the wrong side of town
where the crackheads lie
a bud at their side
high schoolers who’ve ruined their lives
here they reside
their pale skin is concealed by a hood
raised to disguise their bloodshot eyes
they smell of sadness and regret
they smell of mould and sweat
they smell of addiction, of denial
another life lost to the clouds
long story short, my friends are friends with a significant number of drug addicts
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.
we both have issues
don't shut me out
when you're sad
i love you too much
to ignore you
when you are in need of attention
i give you space
over your emotions
at this time
but say hello
let me know you're still breathing
that you still love me.
if you're too broken
to love me
i'm broken too
...no hard feelings...
i miss you
how do i function with you gone?
you never once have left my side
tell me where you hide
please come back to me
i can't deal with this new feeling
it's yellow and bright and energized
it's tiresome, stupid and ruining my life
come back my little gloom
when your depression goes and comes. when you're recovering you feel lost without it since it's the only feeling you've really known. but it always comes back eventually.
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.
a fire-breathing dragon
walking quietly out of her cave
a hiss in the wind
it lights the smallest of flames
flames tend to grow
quicker than the sun melts snow
our dragon now roars
a stab of pain in her side
she retreats to her cave
her emotions ready to blow
my soulmate is my dragon, my mount, my friend.
she is the embodiment of me.
She doesn’t like to leave the house.
Her mother disapproves.
‘Why don’t you go socialise?’
She could, but with who?
Her fictional prince?
Those middle-aged band members?
Her favourite characters in that one book?
She has embraced her isolation.
Mother will just have to do so too.
A short poem about isolation and loneliness that can come with having no one to talk to.
A pane of glass whispers to me
The sound soothing with each cut to the skin
It says ‘I’m your friend!’, as it goes deeper into my body
It slowly reaches my mind, with little slits forming in the matter
What have you done my friend?
What have you done...
Paint my eyes with hues of purple.
Cake my lips in black.
Dye my hair blue and call me a maniac.
Tie a rose to my neck, the colour of blood shall do.
Thick black eyeliner is far overdue.
I'm not terribly depressed.
I just enjoy the peace found in death.
I'm not that messed up.
Yet stories of torture are so beautiful and dark.
I love a haunting piano-based tune.
But screaming is just as elegant too...
Just a small piece about some thoughts that are relevant to me and aesthetics I would portray if I was allowed to.
graveyards are not for grief
they are for thought
His pale face always reminded her of the coldness that came with death.
Her cold words always reminded him of the paleness of the world.
As she danced a final dance in that striking charcoal dress.
She sang herself to sleep.
‘So long and goodnight, so long and goodnight’.
The emotion he conveyed was enough to make her sink.
Deeper and deeper so close to the brink.
When he shut his eyes she said her final goodbyes.
When they opened again, she was no longer in sight.
So long and goodnight.
This poem is a flash poem I wrote whilst listening to the song Helena by My Chemical Romance.
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 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 :)
the blink of an eye was enough to scare
poor little julia into despair
clutching onto her favourite teddy bear
our poor little julia found herself dead
stabbed in the chest
an excerpt from a song im working on at the moment
This illness in my mind is terminal.
There is nothing that can cure it.
It speaks oh so nonsensical.
It’s to be honest, quite hysterical.
I shot myself in the end
Whilst lamenting in my bathtub.
The hysteria was just too much
For my shattered heart to handle.
The judge declared her the winner.
I whimpered in defeat.
I didn’t even place.
Maybe I’m just not that unique
Or damaged enough for poetry.
The metallic taste of blood
As I drown in senseless grief
Tells me I’m not good enough.
To get back on my feet.
Her flared trousers tell me.
She has a great sense of style!
My black eyeliner.
It tells others I’m a coward.
A lamb ready for slaughter.
No Baphomet or Muhammad
Just a lost girl.
Locked in a vault of failure.
Being served defeat.
Getting grimaces from the waiter.
It’s th-the illness.
It’s forming cracks in my bonce.
It’s preventing me from winning.
From ever being at the top.
She may always win.
With her pale moon skin.
Her suction cup stomach.
Her body so thin.
Just another **** failure, aren't I?
Laying dead in a bathtub.
poem I wrote (with a couple edits) for a 24hr poetry contest. I was feeling a tad salty about this one chick.
So tirelessly angry
At you, my mother.
For that I’m sorry
I don’t want to be angry
Yet I feel it more and more
For no valid reason
Except for something I can’t control
I can’t cure it
It turns me into something cruel
So let me say sorry
Sorry for the pain my anger causes you.
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.
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.
you are the one my heart is tethered to.
not a lover, nor a friend, but my guardian angel.
a spark in the coldest of nights.
my laugh on the darkest of days.
my non-romantic soulmate in every which way.
you don’t cower at my scars.
nor cry when it gets dark.
you never forget to remind me that life is all but sparse.
“so write me a song”
you say it so proud.
fly angel, fly. soar through the sky.
i hope when we meet again, both our suns will shine.
sending my inky love and darkest of hearts.
for my wonderful little angel who saved me from the dark.
so this poem is about my teacher. him and i have a really nice connection (completely platonic and in no way ****** might i add) and we talk about a lot of stuff and i've come to view him as sort of an emotional support animal haha. but in all seriousness, he has really become my guardian angel and i have no clue how ive lived without him in my life for such a long time. he literally bought me a coffee the other day, like he's such a nice guy man. this is basically a teacher appreciation poem. i literally cannot imagine what my life would look like without him. he was the one that noticed i was depressed and is the sole reason i ended up getting some help for it. he's just a funny, good-natured and lovely man who has become like a second father to me and i have plenty of room in my heart for him. one day i will tell him so.
clawing at my wrist is my very best friend
she has a skeleton of metal
nails as sharp as pins
she makes others feel pity when my body is on display
yet she gives me advice when I’m in immense pain
although she's a backstabber
she gives me comfort in the head
yes i know she is toxic
but she's my only good friend
so this was something i decided to write on the very heavy topic of self-harm and cutting. I don't want to promote it as i know it is a bad, bad habit but as someone that very much does self-harm and is constantly trying to stop, I thought id write out my feelings about it.
chipping, chipping away are the corners of our lives
peeling off every day is the motion of the tides
biting and scratching and screeching is the sound of those in pain
my nails tell a story of earth, that’s it. simple and plain
I know this is a bit soon.
I process thoughts quite rapidly. A fatal flaw if you ask me.
I think I might take up your offer to chat.
But, something made me realise it might be a good idea. Even though my first instinct is that it isn’t.
I may or may not explain later.
So uh, can we. Talk that is.
Whenever is cool.
I’ll stop rambling and actually send this.
An actual email I sent to my teacher about a year ago that looking back upon sounded quite poetic. And looking back upon it from the perspective of myself now I’ve realised how far him and I have come in our relationship and how he truely has become like a father and mentor to me as I truely love him with all my heart.
father is at work
mother feels her hurt
father washes pain away with red smelling drinks
mother with her drugs
father is never here
mother is always here
the way the earth turns, they’re still both the light in my world.
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.
a week in the sun
a year in the clouds
a decade in the dark
make it stop
depression, anxiety, the world, meds, friends, people, life.
it just needs to stop
i dream about your lips...
...they look nice
pleasantly pink and supple
i’m sure they’ll feel so wonderful
placed delicately upon mine
i indulge in the thought of your touch
(warm and safe)
curled up at your side
breathing you in
your scent unknown to me
something i’m eager to decipher
once i am released from this cage
i promise to devour you
every inch of your body
no secrets between our skin
and if you so choose
...no clothes either...
just pure ecstasy
produced by the entanglement
of unveiled bodies
and teen angst
i fantasise about love
and how we might make it
time and time again
beside the purest of touch
(a soft embrace)
never forgetting it began with a song
and grew with isolation
strengthening our bond...
...until the day i can hold your hand
i haven't been very active on this site for a while until my emails started blowing up due to a poem I wrote way back in 2018 when i was 14! i hope now that i'm mere days away from 16 my poetry has improved and matured. i'm sure 14 year old me is giddy with excitement over the traction that poem has gotten over the past day or two.
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.
welcome, my friend, to this mental institution.
please sit back and unwind.
i hear you tried to **** yourself a half a dozen times.
we will take good care of you, shall i cover all your scars?
we will have you leave here, a corpse that can drive a car.
so now we have your details, please wait here in your room.
oh, by the way. your roommate's just like you!
don't worry she won't bite. but give her space to brood.
so please take your meds and think those happy thoughts.
we guarantee you will leave as soon as you've paid for the services you bought.
Just something super rushed that came to my head so it ain't that good but I hope you enjoyed it anyways...
Leave me alone, on the ground.
Please, don’t let me stand.
Just walk away and let me dream.
Don’t let me defend my home, myself or my clothes.
It would be easier for me, if you let go.
You already have your words and your knife.
Why don’t you use their blades.
Are you scared? Why? There's no need to fret.
I won’t tell anyone what you did. How could I?
That’s right, walk away.
Don’t look back at me, at the cuts left in my skin and soul.
You made those cuts with your two daggers.
I’m not mad at you. Just disappointed you listened to my selfish words.
Now you leave.
Now I die.
yet this is the void
no light in the world is bright enough
to bring it warmth
section from a long poem of mine
Waiting, waiting, more and more waiting.
All I do is wait.
All this life is forming to is a list of things.
Things that make me wait.
Patience is key they said.
You'll be happy in the end they said.
Im still waiting.
Waiting for my crown,
All in good time.
how does one live
knowing there is nothing they can say
to scare away pain
their words are weak and brittle
yet they say them all the same
— The End —