I started writing this poem in 2019,
I never published it though. Obviously.
I want to know what went wrong along the way
and why my friends couldn't stay
and why I have to pay
for a ****** today.
I'm not sure why I am even trying anymore.
I'm not sure if I was ever trying at all.
But if I was never trying... why has it been
so ******* hard.
Crack. Thwack. Crumble.
Each speck of dust just drops
and drops and drops.
Floating above the craters that were
cracked, thwacked, and crumbled
deep into the Earth. My Earth.
Our Earth. What Earth?
Grammarly says this poem is informative.
Its spring now,
The bright rays of sun
Break through clusters of
Heavy, grey clouds.
No longer will the overcast
Sky threaten to ******* away.
From here I float, enjoying the
Muffled bird songs from under
Thick sheets of unbreaking ice
Where I will drown in silence.
I don't like making drafts,
each line is almost composed
on a whim. A feeling. A passion.
Something that has been swelling
within me for some time, a liberating
release of emotion that can not and
shall not be stopped, filling my lungs
and drowning me with a tenacity that
will never escape my parched lips.
Self-sabotage comes naturally to
me, I know not to plunge myself
into the deep dark abyss before
me but alas I just can't help myself
from jumping headfirst and screaming.
I can smell the freshly cut grass,
the earthy scent welcoming me
to the new season;
I can hear the chirping of birds,
singing their melodies across
the warm summer sky;
I can see the bright beams of light,
each ray enchanting the world
around me, banishing the darkness
I can feel the cool breeze brushing
against my scarred skin,
soothing old burns as it billows in
from the North;
I can taste the freedom now that
I've opened my windows,
expelling the nothingness which
used to haunt me... dragging me
to the daunting, dingy depths of
my deprived mind but now it's
different - I'm different.
I still have the same old anxiety and the same old problems as I've had for a while now but I know that I am more than my anxiety, I can do more than nothing. There is so much that I was missing out on because I was scared but I'm not letting my fears hold me back from being myself any longer.
Still gonna write angsty poetry though :p