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Makenzie Robison Nov 2020
I feel like I'm drowning
Nothing is good
I feel like I'm drowning and can't see
There is no light around me.
Nothing to focus on, nothimg to see
I can't breathe my chest is constricting
Feels like a snake is about to attack me,
I feel insane like nothing is worth it
Just want to crash and try not to avoid it.
I feel like I'm drowning and it hurts quite a bit
Drowning in sorrow and nothing else fits
Anger wells within me and I feel like a *****
I feel like I'm drowning .
I feel my lungs give up and I can't even breath
Feels like a car about to hit me
The adreline in my veins then it all goes black
Nothing matters to me anymore
I feel like I'm drowning
And it hurts me know
No raven can reach me
I'm too far in my head
I feel like the gods have abandoned me
I only see black there is no speck of light
It hurts me to know that,
I gave up on myself
Everything is blurry and goes in slow motion
Nothing is perfect and its me in the middle
Can't decide if I should try
Or just give up and die
It hurts me to see
That my face isn't me
This body is foreign and I can't see me
Everything is wrong and I don't know how to feel
All I know now is that I feel like I'm drowning.
Makenzie Robison Apr 2017
At two in the morning your mind starts picking up speed like a train that was made in Japan but transplanted in America.
It goes faster than normal and only makes stops in two hours intervals that make you wish that you could that fast and never stop.
At two in the morning you wish that the world was as frozen as Antarctica but as warm as Africa.
You wish that the temperature never changed and that you could stay frozen in time like Captain America, until you feel like I'm freezing your heart and mind and moving forward again.
At two in the morning, I am usually asleep and dreaming about a place that exist only when you close your eyes and escape into the very thing that is your being.
The flowing rivers that make up your thoughts are rushing rapids that roil right there in front of you.
The mountains that make your heartbeat that surround your mind and make you have no second thoughts.
The very same mountains that cause you to dive head first into the endless lake you call your aura and drown in the feelings of everything at once.
At two in the morning, I don't usually write poetry.
But this morning in particular I have found that not only does inspiration strike at two but It strikes as fast as you have diarrhea.
Poetry is diarrhea of the head and the heart working together instead of against each other.
At two in the morning, you start thinking of things that couldn't have happened without meeting some people.
The same people who spend forever on one poem, and never finish others.
At two in the morning, you become real.
As real Pinocchio, who went from wood to human.
As really as the walls that you sometimes wish to bang your head upon and crack open that skull so some inspiration leaks out like egg whites into a bowl.
At two in the morning, my breathe becomes the air in which I never want to breathe in again.
It becomes the song that I refuse to listen to because it reminds me so much of what I'm missing and what I will never have.
At two in the morning it becomes dreams of finding someone. you love dead and a bullet in their head.
It becomes a broken down mindscape and a ragged heartbeat.
It becomes a demon who spreads lies and rumors about the ones you love.
At two in the morning you can find the beast that lurks at night waiting to fight like Jekyll and Hyde.
It becomes the one thing you never want to see among your dreams and among your thoughts.
At two in the morning, you find out that not only are you not living.
You are a husk of the person who you thought you where.

As two turns into three in the morning. you find yourself breaking down and crying out tears that sting your flesh.
You find yourself breaking in the most beautiful of ways and you find yourself wanting to be dead inside with no hope of being resuscitated.
At three in the morning your cocoon of hatred turns into a butterfly with broken wings and a scarred body.
At three in the morning you become a bird that soars in the air with nothing but when your next meal on your mind.

At three in the morning, I become something that scares me.
I become what I push underneath and hide away for all eternity.
At three in the morning I am building a protective circle of salt around my heart and my mind so that no evil spirit make break me and that no one can get to me.
I am building a brick wall so tall that I can't see the blue sky that I trapped in my eyes.
I built a wall so tall the the night trapped inside my hair cannot and will not be shown to me.
At three in the morning, I have become more broken by what isn't then what is.
By three in the morning I am a new person and none can change that.
By  the time I'm writing this line tears are trickling out of my eyes like mirrors reflecting the pain and lies that I have told myself.
Like the lake that is nothing more but a calming prayer in my wild life.
I am crying a year for all the wrong I have done to myself and to everyone around me.
at 3:18 am, I am regretting most decisions in my life.
I sometimes wish that my brain doesn't pick important days to keep me awake.
At three am you can find me laying down curled into a ball because it protects me from the pain of knowing that I'm not all that important.
Most of the time you can find me trying to find a way under my skin that doesn't involve a knife or nails.
In the earliest part of the morning you can find me trying to decide if I want to wake up today or stay asleep forever.

At three in the morning I have over come most of my reluctant thoughts to see that I am a beautiful flower with thorns that protect from grabby hands.
I have found that I hold all the oceans and the skies in my eyes.
I have found that I hold both the day and night in hair.
I have found that I hold the purest ivory in my skin and no one can take but me.
I have found that I wish to change the world through my poetry and myself through it too.

I have found that if I let myself wilt and die that I would just be another death that would hurt more people then it's worth.
Maybe that's why people write poetry at two in the morning.
Maybe that's why, I write poetry in two in the morning.
Because if I don't then I am wilting and giving up the will to live.

I have found that writing at two and three in the morning can clear your burdens more than anything else in the world.
Maybe that's why poets don't really sleep.
Poets just nap and then continue on with there life.
This is why I write at two in the morning.
Why do you?
Makenzie Robison Jul 2016
Arguments happen.
Only feuled by hatred.
Arguments happen
Only fueled by pain.

Arguments happen
When ever I'm around.
Arguments happen.
I can't stop them.

Every one around gets into arguments.
No matter the trouble.
But under it all is a hatred
Burning underneath as a feul.

I hate arguments
I hate them very much.
Yet nobody can see why.
Whenever unlock them out.
They just push them back in.

And every one wonders why I'm full of hatred.
That is your reason.
I'm really stuck and tires of arguments.
Wrote this because my "parents " are in a argument.
Makenzie Robison Jun 2016
Roses and Angels.
Quite the username.
My beautiful babe.
With a head of beautiful hair.

Red, like the blood boiling inside my skin,
White, like the snow on the ground burying the old earth.
Red, like the wrath inside, where it's always been,
White, like the corner into which I have been swarmed by mirth.
Red, like roses in the spring that will now begin,
White, like the wings on which I'll fly for all they're worth.

The words on her pages
The words imprinted on my heart.
I love her eyes, and her mind.
I love her with me.
We are simply meant to be.

She broke down my fortress and made herself queen.
Just like we live in poverty.
I love my babe.
Just like the moon and the tides.
We have our phases and our time of meetings.
She is the boat, I am the dock.

She is the Angel.
I am the Rose.
Just like her user name.
For my one and only.
Makenzie Robison Jun 2016
Time, dime, grime.
Grime, dime, time.

Ryhmes with mine.

Silliness forgotten.
We don't have much time.
A little dash, holds our entire life.
Between two dates.
Our entire lives.

Right now, some one just died.
But another person was born.
The never ending circle of life.

Our time is limited.
We are not immortal.
We can't live forever.
But we can be reincarnated.

We could have past lives and never know.
Because we where given second chances.
We were given hope to make ourselves better.
We were given time.


What better way to put it.
Then to get right to the point.
We don't have very much time.
Make the most out of it.
Just have the time of your life.
Makenzie Robison Jun 2016
Emotions, we all have them
To not, is to not be human.
But emotions are tricky to see
You gotta look at everything and everyone
Not just yourself

I can see emotions
Some are red and some are blue
I can see emotions
Some just make me wince and groan

I can see emotions clouding the air with life.
I can see emotions.
Happiness for me Floats around a daring red
Sadness for me hangs a heavy black.

Emotions are colors that change on how hard you can feel them
They cloud the air and can choke you. But only sometimes in your life.
For emotions are invisible but some have yet to say.
"I can see emotions as clear as day!"
For those people are frowned upon.

Knocked and beaten down.
I'm the same as you.
Though po pets write them differently
They are still emotions.
Whatever shall we do?

Anger is blue as blue as the sky
And misery is right for me because it also blue.
Anger and misery come hand in hand. The only difference that you have is the shading for only me.

All these emotions and only one exit.
The one that rules them all.
Only one exit and I like that exit.
Death and death alone can save you from your emotions.

Except for me.
I like them and I need them
The only normal thing in your life
I can only see my family and close friends.
A stranger's every time or two.
For I can see emotions.
And they can see me.
Makenzie Robison Jun 2016
Marriage is a blessing.
From Mother Earth and her Sister Moon.
They help combine two souls into one.
We all have a specific partner.
One destined from the start of our lives.

Loving another is a blessing.
A blessing bestowed upon the Earth and its people.
We all have these blessings and others to share it with.
They all wish that they found their other half.

For that is the uniting of two people.
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