’t god give everyone their decent share?
Or does he see their suffering and simply doesn’t care?
call it blasphemy, but I can’t bare to see despair
on the face of millions, because it’s something we can repair
Yet no one lifts a finger or gives a penny to spare
Because god did not make us equal
& that’s the truth when it’s bare.
My father didn’t actually say that but that’s just a reflection of how the society I grew up in find house workers less of a being than they are
I turned eighteen thinking I won't make it that far.
I'm not proud that I did because life is becoming serious.
I cannot see a future for myself beyond a grave,
I can't help but think that that's all 'm destined for.
Why do I keep lying to myself then?
clinging on to the dead hope of a better life someday
how many candles do I have to blow with closed eyes?
wishing I could rewind my youth to stargazing and parties and freedom
not looking from sidelines at what others enjoy
can I, for once, feel real change?
nothing half assed or false promises,
for I feel like my life has been getting by on that
But it's not enough anymore.
I loathe crawling into bed everyday wishing I had a life beside my own
one where I feel content and complete instead of broken and torn
my words disgust me now I'm afraid
I can't seem to get them out how I want to anymore
to tell you the truth i feel like I strayed
from the only road that led me towards expression
now I'm stuck in my head under the roof of my room
wishing my depression away with saltly tears for it is my doom.
im sorry i ****
I seem to loose the essence of what all of this is about.
it before gave me a way to express what I desperately wanted to shout,
or maybe this is just a common case of a poet's drought?
I can never be certain.
I am my own worst critic,
could you say that I'm harsh or bad at doing my job?
is my self loathing so blinding that I have to look no further for the reason of lost essence?
I don't know what to think anymore
should I quit?
or should I try to live through this tiring phase?
I'm not one for holding on to hope for too long,
and neither am I one to pray.
i dont even know anymore. should i quit poetry?