It hits me hard,
like a brick dropped on my head,
I was not expecting such a drop,
it almost killed me dead.
Although I realize my overreaction,
once I begin to walk straight,
as I realize,
it must be fate.
Think will fall upon me,
and obviously I will be hurt,
but to carry one with it in my heart,
will only cause it to not start.
I must learn to let go,
and release this pain,
learn from the experience,
and remove the stain.
As I see others holding these grudges,
I must learn to carry on through the puddles,
and when I am walking,
and the brick falls on my head,
I must remember this is lesson to look up,
as I am not yet dead.

Add a poem
write something sweet
about how the whistling wind coming from her lavish lips while releasing trivial talk...
which sweeps you off your feet.
Add a poem
show off your hurt
show how his fanatic feelings thoroughly threw you on a rambunctious route towards your desolate demise just for you to...
realize you are unhurt.
Add a poem
let it all out
about the tyrannical tyrants who violently violate the psychotic psyche of the regular residence while maliciously making money.
or
show how beautiful blades of grass cry out for more of the subliminal sun which is precariously presenting light in its appetite for attention.
just...
Add a poem.

Break my fingers for that pay,
just to blow the money away,
but that is what addiction is like,
or else my body will go on strike.

I'm drunk,
and alone,
without you.
But that's not why I'm drunk,
for I am like a sponge,
and I must soak up all liquid I make contact with.
But that isn't the point of this makeshift poem,
it's that you are not here like you should be,
and it's causing me,
to think,
thus drink,
and think of stupid poems which do not adequately  describe my feelings of loss.
But I'm sure in time,
I will not need to drink; as you come back to me,
but now,
is not that time.

It's funny how after a drink or few,
we can talk about everything,
from the polarization of political parties,
to love, life and the pursuit of happiness.
While the next day all we can think,
is how to get rid of this ******* headache.

With my body decomposing,
and life ebbing away,
will I be forgotten?
lost in life's sway.
Who will be there to identify my body,
will someone shed tears of sadness,
at what was lost which I embodied.
Or will there be those who stand and smile,
knowing I am finally gone,
a good riddance that I breathed my last,
as I am everything which is wrong.
Alas, could it come to,
my name being lost,
left to die at an unmarked grave,
forgotten before rotten.

My words pour out,
like a gutter reaching its breaking point,
splashing down and creating quite a mess no doubt.
But everything else is wet from rain so it is not seen,
The next day everything is clear as day,
The gutter now has an awkward lean,
And the slightest wind can cause it to sway.

As I sit, here alone, in this empty room,
I think of what we were,
I think of what we could have been.
When I walk, all alone, down that night time street,
I think of where you are,
I think of what you are doing.
Here I am, laying alone, sprawled out in my bed,
I think of where you once were,
I think of my emptiness within.
I am alive, alone, living without warmth,
I think of my inner scar,
I think of my undoing.

I have a college degree,
no money,
an idea in my head,
and that is all I can see.
Make money, be happy,
made out to be,
the simplest thing.
But when dropped like a fish out of water,
into the so called social society,
without you I am a lifter with no spotter,
and the cure to my sobriety.
So let us see if I can swim to shore,
and get the breath of fresh water,
and you can be there like you swore,
to save me from the slaughter.
You will be my anchor to hold me under.

I have a sickness,
which is contagious,
spreading with quickness,
which is outrageous.
Every person I look upon,
is struck with the feelings of hate,
soon these feelings will be gone,
as someone else carries this weight.
Is there a cure for what I feel?
Must i react with such zeal?

So I have this idea to do a collaboration poem with someone. Where we would set up a premise and then we would each choose a theme and write and put them together and see how they work. Maybe have them be different POV's or anything. Shoot me a PM if you're interested or anything.

Alexander the Great is dead,
so is Ghandi,
Napoleon,
JFK,
and a good few other... billion.
I will die too someday,
hopefully not tomorrow,
hopefully not today
But... maybe.
We are not gods,
But we like to act it,
rulers and slaves,
all eat, sleep, die and ****.
In all of our glory,
we are all the same,
hoping someone will retell our story,
and that it is not too lame.
But in the end,
whether we die or end up in some eighth grade history book,
we die,
and worms eat us,
like animals... no, not like,
Are.

I look out my window and see a woman struggling with bags,
I look across the street and I see a man in rags,
Weak and torn the people like wasting away,
Their sanity has been been hanging on a fray,
They do not see it this way.
Their lives tell stories which we do not know,
Of hardship and love, and terrible woes,
We look upon their image and decipher their story,
But we do not take the time to recognize their glory,
We only notice the scars and bruises,
As we are caught up in our own muses,
We say "Let us help these harrowed ones!!",
As we sit and twiddle our thumbs...
So before we stare with our full-figured and shallow empathy,
We should be sure to practice our apathy.

A politician is a man,
who will feed a starving child.
And as he hands that apple down,
appearing to try and please,
while looking to gain renown,
he is passing on a disease.
But with his goodwill,
no one will suspect him,
in the other closed hand is a pill,
which he will say will protect them.

Give me that piercing,
or that tat,
just make sure,
I don't look fat.
Let me puke a fountain like Niagara Falls,
just so I can fit in within these halls.
If I get a disapproving look,
it feels like a thousand knives stabbing me,
let me remain as a closed book,
so I can pique an interest in thee.
I am not me, what can I be?
I will not show you,
for fear of you mocking my plea.
So let me live my life so cold,
without finding myself as I grow old,
just to gain your appreciation,
while unknowingly causing self-deprivation.

When I write of love,
When I speak of love,
it is like, I was blessed,
from above.
For I have had hardships,
and more one-sided flips,
than contact, with your lips.
It is like an apple in a tree,
which is just out of reach,
I can see it with me,
just as sweet as a peach.
But until I can climb to the tallest branch,
I must I must grab hold of the bark,
and with each step, my wound will stanch,
and I will pull myself from the dark.

Are you cold?
Here, take this jacket; I made it from my sweat and blood,
Sewed the skin together with my veins,
ignoring all the pains.
As I piece together my skin bit by bit,
it falls apart with the slightest slit.
So be gentle with this jacket; it is held together by what holds me together.
So don't be the one to tear me apart.

So here I am caught between acceptance and denial,
so tell me god, where did you put my file?
Am I the man who goes without a plan,
to find himself becoming a fan?
Or will I lead my life with questions unanswered,
as I attempt to decipher your hansard.
For I do not understand your politics,
as you are a power so high above me,
for your meaning I cannot often see,
so how am I supposed to decide where to be?

Art is an obscure excuse for a lowlife to vent,
speak of how one's perspective is wrong,
as they do not ideas circumvent,
because they are too busy singing their song.
Art is a way for someone to withdraw,
live in their own world,
creating their own law,
complaining of how everything is world.
And with this ponderous excuse that is art,
we become something.g different,
revolving away from the start.
With the beauty that is art,
we can state *******,
to the ones who tore us apart.
With the significance of art we can relate to each other,
appeal to the masses,
but not be a bother.
And lastly, with art, we can learn how to live,
through showing our souls,
With this art that we give.

Tell me what to do,
and push me away from you,
as your control fills my head,
make me wish that I was dead.
Don't let me find out for myself,
so when I face adversity,
it will take my mental health,
and fill my life with controversy.
But hey, at least you wached my back,
So I learned to not expect an attack,
So when it came,
I was slain,
as my ignorance became my bane.
But you were right and I was wrong,
I should have listened all along,
I will pay, that's what you say,
If only I had followed your way.
So now I lay bloodied and dying,
and in my heart I know I'm lying,
to tell myself that you were always right,
merely to avoid a childish fight,
I should have looked behind my back,
as it was you who had attacked.

To get the attention which I crave,
must a be a materialist slave,
******* out to the highest bidder,
get me a look and I'll never reconsider,
being within this self-centered life,
filled with someone's drama, love and strife,
my friends are the magazines on the stand,
as I judge them on which is more tanned.
I used to have hopes, dreams and aspirations,
I was original and had my own foundations,
but as I aged and my desires grew deep,
I began to follow with the other sheep,
social interaction was overrated,
I just need a like for my addiction to be sated,
for what's the use of a dear old friend,
when I've got a friend request to send.

We could have baked the best brownies in town,
ones' filled with warm gooey love,
or cooked the best cake around,
so that people would think it came from above.
We planned on making a flavourful omelette,
which would satisfy us for years,
with colored foods of green, red or even violet,
anything except our tears.
Our plans built up like they often do,
holding us down like a chain on our legs,
eventually our plans fell through,
I guess we waiting to long and became bad eggs.

The basic art of poetry is to portray what cannot be seen,
whether it be a feeling of love and happiness or a different theme.
To write of how we feel so much for one woman over the next,
but the recipient of the feelings differs between each text.
Is what we write, truly within our hearts,
or is each poem merely appealing to everyone's different parts.
When I read the poem of heartbreak,
can it truly relate to all those things that kept me awake.
Or was the poet simply throwing words onto the ground,
and attempting to gain support over his illiterate mound.
I do not believe that anyone can feel what I feel,
but then again,
to everyone else,
what they feel is more real.

I found myself today looking at the first sign of spring,
the quiet blow of the wind introduced me to the silence,
one I had known but forgotten.
As the sun glared into my eyes; illuminating the scenery to create the false pretense of tranquility.
But behind my dirt smeared window I can see the shadows,
as a mouse gets eaten alive by a hawk,
looking to explore, only to find the gallows,
and with its decision, it's fate had a lock.
So while I see this comforting sky,
and the potential to fly,
this fear keeps me in,
from finding what could be within.

Being a poet is a difficult job,
as it turns one into a slob,
with a false sense of security,
due to its obscurity.
For poetry is for the ones who feel,
not those who are afraid,
for every reader has a heart you must steal,
while stabbing your own with a blade.
But with these difficulties comes reward,
as the right words give a strong sense of satisfaction,
with poetry one will never be bored,
while giving one's mind a sense of traction.

Thank god I'm not a poet.

I want to believe it's true,
but your words drip with guilt like dew falling from a blade of grass,
falling gently enough to notice,
but not to take note.
There are so many flaws within your lies,
it's something of you, I have come to despise.
Must I relinquish and undermine my original sense of being,
or continue with this misrepresented agreeing.

Your words a fissure in my heart,
crumbling it apart,
split in two, by you.
Like a giant you stomped your feet,
causing earthquakes in the street,
and I am merely a fearful boy,
who looked up to you,
only to see you destroy.
Now I lie with my dreams dripping out,
in the form of that warm red liquid,
soaking into the seeds of doubt,
all because of what you did.

Well aren't you just a big tough guy,
no need for help,
letting everything go by.
You think you are like a lone wolf,
going at it alone,
not expecting a bone.
Well what if I told you that even wolves have packs,
relying on others,
having someone watch their backs.
What if I told you that it is alright to have someone,
to not always run,
to not need that gun.
What if I told you that you do not have to be alone,
that there is a person,
for everyone.
Well raise your head,
from the dead,
you can make out alive.
You just need to strive,
go ahead and take that dive.
Be like the bird stepping out of its nest,
you will not be a pest,
just do your best.
Even if you fail,
fall to the ground and break a bone,
just remember,
you will never be alone.

I lay here with the blood falling out of me,
drip, drip, drip.
The sound echoing through my brain,
as with each little drop I got a bit more insane,
drop, drop, drop,
there is the sound of my life in a bucket,
used to feed the youth, as my life is gone,
so **** it.

The future president was shot today,
they found him dead,
with a bullet in his head,
oh how I think of his mother's dread.
She will tell them all the hero he was,
and how he gave his life for a just cause,
nobody realizing the potential that was wasted,
due to a strife of old men,
over a violent thirst they had never tasted.
They will talk about him though, as if he was a friend,
as they say his sacrifice will help society mend,
then they step off their podium and into a room,
and they laugh about what the media will consume,
as they fatten their pockets,
with donations to their cause,
scheming with their caucus,
about all their new corrupt laws.
While a hundred miles away,
the boy's mother sits at his grave,
and as she leans down to pray,
the lord is thanked, for making her boy brave,
and most of all, for keeping the heathens at bay.
but far away in a different place,
there is another boy who was shot in the face,
with his mother also in tears,
and their government spouting the same fears.

I am the oppressed,
and you are the master,
holding me since birth,
as I am evolutions disaster.
I have a tendency for violent outbreaks,
created by institutionalized racism,
they say be "normal", there are choices...
yet within our beliefs there is a chasm.

For I was born without an option,
and went where I was led,
my only freedom was my adoption,
into the gangs for whom I bled.

While society cites me as a statistic,
I am just an average man,
pushed to the point of being sadistic,
because for the blacks there is no plan.

Do not group me with the heathens,
or make me out to be a sociopath,
I went where I saw life's beacons,
and as a child I was caught in that wrath.

Someday this will all end,
that day that I will be dead,
revolution will strike society,
like a bullet in the head.

I cannot get anything down.
I squeeze and suffocate,
choke the words out,
waterboarded with books,
until there is some water in this ******* drought.
Blame it for the lack of ingenuity,
for the life-long ambiguity,
how I cannot get my message out,
no matter how much I scream and shout.
The more I write the brighter I burn,
but like a fire I go out,
forgetting everything that I learn,
lost in the smoldering embers of doubt.

How can I prove to you that I am yours,
In this monogamous love has started mind wars.
You believe that I can not hold your heart,
But to me your mind is sophisticated art.
The feelings which course through your soul have only intrigued me,
I can only hope you will understand my plea:
Of when I look at you smile it is as if there is a race inside my veins,
And I can't run from the feelings because it is as if I am in chains.
Your eyes make me drown as if I am diving into a pool of thought,
I love you too much to realize this is all part of your plot.
To have me love you and care forever,
You really are quite clever.
Caring and loving me with all that you can,
It is as if this was always your plan.
To capture my heart, body and mind,
And in doing so you have made me blind.
Being without you is like a candy without sugar,
and I'm just a big kid.

Do you think you could help me out?
I've got a wife and a kid,
I'd almost sell them for the highest bid.
Haven't eaten in weeks, showered in a while,
So that's my excuse for smelling like bile.
So can you help me out?
But you have work, kids and gotta pay the car bill,
The new playstation came out and its looking real good,
You're stressed to find if you'll get money from your uncles will,
And you couldn't be bothered to take a step in the hood.

It's fine, I understand, the prolific problems of the poor are of no use,
We will survive these hardships with only a little abuse.
Take our freedom and take our pride,
Do not worry, we will not hide.
But first,
Can you help me out?

Why in the big government today,
are there so many politics,
and not enough policy.
Why are we like the mice to their cat,
as we run and scrounge,
and they grow fat.
Why do we sit and let them decide,
when incompetency and latency,
strip us of our pride.
As we sit and choose who is best,
we forget that these men must pass a test,
it is not about who has better hair,
or whether they say their daily prayer.
The test should be one of valor and bravery,
someone who can fight for our safety,
one who is even-keel and not unsavory,
and most importantly
someone who saves us from slavery.

Caught,
like a fish,
cut the cord,
or my throat.
Release me into the wild,
or be wild,
and spill my guts out.

Pick a side they said,
you cannot choose both,
life is a war,
there must be someone you loath.
You cannot hold sympathy for them all,
some deserve to take that fall,
you cannot care for all the sick you see,
so do not try to love the dead,
or you will end up like me,
and you will lose your head.

I want that phone,
that Ipod too,
give me the camera,
and I will record this zoo.
Throwing a punch,
for the newest toys,
never aware,
these are merely ploys.
As companies control what we love,
creating mountains out of molehills,
such as diamonds and gold,
they make others work against their wills,
just to get something sold.
While in our "civilized" society,
we speak of how we have ascended,
gone past the slave work,
and life is splendid.
But if we took each and every child,
and make them work with no food,
that would get the parents surely riled.
But we HAVE done this with the PEOPLE in the "wild"
and yet we act so mild,
as they die and we just smiled,
because we got the new T.V.,
at the "lowest" cost there can be.

When I am feeling alone, I walk in the grass,
I bear the wind as it blows, and watch time pass.
I remember the years which have left you and I,
and how we never had a proper goodbye.
We always spoke of how we'd stay friends,
now I see things through a corrective lens,
while we would laugh about simple little things,
I didn't realize how inhibited were my wings,
How you would make me feel like a king,
while secretly clipping my wing.
Waiting for me to step out of our nest,
attempt to fly, but falling at best.
So like unlike a bird which I strove to be,
I learned to use my feet, and chose to flee,
for while you hoped to hold on for long,
I soon found out,
I couldn't wait to be gone.

You don't know me,
so why do you flee,
acting as if I will sink into the waters.
I will not hurt you,
but I will not lay down,
ride with me,
through this sea.
I will protect you,
from the biting sharks,
the stinging jellyfish,
and the octopus' marks.
I will be the ship to take you over the ocean,
and I will inhibit my motion,
just so you can enjoy this mild breeze,
without being hindered by self-centered pleas.
And when the storm comes,
and crashes upon you,
I will be there,
to save you from that deep blue.
But if you do not steer me away from the storm,
and cower in fear as the clouds swarm,
letting lighting strike bow and stern,
I will not be able to carry you,
and together we will burn.

I would use nature to describe you,
but you are so unnatural,
it would be a disservice,
or an insult,
to your beauty.

The only way nature can compare,
is by saying something like:
If nature was nearly as beautiful as you,
then we would be living in the wild.

You're controversial,
Insane,
Like a commercial.
Off the chain.
But you make me smile,
and always are fun,
I'd run a million miles,
To play with you in the sun.
I used to go and hide to think of you at night,
I'd squeeze away in that spot you knew which was real tight.
I'd think of you and all we did,
Being children and doing things that were forbid.
It was fun and I miss you lots and I hope you are well,
Skeeter came and you needed company so I guess you two are swell.
-I miss you lots

The euphoric feeling of my dreams slipping through my grasp,
to light headed dreams from time wasted,
insatiable hunger which eats relationships alive,
followed by a deep sleep to forget all my pains.
When I reach for that next hit,
that next wake-up punch in the face,
digging myself into this deep pit,
starting out fast, with no pace.
Soon this drug fueled fixation will me a dream,
a forgotten memory of desire and doubt,
something that died when it hit my blood stream,
drowned in a high created by this drug drought.
Alas, this is not how my life is meant to be,
with convictions and morals which were clear,
I was a man who was meant to be free,
now I am a man, owned by fear, for the sake of cheer.

My word is a lie,
which cuts the ties,
that held our love together.
So say your final goodbyes,
and look into my eyes,
and see it will all be better.
I have moved on,
and you still call,
because it is me for whom you long for.
But like an overplayed breakup song,
you must take this fall,
so try to land graciously on the floor.

I am why the bell tolls rings,
full of death, pain and hurt,
filling hearts with tears of dread,
for I am why the bell tolls ring.
I am why the church gathers,
gaining support under God,
living through fear of me,
as I am evil's epitome.
I am why you succumb to crime,
hurting others for your gain,
I am the one who passes time,
making your end seem closer.
I am fear and loathing too,
filling your mind with confusion,
I am who makes you feel blue,
as I steal life's illusion.

Let me tie my own noose please,
for I know how I like it,
tied with what I call a tease,
and a loop as a ***.
For this is what hangs me,
not my failed work,
but my growing inhibitions.
And as I try to fix my sin,
and stop all repercussions,
my inner self pulls a grin,
and I find myself wiht a concussion.
I don't know where I am,
I don't know how I got here,
but there I am, in a jam,
with a woman biting my ear.
It isn't as if I don't try to have control,
for a perfect set of gifts is not my only goal,
but the simple distraction,
has caused me to faction,
debating over my hearts contraction,
while my body only looks for action.
So what can I do? With these corrupt counterparts,
working together, to tear us apart?
I can merely succumb to my soul,
as I don't have the strength to fight my bodies control.

I will be that hurdle you trip upon,
I am the water you burn in,
I was the drought that drowns you in fire,
as you are the muscle that overpowered me,
the air which flourishes you,
and the rainfall which nourishes you.

You are the chips with saturated fat,
slowing my blood to a halting standstill,
making my insides the vile food of rats.
You are the cake which suffocates my heart,
causing it to over- exert,
turning my death into your food art.
You are the food I never learned not to have, the fat of the meat,
colorful as a bed of roses, but filled with mud,
So let me sit down, and let's eat.

I stand above a child,
looking down upon his actions,
but he only looked and smiled,
as I am only one of his distractions.
He keeps his eyes set forward,
without looking back,
his view never altered,
always staying on track.
I look at him as just a stepping stone,
someone to pivot myself until I've won,
but if I wasn't there he wouldn't have known,
for in his mind, he was already done.