Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member




Wyatt Sep 2018
Weaponizing my mind
to fight off another night,
but another part of me strategized
to make it to the other side early.
I'm sorry for saying.
Something about a mysterious death
at an early age has always fascinated me,
to be honest.
Like a Curt Kobain or a Robin Williams,
what did their lives consist of compared to mine?
As a youth never understood,
decorated with stereotypes
my peers draped over me
I grew bitter and confused as a pre-teen,
concerned with how I
was going to handle all of these
responsibilities suddenly thrown upon me.
Little things made me wanna die, so how do I
deal with these serious subjects which currently
share space in my mind?
I was childish, I had trouble forming the sentences
that could have saved my life from going down this
path I'm currently cursed to walk.
I took nothing seriously,
I just wanted to rot my brain away
staring at the TV which played every cartoon
that added fire to the fantasy burning within me.
I wanted to be a prodigy, I wanted to be special,
I wanted to help others realize their own greatness as-well
which backfired once I accepted my mediocrity.
The proof was in the pudding, so they say.
I jumped to levitate and my face met the ground,
I wanted to sing and produced an ugly sound.
I wanted to get a head-start in the race
and always found myself waking up late,
running to the classroom
to avoid embarrassment
from these peers already seated
with their assignments.
You're out here deciding life-goals and majors
and I'm just sitting here scribbling in a notebook
trying to find words that rhyme with others.
Writing poetry before I even knew the word,
I just called them cool sentences.
That was bliss, that was disappearing for me
in a world that seemingly didn't match my DNA.
If you made it this far in the poem, I wonder why
because these are just the
ponderings of my troubled mind.

I'm late to the game, late to the pen.
I'm late to the door, late to the end.
I'm late to the party, late to the trends
so an early death would be my first time
making it to whatever comes next on time.

Wanted spotlight, but not for my own selfishness.
Wanted to fight for you, not what I'll indulge in
but that hope was already small as it was.
Now the few people that existed in my life
started straying, dissipating into the blur of life.
They got cars, got jobs, they
got depressed and I got sorta shy.
I shut myself into my mind,
creating different ways of this occurring.
I made myself a sports-star, a musician,
a politician that actually brought us peace,
or a magician that made happiness grow on trees.
God, I tried to let you soak into me
when I cried myself to sleep.
but these days I meet with doubts
and slowly I feel further away from you.
I know you've healed sicknesses
that would've killed me early,
I know you gave me opportunity.
I wasted that potential you gave me,
I just wanted to do something
that meant something.

Ever since I first learned
about depression I was never the same,
I remember my brother telling me
how much he wanted to **** himself
and I think some of that self-hate reflected onto myself.
I started hating those talks, those dreadful walks
to an empty room to talk him off the ledge.
I started avoiding him to give myself false-peace,
I started finding distractions to divert me
from suicide that was mentioned to me
by bullies that said I'd be better off dead
and now I think I understand what they meant.
After twenty one years
I haven't passed ten years old.
I still think like a kid, I ain't no adult.
I still get panic attacks when I
think about driving in traffic,
that ticket to leave is locked
behind fears I can't assess.
All I wanted was someone to notice me,
I didn't want to become
another face in a monotone society
that teaches us to blend in,
I always stood out.
Even now, my shifty eyes
get weird glares from their eyes.
"Avoid confrontation to avoid lies",
so I keep to myself until my demise.
That time feels sooner than most think,
my fear will be the death of me.
I don't fear death, I fear living life
under microscopes that won't get my life.
You, you and you.
You couldn't handle my truth.
Just a glance on this page
and you'll go "****".
Once my parents die ashamed of me,
once my siblings fully abandon me,
once I have to move myself to the streets,
what will this world think of me
when I have nothing left to hide behind?
Now I'm weaponizing myself.

Weaponizing my mind
to fight off another night,
but another part of me strategized
to make it to the other side early.
I'm sorry for saying.

All my life I wonder what comes next,
but now I've lived long enough to know
that nothing changes for the better.
Hospital bills **** me,
depression pills depress me.
Prescription pain-killers only
shows weakness in me.
I hate these stereotypes we are forced to live under.
The defenseless girl and the muscle men,
even though I've met many strong girls
living lonely lives raising kids
they never asked to raise alone.
I've looked at myself in the mirror
and without fail I notice all the fat
that hangs off my body, it's disgusting.
To lose it would be to find motivation
which is hard to grasp when I don't see
myself in a happier picture regardless.
Ugly face, eyes confined to glasses,
personality disorders that prevent me
from going out and actively
embracing every facet of society.
Bipolar, my heart gets colder.
I think bad things on good days
and on bad days I die inside.
So what the hell is a real man?
What is confidence?
What is bagging women
like a box of chocolates?
What is smoking your life away
to look cool in front of people
who will look the other way
when you abandon these constructs
that got you that far today?
I guess I'm not a man, I guess I'm a kid
or maybe an alien that has no place
in a world that critiques long before they listen?
I'm weaponizing myself in mind, not in person.
Because a guy with a gun can still die in a knife-fight.
I can't trust what you say,
I'll sleep with both eyes open.
Loveable nice-guy who is quiet,
that's all I've ever been.
I'm such a coward, it's evident.
I've let my family, my friends,
these strangers all in my life step over me.
And now I'm alone, bruised ego and all
preparing for the night.
I'm ready to die, so
will this be the last thing I write?
It's long. It's detailed. It's honest. This is me.
For doubters of me, which includes myself.
I'm weaponized, but now time is running short.
Life has been a hell I'll never forget,
so forgive me for wishing myself death.
I wanna *******…. And not just in the literal sense, but seeing those eyes melts my body like lava running down from a volcano that just erupted violently….now can we cool off with your oceanic flows and create islands??

I say you’re the **** as you walk to and fro,
exuding the essence of woman in such a sultry kind of way it glows…
my thoughts could ravage your very innocence of you not knowing the truth….my eyes constantly rip your clothes off tasting your flesh your wetness your inner thighs…

Dont pardon my French but rather invite the sounds of me French kissing your soft lips down below…
apart from parting those pedals of lustful intrigue desiring the nectar that flows mightier that the Mississippi river herself……****….if you only knew… say the one true power you desire is knowing the unknown…

But if you truly knew the perverse ways and rhythms this ride could give you, it might shatter the very thing you desire most…

Like the morning dew off of stems as the sun beams down creating a unique sense of calmness and passion….that’s what portrait I portray being inside of you as father time stops to greet mother nature of her silky curves and milky libations…

Poetically taking sight sound and colour into a masterpiece of grandioso melodic vibrations….
vibrations….hah….my vibrations of crystal blue persuasions can seismically decimate your walls of Jericho with thrusts from my rambunctious sword….**** ah ******* it mechanically drops a single drop in a vast ocean in comparison…
but I cant lie about wanting to split your mind and body like an cherry tree…

Honestly, Washington on a presidential status couldn’t get ahead of the head I could mentally give you ….can I be your mickey d’s and turn your body into a golden arch….Kurt Kobain doped up on ******* will tell you to let me be your…..nirvana…..ecstasy….to the highest degree….

And now as I draw a blank unto this computer screen having been mindlessly ****** to ******* jisms at the sheer thought of the words that formed my thoughts to this here theatrical scene…
i say…..good morning….