Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I should be working right now but I'm not,
a pupil beaming on the inside from her rebellion
all in the name of poetry.
Quite sad really...

But I like writing poetry regardless to work,
it's one thing that I can admit comes naturally.
Well I can admit it to myself but to others no way,
I'd like to seem complacent not arrogant.

So mid my rebellion I'll write with a smile,
not because I'm always happy,
I'll smile because today I'm content.
No really I'm writing this in one of my lessons and feeling like writing something a little positive for myself
Why am I a joke to you?
No really, because my admiration seems to be undermined
and it’s not because you don’t care,
but that you’ve seen it before.

I’ve told you these feelings many a time
like a book you’ve re-read.
But the words have lost meaning,
my words are dissmissive.
And the whole story is good to you,
but now following the process
just seems completely pointless.

To you, I’m
dispensable.
 Jan 2016 faithfulpadfoot
embla
i can't touch my temples
without
excruciating pain

i can't draw in a breath
without
pounding pain in my upper chest

i can't pull myself out of a chair
without
my legs feeling weak and jelly-like, unreliable and about to buckle

i can't walk down the hallway
without
everything spinnng, spinning, spinning oh how disoriented i am

i can't lay my head down for more than a second
without
my heavy eyelids forcing themselves shut and my brain cutting off

i can't
focus
concentrate
motivate myself

i can't get through the day
without
exerting every bit of the fragile energy in my body i have that day

every day is a chore
every day i have to push and grapple with symptoms upon symptoms that will not go away and continue to increase in number

each day i collapse on my bed and force back leaking tears
caused by
the constant pain and aches that overrun my body
caused by
the inability to want to do anything other than sleep to rid myself of this neverending fatigue
caused by
the mental fog that just won't lift

i can't stop shaking
from
this constant anxiety

my body is breaking itself down
and i
i am helpless to stop it

i am
i am
i am

i can't
i can't
i can't
I want to run away with you,
Although I barely know you, thats why we’d go,
no past, no ruin, no hurt
Just an adventure for me and you.
A relentless journey to find each other ,
jump off cliffs and write our stories.
Whilst starring into each others souls,
And the speckled sunlight peers though the crevasses
of doors at dawn because we’ve spoke through the night,
forgetting that time itself exists.

Let’s run.
we take long drags
of each others skin,
the addiction comes
in phases.
day 1: my lungs sigh, weary,
air does not satisfy,
day 2: we're chasing
lifelines, that are rusted
and in vain
day 5: bad habits are
hard to break, beg, at the
holy altar of our mistakes
day 8: hands desperate,
clammy, unfurl
like belladonna palms.
day 9: i hope your
vocal cords strain, that
the only word you can
bear to say is 'stay'.
day 11: last breaths
muffled in the
graveyard of a kiss.
day 17: darling, i'm
losing track of time
day 28: i'm finding it
a little bit hard to quit.
© copyright
“Mummy I’m sick” said the girl pale white
The mum turned around in an awful fright
exclaimed, “What’s wrong? How do you feel?’
She replied with an honesty “I never feel real”.

The mother just sighed, went back to her book.
The little girl shocked didn’t know where to look
and went back to bed, in her nothingness room
Whilst her mother ignored her nothingness gloom

The next year the girl aged, just turned thirteen,
she called out to her mum who couldn’t be seen.
And shouted down stairs “mum something is wrong”
with the mothers reply “what the hell’s going on”

So the girl with the pause says “Mum I feel sad”,
Then the mum goes on about all the girl has
and how lucky she is, and no fuss should be made
Just think happy thoughts, it will all go away.

To which the teenage girl said “you’re right” with a breath,
and goes to her room, feels like turning to death,
but switches off her light and lays in her gloom,
her room filled with nothing, fit for a tomb.

Now just turned sixteen, her heart had just broke,
a boy that she loved continued to joke
about all the things, she hated the most
her weight, her smile, she felt like a ghost

And after a week, she spoke to her mum,
about feeling so fat and feeling so numb.
Unfortunately for her, the cliche applied,
about how all teens feel this, trying to clarify
to her girl that the “fact” is it isn’t real
stop saying you’re sick, illness isn’t how you feel



This time she said nothing and went to her room
stopped talking to the boy who filled her with fumes
the thoughts of hatred and self deprecation
she knew it was time for her mum’s “education”
to see that her sickness long wasn’t all in her head
it was something deep down that started to spread

And weeks went by with planning and thought,
to show how her feelings and illness was fought,
she searched through the house for a constructive fight,
to clearly scream out what she knew was right
“Mum, I need help I don’t want to die”
but this was too late to say, the time was nigh

and finally the next day she calls for her mum
screaming “mum I’m hurt please just come”
with a relentless sigh, she walks up the stairs
to her little girls room, destroying her prayers
that her daughter was better, she wasn’t still sad
and the realisation of what she said was bad

her little girl kneeling, white and pale,
with blood on her hands, began to wail
in physical pain with emotional struggle
the mum had realised, her girl was in trouble
and picked her up and took her away
to a place where people like her could go stay.

And finally after years of trouble and fraught,
this girl knew she was allowed to be distraught…
You are like
Smoke between
My fingers,
Like drops of
Liquid gold,
A love that my mind
Knows so well
But my hands
Can never hold.

— The End —