I'd rather live through the trauma
That i know,
Instead of starting a new one.

Show me what you love
And I'll try to love it.
Show me what to be
And i will become it.
But i won't ever understand.

"Oh to be loved by a writer"
Someone once said to me,
Not knowing they are.

Adults.
Some are smart,
Yet some are not.
Fighting over their tiny problems,
Killing people,
Just to make a point.
Nuclear weapons used as
Tiny threats,
Childrens use when you steal their toy.
Censoring people's lives,
Because you have the power.

You say that i don't try,
And I'm trying really hard.
Even tho you don't see me cry,
I am falling apart.

Good grades,

Clean clothes,

Obedient behavior.

Perfect child.

So why do you hurt them so much?

They talk about the act,

But never the feeling after.

They don't talk about the guilt,

The blood sticking to your sleeve.

The cleaning up after

Or the simple lack of it.

They don't talk about people asking,

And you saying it's because of the cat,

Half a million times.

Ban everything,
Media,
Differences,
And the will to live.

Ban everything, except yourself.

Child of clay,
Born in the shadow of death and decay.
Shaped and formed into what they're expected to be,
To be manipulated easily.

By the very hands that made them,
The hands that were supposed to care.
But what if they hate them, what then?
The creation crushed with just one stare.

And yet again, they're shaped and molded,
To always look as they please.
If they're not perfect, they will get scolded,
The cycle always repeats.

And when the creator is satisfied,
The flames **** the life out of the creation
They don't ever care about the child,
Just want to fulfill their temptations.

So the child stays alone,
Like none of this ever mattered.
And if it falls from the shelf, down below,
Its soul will immediately get shattered.

You tried so hard to leave.
Why did you come back?

I love you,
So continue to live your life
Without me.

I miss who i was
Don't know who i will be
And I'm scared of what I've become.

A shirt hanging on the door handle,
Preventing your eyes from
Looking at me.
I was 11.

I may not accompany you
In your further path.
For you have left me behind
While i still haven't forgotten you.

Shut your eyes,
Cover your ears,
And focus on your breathing.
You can't hear them now.

The perspective of it changes as you age,
At first, art is just a picture,
Of a tree or a house.
Then it changes,
It morphs into words or images,
Hiding a slight meaning.
Before you even realize it,
People begin to be concerned about your art,
While some find comfort in it.
Art cannot be explained,
As the meaning lies in every artist's heart,
Whether they know it or not.

Some people are born to be succesful,
Some people are meant to be losers
Some are born to recieve everything the others give them
Some are born to give
Some people get love
Some people give it away
Some people take it as granted
Some people would do anything to get it
Some people have everything
While others are meant to have nothing.

10pm.
The time when i used to always text you,
The time i told you about everything
And anything.

10pm.
Every single evening.
The hour we got together,
When i confessed months of surpressed feelings.

10pm.
Now it's all gone.
But the hour remains special.
Instead of joy, it is filled with pain.
All because one text.

This isn't a poem but a piece of writing to remember a wonderful person that was here before randomly dissapearing. Some of you might remember him. He was that one kind, older man who wrote poems i absolutely loved and was also my first follower. I'm not sure why he left or what happened but i wanted to write this so people would remember him. I never knew him personally and i didn't even know him for long here. He was pretty active on here and i feel like it got a bit empty without him. I love everyone here but i feel like everyone remembers their first follower/supporter, especially if they were active. So, Drab, even tho you probably can't read this, thank you.

How am i supposed to like you
After what you did to me?
Children have memories too,
Father

Are we still together?
No.
Would i do anything for you?
Yes.

Make my heart shatter
To assemble it again
And destroy it later
Breaking it into more pieces

I got everything i wanted
But not in the way i hoped

It doesn't go away
It just transforms into something else

One writer knows another
Who knows one known by the first

Small world, isn't it?

I have to have you comply
For i will take away your will to live.
In the end, you'll end it anyway.
Your lean figure leaning over a torn piece of paper
With tears in your eyes.
Some people can't bear being with a bear,
Winding up for harsh winds
Or being so close to closing yourself.

I wasted time, love and energy
On a boy.
Now the boy is gone
But the feelings persist.

I have obeyed all your commands
Endured your beatings, reprimands
Your punishments, it was all true
But my mother only defended you.

I've taken years of your abuse
Your own work was my only use,
In my room, at night i cried,
I wished that i would have just died.

Standing on the bridge, watching the stars
Feeling my cuts slowly turn into scars,
I wondered, how can someone be so cruel?
But wondering was against the rules.

I say goodbye, for i must depart
To try and fix my broken heart,
With a notebook and a pen.
If they can't fix me, then no one can.