Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
dev Jul 2014
“I am worthless.”
“You are not worthless.”

“I don’t deserve to be happy.”
“Everyone deserves to be happy.”

“It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.”

“No one loves me.”
“I love you.”

“No one would care if I were dead.”
“I would care.”

“I can’t live with myself.”
“I can’t live without you.”
dev Nov 2014
These memories are like wounds,
and even though they are old they still feel fresh.
You never said you were sorry,
you never stitched up my gashes,
so every time I am reminded of them,
they start to bleed again.

In flashes I watch them, the memories,
like old-time movies on cinema screens,
in black and white, so monochrome,
the least my mind can do,
at least spare me from the colorful detail.

I am trapped in that theater,
forced to watch through ocean waves,
until a boy comes with a golden key to unlock the doors.

His smile comforts me,
covers up my cuts like bandages.
His voice, my morphine,
makes the pain fade.
But like every medication, the relief wears off,
the boy disappears,
and I am alone again.

Left to wonder when the delicate dressings will rip,
and when the blood will pour down my chest,
infinitely.
dev Oct 2014
when I see a child
walking hand-in-hand
with two parents

when I see seats
filled at a school concert
with two parents

when I see dinner
in front of my friend
with two parents

when I remember that
I am not as lucky as those
with two parents.
dev Jul 2014
love is hard
you put your everything into someone and hope they don't throw it back in your face
you make memories that are nearly impossible to forget and hope they don't give you a reason to want to forget them
you give them your heart and hope they don't rip it apart
you fall and hope they catch you before you hit the ground
but love is *worth it
dev Jul 2014
“You don’t get that it doesn't just go away. It’s something I have to fight every day. No matter how happy I am with you, and believe me, I am happy,” he explained. “It still follows me around. The depression, the self-loathing, the loneliness.” He said. His voice struggled to get the words out, stuttering and straining with each word. “I’m sorry.” He choked.
dev Jul 2014
the first track is a beautiful ballad; alive and joyous
the second is an upbeat melody; quick and playful
the third is a sullen lullaby; drawn out and breathless
the fourth is a headstrong anthem; robust and conquering
the fifth is a low tune; strong and steady
the sixth is a peaceful hymn; constant and enduring
the last is a gentle song; tranquil and smooth, it drifts off leisurely

this is the playlist of life
dev Jul 2014
we search for freedom from this meaningless life.
liberation from our suffering.
deliverance from the pain that is humankind.

we use home remedies like alcohol,
drugs,
suicide.

we are too busy chasing this imaginary concept,
that we do not realize we, and we alone, create freedom.
we just have to let ourselves be free.
dev Jul 2014
What is a rhyme scheme?
What is a sentence?
capitalization?
Punctuation
What is a story?
What is a poem?

None of these things define writing.
You define it when you write.
dev Jul 2014
Here's to the normal days.

The days you didn't get dumped.

The days you didn't cry.

The days you didn't meet the love of your life.

The days you didn't go out on an enormous adventure.

Here's to the days no one writes poems about.
dev Jul 2014
underneath your skin is a human
same as me
                  same as her
same as him
                  same as us

treat them like it.
dev Jul 2014
Rub.
Rub.
A clean, smooth wrist.

Press.
Press.
An icy razorblade.

Slash.
Slash.
Two red lines.

Drip.
Drip.
Warm, crimson blood.

Sigh.
Sigh.
Overwhelming relief.
dev Jul 2014
Smooth skin, bumpy marks.
Gentle touch, jagged scars.
Mended mind, broken heart.
Cheerful smile, hides it all.

Bright eyes, dark soul.
A thousand dreams, no goals.
Climbing up, digs a deeper hole.
So many friends, yet you feel alone.

There are two sides to every mask,
You make deciphering a difficult task.
There is the fake face that you see,
And then the real man underneath.
dev Jul 2014
A pale canvas lies before you.
You pick up your paint brush and think.
An artist deciding what to make.

What shall you create?
Horizontal lines in a row?
Diagonal ones?
Maybe vertical?
Should they intersect?

Your face is pensive as you make your strokes.
With each glide of your tool, vivid red invades the emptiness.
Sighs of relief escape your lips as you finish.

A ****** wrist, your masterpiece.
dev Jul 2014
the saddest song you know plays slower than you remember
****** kittens, bruised dogs, or gaunt children flash across the screen
a celebrity looks at you with a pleading expression, but their eyes are empty
they tell you "for just ten dollars a month, you can make a difference"

then

you stand and get your credit card before picking up the phone
your eager fingers dial the number on the screen quickly
you give the operator all of your information
you finally slouch back in your chair, feeling immense relief

except

you never got your credit card
you never dialed the number
you never spoke to the operator
you just sat in your chair and continued to stare at the television

because

the commercials don't work
the advertisements don't work
humans choose oblivion over consciousness even when reality is right in front of their faces
dev Oct 2014
cigarettes and guns both have the power to **** you

the difference is some people prefer to die slowly
dev Oct 2014
shout
into the empty abyss

cry
onto a nonexistent shoulder

scream
to the distant shadows

roar
at your lonely pair of ears
dev Jul 2014
You inspire me.

The way your words send chills down my spine.
And how your undying love can be felt from across the world.
The way you listen attentively, no matter how meaningless my sentences are.
And how you support me with even the smallest of gestures.

A woman nor a man can inspire me as much as you do.
You, the people of Hello Poetry.

You inspire me.
dev Jul 2014
Tonight this pen is heavy with all the things I have yet to write.

Stories whose inspiration came long ago.
Poems from memories I can hardly remember.
Essays I have not been assigned.
Lyrics that I tried so hard to rhyme.
Letters filled with words of love and affection.

Tonight this pen is too heavy to write all the things I have yet to write.
dev Jul 2014
I can hear the shadows whispering.
"Come back, come back." they plead.

I keep my face towards the sun.
I won't go back.

I can feel the shadows tugging.
Pulling on my every emotion, closer, closer.

I keep my face towards the sun.
I won't go back.

I can see the shadows following.
Waiting, waiting, for me to break.

I keep my face towards the sun.
I won't go back.

They will never leave me, and that's okay.
I've learned how to fight it, and I promised myself.

*I won't go back.
dev Jul 2014
Labels do not define people.

People define labels.
dev Jul 2014
Too many people have this mentality that if you talk about your problems, you're weak.

Opening up just means your strong enough to face things that are hard, and fix them.
dev Jul 2014
-Indie Folk

-Iced Tea

-Laptop

-A slight breeze

-An empty room

-A memory

— The End —