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Syreena Phelps Sep 2019
I starve myself
Because the intense growl in my stomach
is the only time
something tells me it cares about me

I take freezing showers
that make it hard to breathe
Because it's the only time
I fight to stay alive

I read past conversations
of my heart getting broke
Because it's the only time
I can control when I cry

I fake happiness
for those around me
Because I'd rather hide my pain
than my peers to pretend to care

I isolate myself
from everything
Because it's the only time
that I am the only one who can hurt me

I'm stuck in a depressive paradox;
the only way for me to survive my pain
is to make my own
Was going go use the term "borborygmus" in the second line, but decided that's too extra.
Syreena Phelps Jul 2019
Him
It's about time I write about him
Him who tried to steal all of my strength
But took my weaknesses
Him who bruised me where clothes could hide and skin could cover
Him who ****** compassion out of each vein that runs beneath my flesh
Him who kicked motivation out of the insides of my cheeks, barely missing my teeth
Him who tossed me at the wall so hard the noise will echo into my grave
Him who would drive me off the road while I am walking
Him whose clenched fists kissed me more than he did
Him who would say the words "I love you" like he was screaming "I'm just trying to keep you!"
Him who'd tell me he's always hated when women have red hair only after I told him that's my favourite colour on me
Him who only cared about his favourite colour on me
Him who said he'd give me a home but gave me a cage, a place to sleep but gave me a space to cry, a place to live but an atmosphere that made me want to die
Him who strived to convince life to leave my dark brown eyes
Him who tried so hard to steal all of my strength
But in the end, I left him with my weaknesses.
It's probably sloppy. I wrote this really fast in one sitting and am deciding maybe I should post it before I decide to edit it. Enjoy.
Syreena Phelps Jul 2019
We cover her skin with long trails of asphalt roads
We fill her waters with plastic waste and burnt out cigarette butts
We overwhelm her atmosphere with toxic smoke in a million different ways
We throw bombs at her body while fighting with one another
We bury burning garbage beneath her flesh, hide our waste beneath her flesh, constantly build build build beneath her flesh
We **** her animals, we **** her trees, we **** her oceans and her seas. We **** her land and her sky.

All she did was give us a place to call home. How selfish can we possibly be?

Take care of the earth. She needs you.
Don't bite the hand that feeds you.
Syreena Phelps Jul 2019
I feel like the only person who feels so plain about my stretch marks. I dont hate them or love them they're just there. Doesnt stop me from wearing a bikini. I'm fully aware that my body is just a vessel I'm using to experience life better and it doesnt matter how I look. I love myself inside and out and stretch marks are just there. Doesnt make me any uglier. I had stretch marks on my thighs before I got pregnant, and idk why because i was always super skinny. Got stretch marks from my pregnancy. Because I carried a ******* child, ya know? What does society expect from me? I literally made life, I'm BOUND to be left with some battle scars.

If you think you are going to die of old age with a perfect body with no scars, no stretch marks, absolutely nothing gone weird or wrong along the way, you're wrong. Every mark on your body shows you've actually LIVED LIFE and didnt hide from it. Be proud of every dent, every stitch, every scar, and ******, every stretch mark. Shows you had some fun and experiences in this short time you have here on earth. Don't you dare hate yourself for THAT.
Not really poem but cool
Syreena Phelps Mar 2019
My body is a crime scene from a case that’s never been open because it’s a hell to relive the agony while allowing the truth to seep from between my shaking lips and chattering teeth to a group of ears that will accuse me of lying in my most vulnerable form.
A run-on sentence for my run-on trauma.
Syreena Phelps Mar 2019
I smoke different cigarettes so I don’t have to smell you
Syreena Phelps Aug 2017
You ever felt so lost?
Like your life had a path,
but you went off track
and cant find your way back?

The hands of depression grab a hold of me,
grip as strong as graphene.
Drowning me while I'm still breathing.
Brainwashing me of my happiness.

Through all the pain I finally scream out
"Enough is Enough!"
but it just echoes through the tunnels of loneliness.

Anxiety wraps around me like a straitjacket,
pulling me under the waves of life and socialization,
drowning me in the depths of the oceans with it's sinking anchor.
Pulling me deeper and deeper until the sands of a panic attack tickle my feet.

Thoughts in my mind swarm me like bees of a disturbed nest.
Tears in my eyes overwhelm me in the same vein a thunderstorm in a desert.

Numbing the pain with sleep, alcohol, and cigarettes.
I've smoked so many cigarettes my demons are addicted to nicotine.
But nothing can numb the pain of being stuck in your life.
The smoke will never fade them away.

Maybe one day I'll live life instead of fighting it.
"Maybe one day," I tell myself to keep going.
Maybe one day.

maybe.
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