Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I don't know how to express these feelings I don't know how to express how badly I want to cry right now or how much the bugs are biting me I don't know how to express how wet the grass is or how long I feel I don't have I don't know how to express how many shots I've taken or how tonight was the first time that I've had so many cigarettes in one night I don't know how to express this party going on with all of my friends and how worried they are about me I don't know how to express how ******* alone I feel amongst this crowd of people who care so ******* much about me I don't know how to express anything that I'm feeling yet I say that I want to major in writing and journalism and I want to have a career that literally expresses how I'm feeling but I don't know how to express anything that I experience I don't know how to be friends with people I don't know how to be myself I don't know how to let people care about me I don't know how to socialize I don't know how to be twenty ******* two I don't know how to go places with ******* bug spray I don't know how to be prepared I have no idea who I am or who I want to be but I guess that all I am right now is a girl that cries at her best friends ******* parties and runs away to the front porch or into the backyard or around the corner to an empty field to ******* cry and feel pitiful about herself because her life's ******* pitiful but I must say I honestly really love being alone I just wish I had some bug spray
The first poem of this sort that I've posted. I was incredibly drunk and sad and just turned on the microphone in my phone's notes and started talking. I think it turned out okay. I felt a lot better afterwards, so I guess there's that.
The worst moment in life
is undoubtedly
that awful moment
when you suddenly realize--

you are completely insignificant.

You are not important.
You won't do anything to change anything.

And this bothers you.

You want to contribute.
You want to feel needed.
You want to create a big enough impact on something that
it will change forever.

Perhaps this is why we all want to fall in love so desperately.
We all have that empty void in our hearts that needs to be filled.
We need to feel needed,
to feel important to someone.
To change them for the better.
To feel like we have finally done something good.

And to just matter.
Even to only one person.

One person really can mean the world to you.
And you can mean the world to another person.
Maybe then you won't feel that desperate need to feel important
or to matter to the rest of the planet.
Because that one person will be your world.
And you'll matter to them.

And that will be enough.

It's almost seven a.m.
and I can't sleep.
I want to blame the internet,
but we both know
that's just an excuse.
So what do I blame then?
Can I blame it on stress?
What about my imagination?
Why is it so hard to get a good nights rest, lately?
Something once so simple has turned into
the most arduous task.
I want to fix this,
but how?
I've tried counting sheep,
but that only leaves me
dizzy and confused.
I've tried listening to sad songs,
but that just makes me ponder the lyrics
and musical genius.
So what do I do now?
Because surely,
I can't just close my eyes
and sleep.

I'm sitting on the bedroom floor
at almost 4 in the morning
holding a little bottle
of migraine pills
in my trembling hands
and the bottle is shaking
and the tiny capsules are rattling
and screaming
and begging to be released
and I have half a mind to
listen to them
and grant their wish
and end it all.

I'm holding a little bottle
of migraine pills
in my trembling hands
and honestly
nothing has ever fit

there exists a girl
who is different
people whisper about her
and snicker amongst themselves
"something is wrong with her," they say
"she's crazy"
"she can't be normal"
"she ISNT normal"
so they try forcing her to be
they put her on medication
they put her in hospitals
they look down at her with false smiles
they pretend to be concerned
but she knows the truth
and they never will
but even through it all
the girl is happy
because she doesn't care if she is normal
she is different
she is unique
she is special
not everyone likes her
or the things she does
or the things she says
but the people who do,
they love her
and she holds on to that
and she grows stronger
and she found hope
and she is happy

I was 15,
And you were 16.
And we met through a computer screen.
And we instantly connected.
And we talked non-stop.
And we became best friends.
And we shared our deepest secrets with one another,
not caring that we were two complete strangers.
That never really mattered.
We were just troubled kids,
longing for someone to talk to.
Someone who felt the things we did.
Someone who wouldn't judge us.
Someone who might possibly understand.
We found that in each other.
You were my solace.
And I loved you.

I told you about how my family was no longer a family.
And you told me about how you didn't know if you could handle much more.
And I was worried.
And you occasionally disappeared for days on end.
And I became frantic.
And you would tell me you were in the hospital.
Those ****** pills again.
And I begged you to stop,
To try and get better.
Because you were my solace.
And I loved you.

I was 16,
and you were 17.
And you had a girlfriend.
And she didnt like me.
Or maybe she just didnt like what we had.
So she made you choose.
And it broke my heart to see you choose her.
Because you were my solace.
And I loved you.

Six months later.
Six devastatingly long months later.
I heard from you again.
And I didn't know how to feel.
So I cried.
Tears of anger, sadness, regret.
But mostly joy.
Because you were back.
You were finally back.
And you were my solace.
And I loved you.

I was 17,
And you were 18.
And we met face to face.
After two long years, it finally happened.
And it was the best night of my life.
And I was so sad to see you leave.
But you had to return to your broken home.
And things got worse for you.
And old habits picked back up.
And your depression consumed you.
And it ate me alive to see you that way.
Because you were my solace.
And I loved you.

I am 18,
And you should be 19.
But you never got to see that day.
Because old habits die hard.
And you finally succeeded.
And my heart feels like it's been ripped out of my chest.
But the rest of my body is numb.
And my mind is darker than ever.
Because now I have no one to share my secrets with.
No one to listen.
Because you are gone.
And you were my solace.
And I love you.

Honestly, the ending of this poem isn't true. The boy did not die. But it seems as if he has because he completely disconnected himself from my life. It hurt less to just lie.
Don't ever let people know
that you're attached to them.
Make it seem as if you could care less
whether they're in your life or not,
even though you really want nothing more
than for them to stay
Don't ever let people know
that you've cried for them--
over them.
They'll use it against you
and throw your biggest weakness
in your face
leaving you completely vulnerable
and raw
and broken
and crying.
Don't ever let people know you love them.
Trust me, they don't care.
Not one single bit.
Sure they might tell you that
they love you too,
and maybe they do.
For the time being.
But things change.
Feelings change.
People change.
All in a matter of seconds.
People only love you when it's convenient for them,
or when they have
no one better to love.
It's all a sick
game of chess.
Constantly trying to protect your king,
or in this case
your heart,
but your opponent is always

and you lose.

Next page