We are all prisonors
Of this place called life
Every man is imprisoned
And also every wife
Society is the warden
In this prison without walls
And society does it's work
Without any flaws
There is no way to escape
It's impossible to do
Even if you might have
A brother with a big tattoo
Yes there is really
No way in this life
You will find a way
To get out of it alive

The days
So many
I had not thought
To live
So many.
The past
Locked away
Lives still.
The future
Before us
Holds wonder.

I scream and I fight but no hears the cries. at night
When
I feel like giving up
When
I want this to END
When
no one can hear me with this fake grin
When
I pretend to smile
When
I pretend laugh
When
I look inside is
When
I cry, Its also
When
I can't Sleep at night
When
A man needsheld
When
He needs glued, That is
When
I look to you
When
I try to feel you, your never there
When
Looking for you, you are never found
When
I need made whole.

A verse doesn’t have to rhyme
In order for it to be called a poem

It doesn’t have to have a quota
To limit your endless ideas

It doesn’t have to be beautiful
In order for it to be read

It doesn’t have to be spontaneously vague
To be able to leave a good impression


But your poem has to have a heart
For whenever an eye passes through your scribbled mind
He will be able to fathom the real emotion of your work

Why are these dreams broken?
when all these words are left unspoken.
Uncertainty killing those who care inside.
They are left to rot, left to die.
Why are their faces filled with sorrow?
They see no light, no tomorrow.
They beg and they plea.
Only to see cruelty.
Why do the stars fade from our eyes?
Is it because we are slowly dying inside.
Why are you sad, why can't you breath?
You are drowning in sorrow, please don't leave.
Why are we abandoned and left to rot.
Never to leave stuck in this spot?
Why do our nightmares overcome our dreams?
Because can't you see.
These dreams are broken, they are left unspoken, by me.

Looking into the mirror,
But I can't see myself,
All I can see is horror;

My face is ******,
And full of bruises,
But I feel no pain,
Not physical at least;

I see a tear,
rolling down my face,
It is not sorrow,
But it's relief;

In a few years more,
I think a part of me
will always be the
17 year old girl whose
heart you broke in
many different ways.