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Hydeer Aug 20
It amazed me just how quick
And it hurt me how much it kicked
I held a strong and sound thread
To a numbness that plagues my head

Metaphore or idioms can not compare
To the lack of feelings, even of despair
Monotonous tone hinders my voice
I'll hug my knees "I have no choice"

A laugh became a gasp of air
A conversation became a simple stare
Accidents I've made have turned to mistakes
A great fear to whisper and a fear to ache

My eyes that once would glow bright
Have been disguised among the night
A great fear I expressed long ago
Now is the truth I'd never show
I tried. I really did try. And now it's all quiet and I don't know where to go. My habits haunt me more and more.
Old enough to no longer claim ‘childhood’.
She read the words of a wise man, path set.
Her plan was arranged for the greater good.
Now, the cruel public will never forget.
J Apr 17
Tell me what it’s like to fall out of love
So beautifully and with ease,
You walked away, me still on the street
And still managed to make it look like art,
Our love was never movie-like but the ending was,
Alone and grey on the pavement, begging for your patience
So I could prove to you one more time that I was worthy of being with
But you never wanted to hear it
lemonlime Mar 7
Goodbye.

If I’d had the courage to ask,
And to tell you I’m not happy as well,
We’d have taken off our fake masks,
But I didn’t, so not-a-word we fell.

I wish you’d let out a call,
But your lips were pursed tight,
No plea for help in the fall,
Eyes locked on fading light.

It’ll hurt me to know memories fade,
And that my sadness will pass by,
I’ll hold onto the stories we made,
And the things we soundlessly shared inside.  

Why did you end so foolishly?
In black attire and dark, misty eyes,
I’ll say my sorrowful eulogy,
A soft farewell and sad goodbye.
A depressing poem. :')
Filomena Nov 2018
Age
Every person I knew as a child will be taken away;
Every landmark destroyed or changed beyond recognition.
Soon enough even the memories will fade.
I see why so many people live through their children.
MicMag Jul 2018
is it important to rhyme?
do the cool kids care?
will they give me the time
if the 4th line ends in a different sound than line B?


the nature of poetry's changed
we've given up the rules
we allow a greater range
of thoughts and rhythms and forms and types and schemes and what not


you can even follow tradition
writing old-school poems
but make it special edition
by ******* with people's minds and changing one little structural thing mwahaha


will this trend stick?
can i name this new style?
or should i just pick
whatever words come to mind to wrap up this so-called-poem
and make people wonder what the hell they just read?
Hannah Christina May 2018
A crackle of a shell
being torn
cast aside

The flutter of a wing
new and fresh
limp and weak

A squeal from the child
watching close
eyes are wide

The  waiting and the rest
little wings
strength to seek

The wings are now stretched out
orange and black
beating slow

A flutter and a cry
take the air
sailing strong

It lands and then takes off
up again
high and low

It's lilting towards the clouds
out of sight
flies along

Fare thee well, young butterfly.
My family has had a hobby of raising monarch butterflies since I was a kid.  We have had many, but  I still remember when by first butterfly hatched.  It's chrysalis had come detached from the top of the bug habitat, and I thought it might die.  I worried the whole morning, but I made it.  It takes them some time to pump up their wings and rest before they can fly.  Getting out of the chrysalis quite a challenge.  I always felt proud of them after they made it.

You know, even if you have to do something, like school maybe, or getting through a hard part of your life doesn't mean it wasn't an accomplishment.  You are still very strong, even if you felt like you had other options.  Just getting out of bed is a feat sometimes.  Or holding in hurtful words.  Or speaking up when you know you must.  I was always proud of my butterflies.  I am proud of you, too.
Marlene Jan 2018
Knives.
Sleek, silver, shimmering.
It speaks to me,
"Come this way."

Mutilation
Is as bad as you make it.
To us it is just a way
To relieve some pain.

Blades.
They are so great,
emotional shade,
a short escape.

Stitches.
Two now,
by myself.
Still no relief.
This poem was written a long time ago. I am doing much better now. Just getting around to publishing these poems.
I have finally found happiness.
Marlene Jan 2018
X-acto eighteen
Its has been a while
Six months now I've been clean
Now just back in that aisle

Dried brown blood
Still remains
These feelings flood
I can't contain

Your sharp edge
Tears my skin
Now on the edge
I cry and grin

I feel better now
Or so it seems
But I can't allow
These dark extremes
This poem was written months ago, and I am doing much better now.
Marlene Jan 2018
The constant war in my mind
Rages like a hurricane
Annihilating humankind
Etching away at my brain

I want to be calm
I want to be cool
But I feel like a bomb
Sure to befool

Death is inevitable
So why should I cry
It gets too unbearable
We're all going to die
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