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kain Jan 2020
I'm devastated
That you were just an excuse
I was used
As were you

I always knew you were never real
We were just two girls, playing pretend
Sending loveless souls
Across the code
But I loved you
In some perverted way, I loved you

You ****** me up
And by that I mean
I ****** me up
You were my image
My northern star
When you were gone
I was willfully lost
Decided it was time
To destroy it all

We played our game
For far too long
Letting go was a relief
An excuse to be
The ****** up kid
I'd always dreamed of
Back when my dreams weren't nightmares
And my nightmare wasn't my reality

It wouldn't be fair to say you broke me
You didn't
You chose me
Just as I chose you
My perfect self destruction
And like him later on
We were a force together
We tore holes together
We were the people
You don't write home about together

In the end
We were just kids
I can't say I regret this
I don't know what to say
Except that I meant it
There was a piece of paper that I had, it probably got recycled back when my room was purged in January. It had a border of highlighter flowers. I showed it to my two friends at school and they knew it was about you.
I wonder what it said. I don't remember anymore.
--
I wrote this with meaning and feeling, but now they're just empty words, just like these will be. I wish it wasn't like this.
Lavender Menace Jan 2020
Is it wrong?
To be so sad
About something so happy?
Why can't I understand?
That things end
That I'm less and she's more
Welp oof I wish I wasn't such an emotional ***** geuss I'll die than
And that time came
After those feverish anticipation
The time to let go
IrieSide Dec 2019
She took me too close
to mother nature's
flowery face
a place
of constant
birth
and
death

.

.

reflections of self,
nature is I
and I nature
at my humblest
roots
The most Immortal.

Where have I been?
Why have
NOT I been here?

It's a reason,
an answer,
not simple or clear

Pause and stop for a moment
and try to explain
as I drift off into
the expanse of my brain

Sort of been in a lull
Kind of stuck in a rut
No ambition; desire
Don't want to do much
I’ve been lacking consistency;
without consensus
Once driven and disciplined
Vanished; off they went

Some time I’ve chased after
without much success
If by chance I recaptured;
escaped and they left
Once entrenched qualities;
have transformed into bubbles
Their memories -
a dream
As my life turns to rubble

A child I am
chasing frantically after
while further each drifts
out of reach
as they scatter

Ask,
"Where have I been?"
More like,
"Where am I now?"
‘Cause I live in a world
with a hovering shroud

No persistence of rain
More an absence of sun
There's no presence of pain
But is vacant of fun
Putting paper with pen
Situation is clear
Like a therapy session
Pull curtain;
I peer

Psychotherapy works
Hidden things can appear
Driven crazy;
berserk,
like a ship you can't steer

A continuous game,
one that can not be won
Somewhat hard to explain
Like a program that's run

Piece of clothing that's stained
Been there since time begun
And no way to contain
The past can't be undone
Pulling at it you tear
to remove all the faults
but you never get near;
locked away in the vault

Bang away at the door
Combination is lost
Feel despondent,
defeated,
and just at a loss
Where you give up all hope
There’s no way you can win
Sinking down to the bottom
It ends and begins…

-
-
-

Here alone in the darkness,
at first, you’re afraid
and wallow in pity
this “mess” you have made

While confined in a box
It’s a self-given coffin;
recluse who’s closed off
Made a space can’t get lost in

You wither and rot
in this counterfeit grave
Also, time to reflect
on the choices you’ve made

Loneliness not a friend;
Solitude can be one
Introspective -
a teacher
A valuable one

Near impossible to
fix what can not be seen
Not the visible lines
but what’s hidden between
Archaeologist digging
deep down in the dirt
Resurrecting the fossils
of buried down hurt

Everyone has a closet
with skeletons in
They are not all the same
in their size or within
But ignoring and locking away never works
You must get your hands *****
and dig in the dirt

Facing demons or sitting in darkness for most
conjures feelings of horror
like seeing a ghost
Though denial feels warm
like it might be a friend
Just like 'Brute',
it stabs in the back in the end

So, if life’s got you down
then it’s time to get up
I’m not saying it’s easy
Dig down and get tough
It is known that the night’s
darkest right before dawn
In the moment you’re weakest
you’ll soon become strong

Like a pendulum swing
or the changing of seasons
When pushed to extreme
then it just goes to reason
A rebounding force
very soon will attack
And all battle ground lost;
rightfully taken back

When you’ve given up hope;
just about to give in
At the end of your rope
Feel it’s time to say “when”
Meditate into silence;
cut everything out
Hear that voice from inside
with a WARRIOR shout!

If you listen
the universe will direct you
It has knowledge
and one
most important of clues
Like the phase of the moon
or the flow of the tides
there’s a cyclical pattern
all things must abide

When the mountain top’s reached,
one can only go down
You can swim at the beach
or give up
and then drown


Everything ebbs and flows
It’s the nature of all
So remember this lesson
when you’re feeling small

When that final point’s reached,
only one way to go
Now get back on your feet!
With this knowledge
you know
You will be hurt no more
‘cause that time’s "come and gone"
In the darkness no more

Now it’s time for the dawn!
Written: October 11, 2019 (started) & December 31, 2019 (finished)

All rights reserved.
[Anapestic Tetrameter Format]

For those who may know me or may otherwise be curious or concerned:
I know I have been a little M.I.A. from here recently. I have been busy (and tired) with daily life duties and responsibilities. Just as this poem points out the cyclical nature of things, the "tide of life" has called me away recently and distracted me elsewhere. I hope to change that very soon. I very much miss reading the wonderful poetry that is displayed on this website daily by so many talented people. I also miss interacting with the HePo community and the numerous friends I have made here. I thank those who have taken the time to read my poetry and possibly, 'liked, 'loved', or commented. I apologize if I haven't specifically acknowledged anyone's comments or gestures. I want to get to each and every one of you (and I intend to) but in the meantime I wanted to give a blanket "thank you" to all of you. I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays and here's looking to a joyful and prosperous '2020!  

=^)
Tatiana Dec 2019
Hey Lord, I hear him.
He's not whispering.

"Dear Lord, I'm nothing but a pile of bones
picked clean by the crows
I want to go home."


Oh Lord what will you do?
I still hear him crying out for you.

"Lord, I know I'm a sinner at best
but please let my heart rest
they deserve to know."


No, he doesn't know how long it has been.
His heart has crumbled with his flesh.
His body won't be touched again.
Lord, if he is a sinner
then what does that make me?
I don't pray. He pleads to you on broken knees.

Lord what have you done?
His voice has left my head.
Have you shown your mercy and let him rest?
Or did you take away my senses
so I no longer have to deal with the dread
of a sinner's regretful heart again.
©Tatiana
I feel like the poem I originally wrote has so much to say and I'm not done saying it just yet.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3414788/a-skeleton-remains/
Link ^ to the original poem so you can get the full story.
Ayn Dec 2019
You know I love this, you do as well
We all love the feeling of the dripping blood
I know this feeling brings us closer to hell,
But I cannot live through this emotion flood
I need it to stay alive and sane.
The feeling is good too, it’s bliss
I love all the self inflicted pain
I want more, everyday, without miss.
You may think I’m out of line, I’m crazy
But i know you love it too
You are a *****, you’re lazy
I deal with that **** everyday, and so do you.
We need our emotion vents to let out the crud.
Why not again use our own blood
so I’ve figured it out. The even numbered poems are me, while the odd numbered poems are... also me. But the odd numbered ones are by the ****** up me, the one that wants me to die and hurt myself.
Khoisan Dec 2019
His love saves the night
gentle wings plumes of a child
His blood overcame the dark
for us to live in the light
All across the land dawns a brand new day.
have yourself a blessed Christmas:)))❤
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