Much adored is the dead poet

Within the glass case
Away from dirt
Amongst the books pressed
Rests his heart

Such was the silence he dreamed
When words streamed
Like riverine flow
In all might arose
Seeking the order in chaos

Orderly bound now his name
In peace standing behind wooden frame
Yet with the ceaseless commotion of wait...

Much adored rests the dead poet.

this poem
is not about you

even though
your spirit is in every word
your voice sounds strong
in the halls of my mind
telling me things
I am now sure
I want to know

this poem is
about me

trying to understand
you

I love days like today—
when flowers are
being pressed
between the crinkled
pages of my
notebook, and
blades of grass are
sticking to
my bare feet.
I'm humming a line
from a song
I can't remember
the name of,
and the sun is
peeking through the
space between my
blinds.

And I can't help
but to feel alive
when I'm marveling
over all that's
surrounding me.

-k.p

I am lost.









And i don't want to be found.
I need to be *saved

I saw galaxies in your eyes.
But all you saw in mine was your own *reflection

Depression watches me.
Waiting for the ****.
Depression tugs me under the waves.
Under the waves of the grey sea.

Depression holds on tight.
Wraps its arms around me.
It wispers in my ears.
Rocks me to sleep every night.

Depression is listening when I cry.
It drys the tears from my cheeks.
It encourages me to sleep.
It tells me when I should die.

Depression stares as I fall over the edge.
Depression talks in my ear.
Says sorry my dear.
I pushed you off the ledge.

And now depression made me dead.

you cringe,
as you look in the mirror.

you say a prayer,
hoping God can erase this hate.

you hate you.
how did we get here?

you try to hide it,
hide the many tears and the scars.

you hear people say "she is so beautiful, so bold, so carefree",
your skin crawls.

you try and hide,
be smaller,
be invisible.

but everyone can see,
they can smell it.

your body is aching,
from all the stares.

your soul is rotting,
from all the times self-love was promised, but never given.

you have an enemy,
this enemy is you,
it has always been you.

meaningless things drifting in your mind
they don't matter
they can't change anything
they say
sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never harm me

thats not true
words hurt
through and through
they make you shrink
inside yourself
smaller and smaller
until there is nothing left
and nothing left for you to do