this earthly plane was one i wasn't too fond of
i wanted to go to jupiter
or somewhere like it
big and full of orange like my favorite sunsets
Europa is my favorite moon
because it reminds me of europe
it reminds me of anywhere but here
it reminds me of away
it reminds me of gone
have you ever wanted to be so far away,
so stretched thin
to the point of no return?
it's an earthly human feeling that i'm not too fond of
i'd like to be an alien
not the green or the gray ones with big heads and thin bodies
but the ones who know things
things that Plato knew
and things that Sylvia Plath knew
and Goethe, and Einstein, and Martin Luther King Jr., and every woman on the planet
I want to know things
things no one knows
and i can't do that here!
i need to be in jupiter or a heaven of sorts
because the fire of this hell burns my not only my tears
but my passion dry
i dont know what the hell this is
i wrote a poem and wanted to hear ur thoughts ok here it is
I'm scared of dying...like most empathetic humans are,
but I have to try extra hard to not have an existential crisis. Or two. Or ten...
and my late nights begin with starring at dotted ceilings or purple curtains or clenching them tight because I'm scared of the shadows I might glance at!
but sometimes I don't notice that they're open
and I'm just blankly starring into an abyss of darkness.
It's so hard to be happy when there are monsters under the bed.
They tug at my limbs until I cry,
they want me dead
and I believe their whispers
but I'm so scared of dying!
Skeletons dance around my head,
taunting my flesh to join them in the dirt, even though I repeat, "no, no, no, make it stop!"
But the demons don't care...
But, there is this one angel,
who brings me back to happy, to serenity, and content minded smiles.
The angel sings to me about sunshine and reminds me that I'm loved
and sometimes I feel guilty
because the angel helps me but sometimes the monsters outnumber the angel in my mind
but when the angel kisses my lips while caressing my cheek,
the skeletons dance away, and I have this goofy grin on my face that is real!
And it lasts long enough to lock the monsters out of my room.
for her [every woman]
sparkle red [sparkles are stereotypically for girls. but instead of sparkles, it is blood. so, bleed red.]
& care little [do not care]
& honor every 'no' [honor every woman who has every said no to anyone or anything because it is not highly looked upon for women to stand their ground]
to our every 'no' [a cheer. like a raising of the glass for women as a whole who have stood our grounds and have said no. we deserve a pat on the back.]
please!!! let me know what you think!! i will gladly return the favor. thank you.
against pale sheets
writing on pale paper
but her heart is red
and the vessels bleed love
and the pulse plunges deep
some days she is colorful
and others she is dark
but either way it's because of love
her hesrt tugs and weighs
like a bursen to feel so much
it's her blessing and her curse to linger with blood stained fingerprints all over him and open wounds in her flesh but he patches them with kisses
and they bleed together
I really appreciate any feedback. Thank you.
my head lay upon your chest and i could've sworn our heartbeats were one
when tears tugged at my eyes, you made them beautiful
your arms around me in our weird cuddles made me feel at home
and when you're not in my bed with out breaths intertwined, i feel like a ghostly shadow lingering for your return
any time you leave i miss you, whether it be a second, or days, my heart aches for yours
and if you leave it will ache much more or even break and shatter
you promise you wont go but i still take in every heartbeat and pulse with you
i feel every inch of you and i watch your eyes flicker to mine
i could look forever into the garden boys eyes
and let our galaxies intertwine
please give feedback. all is appreciated.
im scared of dying
although everyone has done it
and we all have it in common
one day you and i
will be the dirt
and whats etched onto our stones
wont matter to our cold-to-touch hearts
our lungs wont puff cigarettes or posioned air
in fact we wont breathe at all
just the abyss of our memories swelling nothingness
all of the world left behind
yet you're buried into it
with everyone else that has ever lived
if there is an after life
i hope to see gogh and plath
because i belong with people like them
and my whole life i'll be searching
for souls like mine
i know i am hopeless yet hopeful at the same messy, indecisive time
the fear of death
is not only the fear of pain
and the road less traveled afterwards
it's the fear of dying not knowing myself
and being trapped forever inside
the box i always contained myself in
and still feeling cricks in my neck
from not loving myself enough
when people tell you
that it's inevitable and you should "just get over it"
do they realise how impossible that is
for a broken heart like me?
i am a derailed train and a puzzle piece no one understands
and i am a writer who suffers for art and because i am this....
this mess of a person
not even living
i just walk
sometimes exhaling with a sigh
it pains me to think that by the time
death is knocking on my door
i still will not have lived
give me feedback ! thanks
shall i compare thee to a summers day?
i admire shakespeare for being such a yaknow, writer
and i wish i could equate to his flowing of words and make hidden messages between the metaphors
i try my hardest
but amogst the other angsty teens who bleed tears and numbness
it's hard to compare thee to a summers day when thats what everyone is doing
but it's so true
you are the flowers that bloom out of my ribcage after winter has been in my lungs for some time
and you are the sunshine that peaks through to warm my heart
you are the summer rain and wind that makes me flutter like the butterflies in the south
but you are also a human
and sometimes you turn to winter
but i love thee til mine death
and theres something poetic about the old english
this modern english makes me feel less of a romantic lover and writer all together
i want to compare thee to cold bedsheets after a sweaty day or the splash of water onto my feet when the ashpalt gets too hot for touch
i want you to be my metaphor for everything
i want it to be simple and complicated and use really big words because im pretentious
but i just want to love you
and as we progress into the robot era
i still sit here writing my love for you
bleeding for you
this is not romeo and juliet
and i never really know what im doing
im actually quite a mess
and this doesnt make sense
but the spark of light for my love of you will never dim to darkness
and i will hold the candle to the heavens as an offering for you to be the eternal light
this is rambling on and on probably
but i love thee
ich liebe dich
i love you
do you compare me to a summer day?
am i colorful like a meadow and soft like a cloud?
am i your greatest living, breathing, loving figuruative language?
or am i another hopeless (hopeful) romantic that is another page in a story that you wont speak of or analyze enough to understand
will you skim me?
i sometimes doubt your knowledge of love for me
i wonder if it's surface love
or if it pulls your heart to your stomach to ache when my touch and laugh is unavailable
i wonder if you mourn at the thought of my pain
and if romeo and juliet is a plausable scenerio
ha ha- joking
i sometimes doubt
but i know thee loves
and im sorry that im like this
but at the same time im not
and yes, anyways is a word (at least to me)
(english breaks its own rules all the time)
i shall compare thee to a summers day
and thee shall be loved
let me know what you think. it is odd, i know.