i’m made of sidewalk cracks and moments i should’ve taken
i’m made of broken rings and the wrong girls i put my trust in.
because i didn’t know what love was until i kissed a girl made of thorns
and i didn’t know what happiness was until fear started sleeping without locking the door.
i’m no where near what the world makes me out to be
what it expects from me
and maybe that’s okay.
i’m made of ****** coffee and the constant pressure of being something else
i'm made of holes in the foundation and girls that kiss me just to watch me melt.
because i didn't know what lust was until i touched skin made of broken glass
and i didn't know what hope was until i fell a little too fast.
my story ends before it even starts
because forever is only real if you look like art
but i look like broken promises in an empty hallway
and maybe that's okay.
and strange what desire will make foolish people do
I feel like a sheep in wolves' clothing.
Afraid, angry, hungry, but more than
I am lonely.
where i sleep
or the house,
with my sister
in her car.
the buttered popcorn
from the movie theater
that we ate together,
her and my brother and i.
the spring air
as we ran with her dog.
of teachers droning on,
the bright laughter
of my friends.
home is made
of the little
bits of joy
It takes a sad soul to be able to write poetry.
Someone who has been through hell.
It takes a person with so much emotion,
To be able to understand poetry.
For it to really reach them.
Poets write to feel.
Poets write to find people who understand.
And more than anything,
In Hope's that their words,
Will reach someone just like themselves.
Poets write to feel less alone.
And to let others know they aren't alone either.
I see all of you.
Right down to your hearts.
I wish I had the chance to know all of you.
Your beautiful souls.
Please don't ever stop writing.
I need you.
All of you. ♡
Nothing feels right anymore.
My hours have turned sour and days bitter,
time spent pondering meaningless meanings
instead of succumbing to easy smiles.
My laughs have become gilded,
my giggles stifled and my once upbeat demeanor
now hushed and hidden behind cracked lips.
I have lost my voice to a void
and in its place has risen a numbness
to coat my senses in cotton
and fill my skull with fear.
My reality has melted into dreamscape
and still further to a realm of nightmare,
desolate and grey and screeching with anxiety.
I crave an embrace far from this dusty plane
where I might find more than hollowed shells
and a grainy sand beach
extending into foggy nothingness.