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A Oct 20
I wish plants could speak
They’d tell me of  horrid things they’d seen
Above them and next to them
Left and right
They’d speak of the rain that came after drought
And the joy they would have at that
They’d tell me about the loss when a flower got picked
and the fuss of it if anyone cared enough to get it fixed
for a new plant in its place
a new life replacing the old
a decade of silver instead of gold
With new existential questions (some are very bold)
would the sky get angry then and start raining coal?
for how dare a simple plant question the mighty clouds?
and have a voice to speak and make sounds?
while it is inferior, sickle, stuck in the same old grounds,
as it’s quiet predecessors

I wish plants could speak
they’d be full of wisdom I’d reckon
They’d be melancholy
they’d seldom speak
and sometimes,
Of hope a beacon

you’d think they might know the most of this earth
as their roots are intertwined with it
I’d say It unravels it’s secrets to them
For it knows for sure
That plants never speak.
wrote this without re reading it. Sorry if it’s *******
A Aug 13
love to love
But fear it too
sugarcoated with gloss
it eventually haunts you

love is fragile
Love is weak
love is easily tainted
like a white bedsheet

love is warm
love makes you feel
but it burns out like a candle
leaving hard wax to peel

love is glorious
oh I adore being loved!
but I put being numb above anything else
for it doesn’t feel worth it after being stung

so I walk on eggshells
and live this life alone
who would ever love me?
no one at all.
no one at all.

I tuck myself into bed
and imagine someone there
next to each other under blankets
filling the night with pointless stares
it is silly, I know
I can’t even look someone in the eye
but what if!
someone loved me? And saw through my disguise
all I feel is pain now
I’m riddled with bitterness and hurt
for I had dared to love once
and it only broke me in return.
After a horrible experience with so many feelings still inside me
A Jun 19
Is this what it’s like to be young?
The constant feeling of doom
the romanticization of finding a groom
the constant need to grow and bloom

Is this what it’s like to be young?
does it occur to other people?
the feeling of being imprisoned in your own mind
the silly reassurance you seek and hide behind
to have a sweet tooth for death every day in your life
trying to move in quicksand against the tide

It’s all fruitless
It’s all helpless
we all dream about the noose while we stand rope-less

Is this what it’s like to be young?
filled with rage confused with angst
demanding better & being ridiculed to rants
while we watch our lives slip through our hands
made to believe a better world is beyond our ranks

Is this what it’s like to be young?
existential dread at tender ages
beautiful minds locked up in cages
spilling our thoughts into endless pages
of books that no one will read.
Our years passing by as we bleed.
unable to think of a world with one good deed
when everyone has paid us dust.
we live in a world run by greed, power & lust
and so our steel will to live starts to rust
now I sit idly, waiting to turn to dust

Is this what it feels like to be young?
I may never know for sure
but I know that I’ve loved and fought in wars
that still exist from lifetimes ago
and I still can’t see justice or peace.
I haven’t written in a long time
A Apr 7
I dream in pink
I dream in comforting colors
I dream big and I dream hard
Trying to escape this world and depart

The pink I dream of is now on my dress,
with stitched white flowers I try to impress
On my birthday with a smile & stare
would I be happy with lungs devoid of air?

what if I decay and become one with the soil?
that should be enough to end my turmoil
Tearing me in half between life and death
Oh, little birds, I wish I was in your stead

I dream in black and, sometimes, in blue
it really just depends on my heart and its rue
for all the times I let it break apart and bruise
then patched it up, with some parts loose

I will blow a candle,
Officiate a new year
just like every time,
with a smile & a tear
For a year has passed,
And I’m still just as torn,
between wanting to be here
& wishing I was never born.
I turn 19 tomorrow. Some thoughts about making it to another year.
A Mar 31
Can I keep my heart in here a bit longer?
my arm is weary from having it on my sleeve
In times like these I wish I was stronger
Maybe that would put my mind at ease

But now it’s thrown back into my face,
Dare I say it is unscathed?
perhaps it never needed mending at all
Just a few throws to put it back into its place.

Oh I am hurting beyond belief!
For something that never was,
& never will be
but maybe letting go has it’s bitter relief

Can I drown in an ocean of tears? Or is that a bit dramatic?
Guess my love never reached where it was supposed to,
Guess my love got lost in the static.
somewhat heartbroken about something that was never meant to be. Mourning something in a poem.
A Feb 11
Happiness is foreign
Dare I say bleak?
The path to it is harsh
The climb to it steep
A taste of it makes me worried
Fragile that it makes me unwell
I wish I could live without sadness
I wish I could be sound and swell

It’s a feeling simmering above my chest
Buzzing with optimism for the unknown
Knowing that it burns out quickly
Keeps me alert for what is shown
I’m starting to think of sadness as a clutch
Without it,  I won’t amount to much
and with that fizzled happiness inevitably gone
I will remain empty and hollow
with a bitter revelation;
“Happiness is nothing but a con.”
wrote this a while ago. Think I’ve lost all potential I had in writing. I am very empty and lost.
A Dec 2019
Air is overwhelming
when I try so hard to breathe
With not so much as a warning
My life’s passed me by like a sneeze

for the life of me I can’t remember
a time where I was at ease
A time where I lived for myself
not people I’m trying to please

I am a vessel
Empty and hollow
& it seems I’ve run out of tears
Why is it so hard to think of tomorrow?
Why can’t I just shift the gears?

I’m hitting walls left and right
My blood is warm
I’m out of sight
Isn’t it weird how it’s always bright?
When you’re drowning in your deepest sorrows.
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