Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Cat Fiske May 2015
My mind may be weak,
but the words i've spoke,
have not gotten their rightful moments,
have been built just to get broken,
and that wasn't what I had chose,

For my words have spoken,
louder than your screams on froze over mountain tops highest peaks,
so loud they will make the snow lung and leap down,

My words have been stronger then body's covered in satin gowns,
But my words are like ghost towns making people white and corps like,
But unlike the pen and paper that is silent,
I can speak these tales of tyrants to beauty,
but I never complete this duty for my mouth feels like foreign tongues,

I try to speak from the heart inside my lungs but words,
and towards the end of my spiel,
I feel like what I said wasn't real,
or the appeal I was going for.

you shut a door on me and my thoughts,
like your my boss who doesn't have to listen to my words,
and discord all the things i've endured.

I've matured enough to know I can't be asking for a cure,
but maybe if you were able to listen to me,
and stop disagreeing to start with,
I'd feel like I wouldn't have to pitch my life story as real,
instead of its normal appeal of a called myth,
because with my ****** life I'd make up **** about what happened?
no one believes you
Rafael Melendez Feb 2015
She did not keep the peace, was not the conformist in silence, was not a normal person. She was the rebellious martyr filled with centuries upon centuries of the world's anger and trash. She did not yield for a rule, never  stormed for the greater good of currency, and was born to die. But of course, not before she recieved what she thrived for.
cecelia Nov 2014
It's pure madness.
It is.
You think all these weird and strange and impossible thoughts, and you just want to, no, need to, tell someone every little thing you've ever thought.
But you can't.
Because you're absolutely terrified of what they'll think of you.
Because they'll judge you for being different.
For being abnormal.
They'll judge you for being you.
And then your mind starts to move at a thousand miles per hour to form logical reasons why you can't be the same as them.
Your head begins to spin because of all these thoughts colliding, and you can't stop it.
You couldn't stop it even if you tried.
Even if you wanted to.
Then, your mind, it... it just dies.
As if it were pushed to its absolute limit.
You feel horrible, and it's all because you don't know anyone could possibly comprehend you when you can't even do it yourself.
Then, to punish yourself.
To feel numb.
You cut yourself.
And you bleed.
And scar.
You hide it so that no one will ever know.
And the worst part?
It works.
Matthew Harlovic Nov 2014
If independence is intended
for the masses is the Average Joe
as abnormal as the status quo?

© Matthew Harlovic
Jaimi M Oct 2014
If they
could hear
the voices
inside of my
head
I'm sure
I'd be locked
away
quicker than
you could ever
imagine.
No one
understands
my little
quirks,
they don't
find my
ideas
amusing,
they'd rather
shove a pill
down my
throat,
and call me
normal.
-JRM
NitaAnn Sep 2014
I think part of my problem is that I've been feeling like the issues I face are too much, too abnormal, especially for people I'm close to.

Then I feel like I'm too abnormal.
Too disgusting.
Too shamed.

I try to remind myself that of course I'm not normal
what I have been through is terribly abnormal.
But that doesn't mean that I myself am
terrible or horrible or ***** or unlovable or gross.

It just means I have to deal with things most people don't.

I am strong.
Even when I need help and support.

— The End —