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Jiya Jan 2019
they say screaming isn't art
they say it tears your ears apart
brings no substance to the heart

but screaming can be art
a soundtrack to the dark
the da Vinci of the heart

it depends on your tastes
your lifestyle, your faith
the friends you are so desperate to make

but let's make one thing clear
no matter how you feel
screaming is beautiful
to those with the right ear
so don't try to tell them that it brings only fear
a poem about my love for metal music and how many people tend to perceive it in the wrong light and never give it a shot.
Jiya Dec 2018
I'm being sent away.
Far away to a place I can't explain.
A place filled with my secrets.
Where all my problems are on display.
A place where they open up your insides.
Where they prey on your pain...
A quick little poem about the fact my teacher and the school counsellor are sending me to a doctor to sort out my mental issues. It feels like the last straw for me, being sent away to a sterile unfamiliar place.
Jiya Nov 2018
i want to tell you.
i really do.
i'd love to spill my secrets, my issues to you.
yet i can't comprehend it.
i can't communicate it to you.
and the fact you could leave me.
it makes my heart a tearful blue.
you already look at me as if i'm broken.
what do i have to lose?
i want to tell you.
i really do.
yet i can't cope with the fact.
the fact your presence may fade.
vanish without a trace.
except you'd still have that key.
the key that can unlock the darkness in my brain.
this poem is in honour of my teacher who wants me to know that i can talk to him. but it's nearing the end of the year and he may not be my teacher next year. i fear that if i tell him too much i won't be able to cope that next year he might be wandering around with the burden of my thoughts i selfishly put on him without being able to do much to help me. and that i won't be able to connect with another teacher like i have with him. so, in general, this poem isn't really about telling him about my issues. it's about the fact that i might lose his presence in my life and that he's one of the last things that's keeping me sane. this poem is about loss. XD sorry for the mini rant i just needed to get this out there y'know.
Jiya Nov 2018
Listening to Christmas song in the early hours of the morning.
Don't ask why as I myself have no clue.
I often despise their catchy tunes, yet tonight they are appealing.
Whilst I'm holding back salty tears, sleep is yet to consume me.
There's little chance it ever will.
I've had five cups of coffee today, yet I know that doesn't affect me.
My cycle is already disrupted and unhealthy.
A teenager in the midst of development.
I shall be waking in six hours.
It's the weekend.
Yet if my eyes are open before then, don't be surprised.
It's unpredictable.
It's self-diagnosed.
It's been here for over a month.
It is seldom taken seriously.

My fellow insomniacs would know.
This poem I wrote at two in the morning. For the past month, slightly longer even, I've had insomnia. It takes me hours of laying wide awake staring at the wall for me to fall asleep. I wake up multiple times a night and extremely tired in the morning. I lose focus at school, especially in the afternoon. I constantly feel in a state of sadness, frustration or anger and I just really needed to express my feelings. So... thanks for reading and understanding :)
Jiya Oct 2018
As I lie here in my bed.
Hopeless and alone.
I don’t shed a single tear.
When I read those suicide notes.
As crazy as it sounds.
They give me piece of mind.
Knowing that someone else
Has suffered greater pain than mine.
So when you feel alone.
Read a suicide note.
It just might make you feel better.
I like to express and think of dark natured things, that’s just how my mind works. So I am ok, just a bit odd. As most people on this site must be.
Jiya Oct 2018
here i sit
here i stay
here i will cry
til i slowly waste away
if to breathe is to drown
to drown is to sing
a drug that can ****
can heal a king
here she sits
here she stays
here she will cry
til she slowly wastes away
if to crawl is to sink
to sink is to fly
a man that loves god
can hate his own life
here he sits
here he stays
here he will cry
til he slowly wastes away
just a word ***** poem written whilst i was bored in class.
Jiya Oct 2018
A small species in the vast jungle.
Full of predators, not friends.
When they want to bite you.
They aim for your head.
For me this is imagery of my school but it can be interpreted multiple different ways.
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