Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You see a girl, a running girl
You see her running, you don't know why
"What is she running from?" you ask
She's running from her cage, her life.
She's an untamed spirit, but she's stuck here
drowning in her agony
What cruel force holds her down
when all she wants is to be free?
She's lost all hope, lost all meaning
her pain is deep and sewn inside her
She can't fight back, and cannot hide
So she runs
      she keeps running, running.
Her heart is thumping, aching, screaming
like it'll explode and leave her twitching
Pointless crying, harming, hurting
The cuts she's made just keep on itching
Tears are trickling, dripping softly
off her wrinkled, anguished face
To herself she's nothing
She views herself as a disgrace.
Her parents love her, her friends say the same
but she believes they're liars
Their promises are never kept
they're unpredictable fliers, fliers.
She's lost all hope, lost all meaning
Her pain is deep and sewn inside her
She can't fight back, she cannot hide
So she runs
She keeps running, running
What can she do? There's no solution
Only one way out, it's dying
She's attempted many times before
But now she's tired of so much trying
That girl is stuck in her hell of living
she cannot hide, there's no way out
So she continues on with running
She won't complain, she will not pout
She's lost all hope, lost all meaning
Her pain is deep and sewn inside her
She can't fight back, she cannot hide
So she runs
      She keeps running, running
She sees the cliff, the end is near
She runs right off that dreadful ledge
She leaps right into open air
Her last deep breath was at the edge
No one will catch her
She's falling
Falling out of sync with life
It's too late to save her
    she's dying
The rocks, they slice her like a knife
But she's no longer falling!
She's flying!
Her soul bursts up like a mighty bird
She leaves behind a piercing silence
Her final words were never heard
She kept on flying, until she reached a place
A place of peace, free of misery
Now she runs above the clouds
At last, sweet bliss
She's finally free.
The only thing to do is run
It's the only way to free her mind
She's running with the wind, the breeze
Never stopping to look behind
As she runs, she feels lighter
Like a load has lifted off
Running frees her from herself
So she runs,
  She'll never stop.
Written at age 14, when I was losing grip.
 Jun 2021 Illona
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
 Feb 2020 Illona
sweet caramel
she was trying to walk away
and hold on
at the same time
that's the mind
at war
with the heart
 Feb 2020 Illona
the truth about summer
is that it always departs.

the truth about summer
is that is always comes back.

and you, like the summer
would always depart,
but the truth about you
is that you never came back.
Panic attacks for me are shakey.
I start to think everyone's starring,
I wonder what they're thinking.
My resoloution is to get out.
Then the tears come pouring down.
As they do my body follows.
I sink to the ground and try to hide myself.
The sleeves of my jacket become soaked,
And then my heart feels like it'll explode.
Anxiety is a whole nother code.
 Dec 2018 Illona
Ally Ann
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
 Dec 2018 Illona
moon child
Waking up
Can be
When reality
Is chasing
You down
Next page