Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
iris Sep 2020
is very different
from flying
but right now i think i'm falling
iris Sep 2020
maybe if I lay here long enough,
the dirt will seep into my bones,
it will race through my veins.
and the vines
will loop around my arms.
and when it rains,
I'll sink even further into
the muddy ground.
and when it the air is crisp and cool
and the trees light up in flames,
the leaves will cover me up
until there will be nothing left.
so please, leave me here in the grass
until even you forget me.
iris Aug 2020
When I open my ears,
I can hear a symphony of beautiful sounds.
But it is too often that I let my ears go to waste,
and only keep my eyes wide open,
although they are unseeing.
iris Aug 2020

A late night trip to the bathroom
shows a warped vision of myself
through a cracked mirror
it tells a story
through the dark circles
under my eyes.
It all tells me to sleep,
although that was already made clear
by my foggy mind and hazy vision.
I go back to bed
but when I close my eyes
I cannot see sleep in the future.
So instead I lay with my eyes open,
staring at the white ceiling.
It looks back at me,
harsh, unforgiving.
The storm outside
does nothing to help
quell the voices in my head.


The voices in my head argue
and tell me that
everything is either all very clear
or a muddled swamp of metaphors.
And they have decided
my life is all one horrible metaphor
for childish infatuations
that could never be
that turn into a stronger feeling.
I tell them to try and be quiet
because I’m trying to sleep,
but they do not quiet.


They do not quiet,
they never do.
Quiet is a warm hug
and space in my head.
Quiet is muted murmurs
creeping up stairs
and slipping through keyholes.
But they do silence.
Silence is deafening.
It lures and traps me in a cage
where I am unable to breathe.
It is a force that stops me
from being human,
it is all consuming.
That is why I let them stay,
because I prefer the chaotic cacophony
of voices
to silence.
They never stop.


Never stop dreaming
is what everyone says
but I think I did
when I stopped being able to sleep.
The clock blinks 4:32
and so maybe it’s more
early morning than late night,
but is there really a difference?
I’ve given up,
maybe I’ll sleep tomorrow night
And when they all ask
if I’m okay,
I’ll just tell them
it was a late night.


It was a late night,
I was kept awake by
the voices in my head.
They do not quiet,
They never stop.
It was a late night.
iris Aug 2020
perhaps today i'll get out of bed.
perhaps today i'll eat breakfast other than
a stale poptart or
an old granola bar.
perhaps today i'll speak to someone
other than in choked whispers ending in silent tears
or angry screams ending in sobs.
perhaps today i'll write something down
instead of letting it ricochet around my head
for weeks
before forgetting i even thought of it.
perhaps today i'll stop painting myself
the hero
in an entirely made up reality
when i am in fact the villain of my story
trapping myself in a paper cage
filled with my own words.
iris Aug 2020
I have too many words
trapped inside this vessel
of light and blood and bones.
I don’t know where to put them
or how to say them
or how to get people to listen.
So I scribble them on pieces of paper
ripped from a spiral notebook
I haven’t used since sixth grade,
dusty from being placed
in the corner of my room
for so long.
And then I hide them away in a jar
labeled 'secrets'
and never think of them again.
iris Aug 2020
I’m in love but I hate it.
(because I’m in love with someone I’ve never even met)
(or who might not even exist.)

I can just tell I’m in love
with someone
and I don’t know who it is
and that might be why I’m so lonely.
And I love you, whoever you are.

I just want to sit with you and be alone, together.
(And I want to scream, I love you so much.)
(Is it too much?)
But I love you.

When we meet you’ll be my everything.
And we'll lay under the stars together
until we fall asleep dreaming of each other.

And I love everything about you
even though I don’t know you yet.
Maybe it’s the freckles on your shoulders
that only come out when the sun shines
or the way you tug your hair when nervous.
Or maybe it’s the way you like your tea
(maybe it’s coffee you like).
But who cares? Because I love you.

And I want to know what books you like to read.
And whether you smell like lilac
(or lavender)
(or lemons)
or something else.
And maybe your handwriting always curls to the right
when you don’t write on lined paper.
I'll travel to new places
and learn a new language just for you.
Because I love you.

And I don’t know when I’ll love you
but I know I will.

And I love you
I love you
I love you.

And I hope we find each other
so we can be alone,

Because I love you
I love you
I love you
more than anything else.

So tell me who you are
so I can find you.

Because I love you
I love you
I love you.
Next page