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  Jan 17 i bleed poetry
Wanderer
Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art
Your bliss turns to blues.
You're in the bottom
but now you know
your only way is up.

Your warmth turns to drought.
You can pour gasoline
in the dying fire inside of you
to feel warm again.

Your love turns to lost.
You may have lost in love
but in the first place,
you found it.

They say, the only thing
that is constant is change.
But can bliss, warmth, and love
be constant........ for a change?
sorry if my flow is kinda ~c h a o t i c~ my thoughts are scattered while writing this.

i love how writing for me is like an equivalent of screaming your lungs out on top of the building, or it could be like drinking a cup of tea.
i bleed poetry Dec 2018
Right person at the wrong time?
But maybe there isn't a wrong time
If it's the right person
i bleed poetry Aug 2018
I'm born into this world
like a clean board of canvass,
I didn't know who will I love
I didn't know who am I going to be.
As I grow up,
my misery, my pain, and my scars
are turning into colors,
colors that i am now using
to paint the canvas of my own.
I am making my own poem collection called I Bleed Poetry and i feel like this is the poem that kind of summarises the entire collection. :D
i bleed poetry Aug 2018
I am my own garden
Wildflowers grow on me

But he came along,
He didn't dig holes but graves
Then you came along,
You didn't plant a single kind but plenty

I let you water my plants
But as they begin to sprout
You drowned and burried them
Under the graves he made

I am my own garden and
I will start digging holes

I am my own garden and
I will start planting seeds

I am my own garden and
I will not expect anyone
to water my flowers for me
  Jul 2018 i bleed poetry
devante moore
I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet
  Jul 2018 i bleed poetry
mari
i am so small
compared to the mountains
i am so little
compared to the sea
i am so tiny
in comparison to the islands
and i am so large
compared to what i thought i would be
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