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Elin Roberts Apr 14
10 years
Seems like a landmark
A traumatising reality
The cold clasp of death
It grips at the starless night
And the moon, oh, the moon
How she screams
Oh how those noises swallow me whole
Elin Roberts Mar 4
your game once more
seems to have fallen through
empty hands that scream treachery
your face, unfamiliar in its absence

eyes that once provided comfort
they're glazed over with cold indifference
i crave your empty love, your hollow affection
i crave to read your lying palms and i seek the love that isn't there

gratitude is hard to find in solace
for i feel neither
pitiful words that scream betrayal
your soul uncaring, unbalanced

foolish now, is how i feel
foolish to have believed your words
dripping with the fake scent
of a love never known to me

take advantage of my my caring soul
take it all
drown in my lust and in my love
choke on the emotion your heart adores

the love you so blatantly lack
i see your greed now
shining upon its twisted shrine
my heart is but your centerpiece

shrouded in your ignorance
lost love in all its glory
Elin Roberts Nov 2018
so turns out
naked humanity
in all its vulnerability
seems to have hit
a chord within your soul

tell me why
my scars seem to encourage
an uncomfortable isolation
that is felt within myself
when your gaze averts mine

i can’t help but feel
that your thoughts aren’t understanding
your adamant resistance is clear
when you won’t let me explain
that this isn’t a means to an end

i don’t enjoy what i do
to myself, at least
as if watching the last drop dripping from
a serrated blade
brings any form of peace to my mind

you cut across
the veins of my emotion
with uncaring words that scream
‘i don’t have time to indulge in the attention you seek’
when that isn’t the case at all

call me dramatic
my mind has turned to static
into sound that echo similarly
to the demons that hold my heart close
looking into the eyes of a soul that resembles a ghost

a ghost of a former me
they say lovers are the ones that got away
yet never look at that face in the mirror
watch that gleam in your eyes shimmer
melt away, become the twin sister of decay

watch it melt and rot
let it become an infinite not
not a cause or a claim
not an excuse to anyone asking why your depression
‘is a thing’

you needn’t ever feel
the need to engage
in a conversation where you feel
as though you must explain your pain
because indulging in the small mindedness of bigots who’s higher horse is diseased

is never a necessity
or an accessory

but a privilege
to those who will take the time to listen

and maybe even care.
don't make me my mental health a sin
Elin Roberts Sep 2018
I am a lighthouse standing strong
Against a stormy sea
Beat me down with the violent rain
But I'll never stop being me

A lonely sailor I may be
Stoic in silent solitude
Watching all that is to be, all that is to come
Freedom seems a fleeting scene and reality is seemingly numb

But yet I stay in this place
Resolute is a lonely silence
Watch the clouds, and read the sky
Feel the rain yet remain bone dry
Forever searching for a reason why

Why a lonely lighthouse such as me
Shines so bright when it wishes to be
So easily abled to turn off the light
And embrace the fade of a dark winters night
Elin Roberts Aug 2018
forever feeling miserable
struggling to escape
the head space i'm in
yeah this is a funny way to start a poem
but what to do when i struggle to find a piece of paper for this pen

the pen of my mind
sounds silly but yeah
this pen's run out of ink in an aspect that i can't describe
don't understand the pain i feel when the worlds insecurities and judgments become real, when they break the ******* seal

dear god.

why judge a person by the colour of their skin?
their religion?
their view?
the position they're in?
when white privilege becomes an overbearing shadow of a supposed 'gods' sin
when the upper and middle classes decide that they're in

the saddle of a higher horse
lacking the feeling of remorse
deciding the laws and punishments of an irrelevant choice
that has nothing to do with our selves
and everything to do with an intimidating insecurity.

it breaks my heart, and
i've no idea where to begin, where to start
i can't describe the pain i feel when i look into the eyes of one
who's been denied of their own identity, their own individuality
their claim and their right to decide where to start
on figuring out the person they want to be within their own heart

someone, please, set me free
from the limitations of my imagination
i need to escape the boundaries of this deluded reality that society
has carefully and tactfully created
to tame the thoughts of a mind such as mine
to stop me being free

free to believe that i am my own person
free to believe that i am an individual form of me
free to believe that my heart doesn't beat to the rhythm of a reality that's very purpose is to destroy the extraordinary

that IS human nature

to those reading my poem, i may not make sense
but then again, what does, guess i'm creating a certain suspense
in this day and age
filled with societies decay
societies need to destroy and conform those who live outside the standard that is expected
the standard that is reflected

in the eyes of those who feel the desire, to want so strongly to be connected
to a group of the earths people
who were born to create a deflected
sense of abnormality, because their lack of understanding
reflects their personalities
and bless them in the sense that they'll never understand
that people were born because
we were always meant to

band together

live together

die together

and that is our reality
first one i've written in a while
Elin Roberts Apr 2018
i find these days
i'm burning out at both ends

a loneliness is melting my insides
memories pooling like wax at my wicker cased feet
i blow and gasp, desperately trying to save my liquid soul
from pouring through cracks that aren't shown to blind eyes

someone, please
quench this flame
pour water over the embers of my being and baptise me into a new light
in which i know an answer, not shown by pain

but shown by a sense of true serenity
i'm lost
Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.
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