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Apr 2022 · 1.7k
my love
Nik Apr 2022
my love feels infinite.
my love extends beyond the barriers of sound,
moves faster than the speed of light—
my love is strong.
my love is often a burden, a weight on my shoulders dragging me to the crevices of this earth.
flesh burning, oxygen depriving love.
my love is infinite.
often feeling like glass penetrating my skin—
air losing its way from my lungs.
flesh burning, oxygen depriving love.
my love is often limitless, weightless to those i love. my love is abused.
Nik Apr 2021
8 billion people in the world—
and here i am drowning in an infinity pool of self-pity.
i tell myself one day i will stop.
swim back towards the edge, gasping for breath, a new life to transform into.
and here i am drowning in an infinity pool of self pity.
The world is too heavy on my shoulders
Mar 2021 · 1.2k
silence
Nik Mar 2021
sometimes, all you can do is feel small.
breath held, for the slightest exhale could be of the wrong tone—
just silence.
silence.
silence speaks louder than words, so, silence.
but even that— sometimes too sweet on the tongue, too many tablespoons of sugar.
silence too sweet like sugar cane stinging the back of your throat.
silence.
just silence.
Sometimes, I don’t have enough words to speak
Dec 2020 · 1.8k
once, there was a garden
Nik Dec 2020
i never got to love him—
i never got to love the man who would cause a botanical garden to grow in my stomach.
vines to grow throughout my lungs until flowers sprouted from my lips.
the thorns grew thick and wrapped around my vocal cords.
that’s why when you left i couldn’t speak,
i couldn’t say anything to make you stay.
therefore, i picked all the flowers, softly from my lips,
as a final farewell—
a few daisies to remember me by.
i haven’t posted on here in forever. but here is another poem on my never ending pain
Nik Jun 2019
It helps me feel better about myself by putting my emotions into terms that everyone will understand, for example:

My life is like a joke with no punchline.
Maybe more like I’m telling the joke, and I forgot the punchline,
so now we’re both sitting here awkwardly trying not to feel too bad for me.
It probably wasn’t even that funny anyway.

My life is like a poorly written sitcom that only lasted for a season because no one could emotionally connect with the main character.
Almost like there was no budget—
And it’s just me, sitting in front of a camera screaming.

My life is like going to get a steak and cheese, hold the mushrooms, and not only are there mushrooms, but they’re cooked into the meat so you can’t even take them out.
Alright, maybe my life isn’t that bad.

I don’t know how to say that I can’t get up in the morning.
That I am Jesus, my demons are his disciples, and this bed my cross— I am nailed to it.
Instead I tell you that everyday feels like a Monday, even the weekends.

I’m not great at anything, but if I was to pick my biggest accomplishment,
it would be that no one knows when I’m joking anymore.
I just hope that when it’s my time to go, i’ll be forgiven for making it so hard to know me.
Dec 2018 · 433
incendiary
Nik Dec 2018
sometimes i feel like a piece of paper on fire.
burning.
small smoke signal calling for help,
disintegrating.
until i’m a burnt,
crisp,
pile of nothing.
i haven’t posted anything in a while so here’s this **** poem
Oct 2018 · 263
armageddon
Nik Oct 2018
i look up at the night sky,
i see armageddon in the clouds.
and all i can wonder-
is the world is ending
or is it just me.
Nik Jun 2018
hello?
can you hear that?
me begging for you to stop-
to get out of my head.

hello?
can you taste that?
i have no idea why my tears taste this way...
i guess you were right, i really should drink more water.

hello?
can you feel that?
as i continue to slice myself open in attempts to hurt you,
my idea of containing the wild beast but,
you must be a *******.

hello?
hello?

is now when you leave?
do you not want me anymore?
you’re just like the others.

can’t you hear me?
do you not want to?
have i become too much for you to handle?
are you now scared of this chaos that you’ve created?
do you fear that you’ve lost control of me?

is it because i almost took 15 pills this morning instead of 1?
i told you i was sorry.

hello?
you tore nebulas out of my mouth and left a blackhole as my smile, stardust is clogging up my throat now.
i can’t breathe.
hello?
hel-hello?
i guess this was the plan all along.
Nik May 2018
there’s something so trustworthy about the night
i trust her with all my secrets
she holds them for me in the gas filled particles beaming back at me
she loves me so much on occasion she’ll hide them from me
my own secrets
when she knows they’re becoming too much to bear
i don’t know if i trust anyone more than i trust her
she’s the only consistency i have
i wonder if it’s because she knows
Dec 2017 · 546
i don't know who i am
Nik Dec 2017
i only see vague remnants of who i was*

i don’t have another poem within me.

i haven’t sat down to write since the last time it felt like my old memories and bad decisions were catching up to me.

i don’t know what it’s like to feel like me anymore.

it’s as if it’s the fourth of july and i’m swimming with my friends

drowning

but
      no
         one
                is
    helping

me
the real question, what am i drowning in?

tears? ****? sorrow? possibly all three
Jul 2017 · 509
misdemeanor
Nik Jul 2017
it's starting to seem like nothing is enough.
years of friendship seem to only equate to minutes of small talk,
i don't know who you are anymore.
you hold my hand,
tenderly,
i don't even notice the burn.
everything you say takes my breath away-
you stole the air from my lungs,
you've burned my fingertips.
now when the police find my body
(cause of death: broken heart)
they won't come looking for you.
maybe we're Bonnie and Clyde, maybe we're both felons; however, my only crime was loving you
Apr 2017 · 1.3k
a mother's teachings
Nik Apr 2017
April 24th around 5:50 pm a group of boys took it upon themselves to laugh.
I proceeded to look around to see if someone had fallen, to see if someone was wearing, or not wearing, something they shouldn’t,
I waited.
I began to walk faster.
“But It’s Better if you Do” by Panic at the Disco was blaring in my ears so whatever they were saying was blocked out by the blare of Brendon Urie’s voice…
I still don’t get what was so funny—but I have an idea.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been subject to jokes about how I look.
I am the **** of everyone’s fat joke,
My comedy is a product of every snicker, every cackle, every time I’ve been called Big Momma or Rasputia.
My pearly white smile is painted by the white lies I tell myself and everyone else to get through the day.
I wonder if people ever stop to think if there is a person, suffocating, lonely in the center of this big, fat meat suit.
I wonder if people ever think before they speak or laughing at me when I eat.
I wonder if people know that I was raised by the strongest single mother in the world, so I have skin tougher than steel so their words can’t hurt me,
A mother who raised 3 children on her own.
A mother of an 8 year old
Whose father died in Honduras 2 years ago after being deported back 2 years before that—she told us it was a car accident,
but my mother taught me was to be nosey and to always search for the truth, especially when it’s being hidden from you.
My little brother’s father, the love of my mother’s life, was gunned down murdered in cold blood.
She is a mother of a 23 year old
Who has had Asperger’s his entire life, has dealt with being shipped from school to school because it’s so hard to find a special education program for him.
My mother taught me patience is the biggest virtue, and that my anger with his repetitive questions and running around is nothing compared to the anger he feels with himself every day for being a “burden” on those around him.
A mother who
Beats herself up over the fact my brother my father’s side is addicted to drugs,
My brother’s mother was a drug addict and so was my father at the time,
And even though my father was able to clean himself up, he had so many warrants out for his arrest it forced him to play hide and seek with the police and his own children
So for months at a time my mom would take care of my brother, thought about adopting him, but of course that didn’t happen—
His mom got clean.
My dad was finally caught, things were looking up
Until his mother got ***** again, rolling with dogs, her arms look like she was eaten up by fleas
My father was never a father,
Disappearing for weeks without so much as even a breath and reappearing as if he never left
No wonder my brother can never stay clean.
My mother taught me to love my brother unconditionally, that no matter what I have to laugh with him when he needs a laugh
Because my brother doesn’t know what stability is, he doesn’t know what standing on his own two feet feels like because he is always high.
She taught me to always laugh with him because I don’t know if he’ll come down the next time he gets high.
A mother of
An 18 year old girl who suffers from clinical depression and anxiety, but has to keep it swept under the rug because the public school system failed in teaching her about mental illness.
However, my mother taught me that as much as I depend on her she depends on me, that I am her backbone and she believes that even if I sink I will learn how to swim before the tide engulfs me and I’m taken too far from the shore.
I’m ripping off this big, fat meat suit because I’m tired of suffocating,
I’m learning how to swim.
I can feel the sun now.
I will learn to rise up soon
Nik Apr 2017
I keep my mouth closed,
using super glue like it's chapstick.
Lips sealed but hands free, writing my secrets into poetry,
I sometimes feel very cowardly only being able to share empty words about my empty feelings  to empty faces on this empty stage.
Empty.
I don’t cry as often as I should, maybe I’m just drained, maybe I’ve just emptied
The drain that connects my tear glands to the rest of my body.
And on the off chance I cry-
my pillow must have nightmares from my screams,
and sometimes- sometimes I hear my pillow sobbing with me.
I haven't written anything worth posting until now
Dec 2016 · 1.7k
100 years of solitude
Nik Dec 2016
i am ares: the god of war.
disgruntled by my own blood thirst,
in solitude due to anything but my own accord.
i fear this lonely and cold world; however,
i don't know how to have it any other way.
I've been off on my own, I don't know if I like it much
Oct 2016 · 795
drunken love
Nik Oct 2016
*** stains my lips.
i can't remember the taste of your lips anymore.
i miss you like crazy
Sep 2016 · 570
Untitled
Nik Sep 2016
i want to scream ******* at the top of my lungs
my lips are sealed with a curse
i'm so over people, they make me tired
Aug 2016 · 1.4k
control freaks
Nik Aug 2016
everywhere us control freaks are categorized as the bad people.
we're the narcissists-
the mean ones.
every assumption leads to us being put off as people who abuse those around us.

i am a control freak.
i get furious when things don't go my way to the point of wanting to cry.
i hate being wrong.
i want to ****** the happiness and the "rightness" off of your smug face.
i want to grab my throat and squeeze the stupidity out of me.
i want to bash your mouth with my fist until you can no longer speak-
until your words are so incomprehensible that everything you're saying must be wrong.
i want to always be the smartest guy in the room,
i hate not being the smartest guy in the room.

i want and i want and i want
but i never do anything about it.
I get **** for being a control freak, but never get any praise for maintaining such a level of sanity.
Aug 2016 · 1.3k
education
Nik Aug 2016
education is a necessity
but is placed as a luxury
i blame capitalism
Aug 2016 · 1.5k
Untitled
Nik Aug 2016
I'm a very angry, self-destructive person.
I like to blame it on the fact that I'm an Aries.
I have fire in my veins, heat radiating off of my skin.
Please don't touch me.
"Write a poem about or including your astrological sign and how it pertains to you." prompt given by poetrypromts on tumblr
Aug 2016 · 392
stranger
Nik Aug 2016
no one has ever made me feel like i wasn't welcome in my own home.
no one but you.
I'm over feeling like this
Aug 2016 · 457
Over cultivation
Nik Aug 2016
i'm tired
i'm so tired

it makes me wonder if i'm always this easy to fool

don't cradle me in your
- I love you's
in your
- I'm sorry's
in any of your excuses

don't you dare try to plant another rose in my stomach
i'm starting to over cultivate
don't you dare try to plant another rose on my lips
spring is hidden behind my cold winter words

this poem is a mess
but who cares

i shall sleep once more
free of restraints and excuses

the gardener to my own garden
This poem's recycled, but just as relevant
Jul 2016 · 1.2k
The (un)happy poem
Nik Jul 2016
I tried to write a happy poem.
I tried to throw myself into a pit of nostalgia to try and remember what happiness feels like.

All my poems are so sad, I don't know why I'm so sad.
My therapist tells me I have self esteem issues that effect everything else in my life.
My insecurities have ways been there, I had just never been able to put a name to the face until I brought a razor to my skin for the first time and the pain didn't feel wrong.
I didn't know what I was doing was wrong, I had no idea that it was wrong to be a  12 years old with arms covered in scars I call my battle wounds,
because no one wants to talk about the elephant in the room when it sounds like I've been to war and I'm only 17.
They won't poke and **** me with questions when it sounds like I was captured by the enemy and skinned for my beliefs.
I won't be questioned why I am not happy.
Why at 12 years old I was unhappy and why I am 17 years old now and I am still not happy.

I tried to write a happy poem.
I tried to write a happy poem by thinking 6 years back to before I knew I put the name to the face, before my insecurities were put on show for the world to see,
before I knew it was wrong to hate myself for what I wasn't and for who I wanted to be.
Until it finally hit me.
I've never been happy.
My hair was never as long as the ******* my left,
my body was never as skinny as the ******* my right.
My smile was never the shiniest nor were my eyes the brightest.
I tried to write a happy poem, but I can't write about a foreign entity, I can't write about something I have never had.
The concept of happiness is so alien that no wonder that when people are overcome with the feeing they feel out of this world.

Happiness is a luxury that I have never been given the privilege of.
Happiness is a luxury that I have never I will never been given the privilege of of.

I tried to write a happy poem,
I feel more empty inside than I've ever felt before.
I wonder what happiness feels like
Nik Jul 2016
Sometimes, I am in love with myself.
I force them to witness my love for my melanin
because they would love for me to hate my melanin.
I know that I am seen, but I want to be heard, 
The first amendment allows me to speak, but they refused to hear a word-
that comes from my mouth.
My lips stereotyped as too black.
My diction too proper to act like this,
yet my slang is too ghetto to act like that...
Sometimes, I wonder what it's like to be white.
I hate being stared at when I speak in Spanish.
I never know if it's in disgust or in comfort, 
because the sound of the double "r" rolling off of my tongue
sounds like the ricochet of the bullets they fire from their guns.
Since they no longer can enslave us like animals, they slaughter us
because, "if I can't have you no one can."
I refuse to be put down.
I refuse to shutdown.
My brown skin threatens,
and you all should be afraid.
Because I will banish your negativity with my Latin American flow,
speaking in Spanish with the Bachata tempo filling my veins.
My Ebonics is iconic, 
and I refuse to be put in a box when the world is a sphere.

I... am more... than this.
I am 17 years old and I am afraid for my life.
Nik Jul 2016
As I sat and pondered on how to write my next poem,
I witnessed an insect trying to fit into a space it was too big for.
I watched as the insect twisted and turned with determination to try and make the impossible possible, and it made me wonder:
How many opportunities have I missed because I mistook cannots for would nots?
I wallowed in the fear of what could happen, my pessimistic tendencies taking over,
(because I have loved and lost and I wish I had never loved at all)
so maybe the situation I am in is my fault.
Maybe it is genuinely not you, but it's me because you are the small space and unlike the insect I did not twist and turn
even though you are worth it.

I will auto correct myself, if you promise to do the same.
I don't want to miss an opportunity for greatness because we're both too scared.
Jul 2016 · 561
Fire and Water
Nik Jul 2016
you will never be what I need but constantly seem to be what I want,
and I don't understand why.
you are fire,
and I like to play with matches.
you could burn me 100 times
and my common sense would still be blinded by whatever this twisted excuse for love is.
I will no longer allow my heart to be scorched.
for so long I was afraid to be water,
but here I am now-
ready to dwindle your flame.
No matter how many times I read this over to myself, I still don't believe it. I am not strong. Your false love made me this way.
Jul 2016 · 719
Untitled
Nik Jul 2016
Whisper into my ear all the words you wish to say.
Whisper into my ear all the secrets that you hold.
If you are too scared to speak the truth, write me a poem.
Hide your feelings in metaphors, write your heart's desires into illusions.
Tell me how your heart beats in metre, so late at night, when the night is still-
when there is nothing to hear, but a faint heartbeat,
I know it's yours, yearning for me.
Please, tell me how you feel, I'm tired of guessing
Jul 2016 · 866
Almost Lover
Nik Jul 2016
Almost, maybe- not quite there.
Sometimes, never,
Never always.
Yo-yo, back and forth.
Not quiet steady.

Goodbye my almost lover.
I am so tired of games
Jul 2016 · 374
Wanted
Nik Jul 2016
Where has my creativity gone?
Sometimes I think I can taste it in the back of my throat, typing out all the words I should have said on my tongue.
Sometimes I can hear it in my head, making of mockery of who I am and what I've done.

My creativity has been stolen.

Wanted: The creativity of a lost and disturb 17 year old.

Please return it ASAP, I'm sort of lost without it.
Maybe I'm better off without you
Jun 2016 · 880
Destructive
Nik Jun 2016
I will never be as pretty as art.
I will never be as soft spoken as poetry.
I will be chaos for I already am mayhem,
and there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it.
Jun 2016 · 482
Untitled
Nik Jun 2016
i don't have any poetry left within me to continue to write about my pain
i have too much embarrassment left within me to constantly throw my issues into poetry for the world to see

my heart hurts
it yearns for love

love you may never be able to provide
if you don't have enough love within you to continue to give to me

i understand

but i just hope you have enough integrity left within you
to tell me
Jun 2016 · 442
Untitled
Nik Jun 2016
do not weave me into your poetry.
the needle hurts,
the yarn itches,
your words swarm my head with lies.
your bittersweet poetry-
all a show.
your words create illusions.
i will not allow you to try to create me as your own masterpiece
when i am my own destruction.
Jun 2016 · 654
Untitled
Nik Jun 2016
it was like a car accident- falling in love with you.
painful and unintentional.
i want reparations.
Jun 2016 · 573
Untitled
Nik Jun 2016
I find that I miss you more at 11:07
on a Monday morning
speaking of your beauty to people who only know you by a name and a face
people who do not know your depth
the true beauty I speak of
than I missed you at 4:34 am
last Tuesday morning
vowing to never write another poem about you
on a notepad that knows all of our ***** secrets
Jun 2016 · 459
Untitled
Nik Jun 2016
i think i cry too much

i keep my mouth closed
using super glue like it's lipstick
i tie my wrists together so i can't use my tears as ink and write my secrets into poetry

is it still considered a secret even though i don't spill it from my mouth but from my eyes
a river of secrets trails its way along my cheeks until a fountain of truth begins to fill on my pillow
my pillow must have nightmares from my constant sobs that often turn to screams

sometimes i can hear my pillow sobbing with me
May 2016 · 348
Untitled
Nik May 2016
My name is Daisy,
like the flower.
People tell me all the time not to **** myself,
they'll miss me.

I've never seen anyone cry over a dead flower.
May 2016 · 654
friendship
Nik May 2016
i have nothing left but these pills of mine
bottoms up
Nik May 2016
America, you are corrupt
America, you feed fuel to the fire that diminushes the lower class
America, why are you so obsessed with power?
America, why do you insist on shaming the human body?
Is it because the government is scared of being naked itself?
That if the government let some skin show all its secrets would show with it?
America, why most you antaognize me?

America, why are you so obsessed with war?
America, you don't need to be so obsessed with war.
Your manhood is so offended that you take all the men from their hoods and send them off to fight in your pity wars.
America, land of the brave.
America, land of the men who are so terrified of the color red that all they see is red.
Red, white and blue.
America, are you a communist?

America, why can't I smoke some trees in peace?
America, you cut down trees:
Are we any different?

America, are we any different?
You and your Americans shame everything that isn't white
No wonder it took so long to perfect the color television
America, why do you hate rainbows
You'd have it rain like bombs before you'd let in a new kind of beautiful
America, you are not beautiful
America, you are not beautiful
America, look into the eyes of the American people and take a look at your own reflection
America, you can be beautiful.
America, you truly can be beautiful
America, one day I hope you are beautiful
May 2016 · 5.5k
the lion and its tamer
Nik May 2016
Sometimes I sit and wonder about the past.
I reflect and let it affect my present- my future-
It makes me wonder if I can ever really put it past me.

Sometimes- most times- I sit and think about what you did to me.
I was never this angry until I met you, I had never lost my temper over the slightest of issues.
My anger was locked in a cage, like a lion in a den, away from all walks of life, because it was too ferocious
too loud, too dangerous to let loose.

You made me feel like a lion.

You made me feel like a lion, but told me I was a butterfly.
You were adding extra security to the cage while making me thinking you were trying your hardest to pry it open.
You forced me to believe that you, and only you, could ever love someone like me-
A lion- I mean butterfly.

I refer to you as my ex-girlfriend even though I can still feel your words caress my skin.
Even though every time I see a picture of you or hear your name my heart still skips a beat,
even though it still feels like I'm a lion, trapped in a cage, as if you still have a hold on me.

I still refer to you as an ex-girlfriend even though you never acted like it.
You told our friends that I was frail- too fragile to hold- too hard to love,
But before you, I was gorilla glass- protective and strong,
But you made me feel like a lion and told me I was a butterfly, so my default mode began to play second fiddle.

I don't think I want you back.
I'm starting to find happiness in others,
Solitude only comforts me when I can feel my anger- the lion within me, trying to break free from the cage.
I've met someone who tells me I'm a beautiful,
Someone who is trying to help me break free from the cage without tearing my claws off.
Who lets me know I am a lion, but I could be a butterfly, and that either or is okay.

I hope that whomever you decide is worthy to join the circus you've declared yourself the lion tamer of is strong enough to say no and walk away.
May 2016 · 315
Untitled
Nik May 2016
You may not know this
but sometimes when the silence seems to cut through the night
when the dark seems to swallow everything but my thoughts
I can't help but look for you
and once the sun begins to rise
once the light begins to beam
I still find myself looking for you
And as I sit here with my head buried in this poem
you walk by and caress my cheek
I shiver
I see you
but I haven't found you
and that scares me
cause what if while I’m looking for you
you're off in the darkness looking for me too

— The End —