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Lost Soul Jun 13
I feel damaged, I feel broken
see depression had me trapped
At a young age
well before I had even spoken
When I was 8, I saw someone get sick
I spiraled infront of everyone
they say me as a burden so
I was sent home real quick
When I was 10, I laid in bed
for two months...
I watched the same movie
and refused to eat because the demons in my head
When I was 12, I was scared to leave ..
my house and even my bedroom
I would hyperventilate
then cry so hard I'd heave
When I was 18
I screamed till my voice was no more
my cries echoed off the walls
but no one cared to notice
what happened behind my bedroom door
When I was 19, I was too nice
I put others first
but little did I know
a piece of my heart was the price
I am broken, I am damaged
everyday I wake up
surviving the day is always a challenge
It started when I was twelve
A new place, a new school
When I couldn't quite understand myself
Not the best place to lose my school

It started when I was in class
When the teacher called me innocently
My heart started beating too loud, too fast
And then I felt all heads and eyes on me

It started when I was fourteen
The year when I was invited to a dance
But all I could hear were the haunting taunts, so mean
That's why I stayed home in a trance

It started when he asked me out
By this guy I liked, out of the blue
When I tried to answer, I couldn't open my mouth
Red-faced, I ran like an animal escaping the zoo

It started when I was sixteen
And I was graduating top of the class
But giving a speech, I wasn't too keen
Felt a bottomless pit on my stomach so vast

It started when I was an adult
Found myself not getting any employment
I just know that all of this is my fault
Cause it feels like some kind of punishment

I know how it all started
But I only have so much left to bend
I feel like I am being deserted
I just wanna know when this will end
Had an assignment to present social anxiety disorder creatively and this was the result. Only had a day to do this, so it's pretty rough.

Disclaimer: mostly NOT based on my own experiences
Tony Tweedy Mar 18
If you would just stop making choices....
I could live by something more than consequence....
If I promised the same to you would you not be at rest too?
No choice. No consequence.... nothing.
Isolated, contented.... safe..... nothing.
Tony Tweedy Mar 12
Outside my door is a world where once I did dwell.
But through my window now I see a living hell.
I moved among that place and the people living there.
But now I cannot enter it without feelings of despair.
I cannot tell to you exactly what changed inside of me.
But I can no longer fit within the shape I used to be.
Did the window I once looked through view another place?
I ponder what I see and note changes to that space.
Outside used to make sense and I joined it with true lust.
But now it holds no value and no truths that I can trust.
Sometimes I have to enter there that place outside my door.
But nothing familiar awaits me there at least nothing that I saw.
The people there can see me and I feel their judging glare.
Always trying to remind me that I am alien when I am there.
When I get home and feel relief by the sealing of my door.
I make a vow to myself not to trespass outside space no more.
With much anxiety transpired through the yessing and the no.
When days have passed and once again to outside I must go.
So difficult to think of outside and I once dwelling there.
Opening doors and passing through seemingly without a care.
Passing through so many times in the blinking of an eye.
Not dithering and putting off as days and days go by.
To relate this sense to you may leave your mouths agape.
But its those things outside that dented me this new shape.
My original draft to create my account on "Hello Poetry". Previously untitled.
elliot day Mar 5
In this spot I sit beneath liquid gold, a lone but wondrous soul
lost in comfort as I hark for melodies in the waves
(they crash and send me flying into a guileless trance).
I strain my eyes to see past the horizon.
It’s heavenly how vast the sea stretches
with confidence that can swallow you whole,
so radiant that as I sit in the sand with
my toes dug deep,
I am blinded by its sight and I can no longer see
how far the sea dares to wander.

I do not dare to wander.
I like my shell.
It is cozy and familiar and I can melt into it when
the breeze makes me shiver.
It is mine alone, but it is fragile.
I will not dare to explore
when the world threatens to conquer me.
My shell was not made to be broken, and therefore,
I will not risk it.

The tides are rising
with such an agonizing slowness that challenges me
to hide from the lurking dangers like I always had.
The skies are no longer familiar.
They are grim now, smirking down at me
as the sand seeps away from my toes
and I weep endlessly, for I am exposed.
The winds are bullying me, pushing me closer to shore
as the salty abyss opens to swallow me whole
and submerge me in the unknown.

The sea has devoured me,
and I am no longer safe, for
I can no longer spot the sky and
my shell has grown cold.
Elizabeth Brown Nov 2018
This screen, bright with frustration, draws-
with careful precision-
the shape of your face.
It must grow tired, as I do,
of creating this image.
How can I know that you are real
when I have never touched your face?
Bitterness for a system long corrupt grows within me.
I am full to bursting with love and fury.

These complications breed more dissatisfaction.
Afraid of travel, afraid of people.
Stuck in a seemingly unending loop of legality
for crimes forgiven long ago.
How many moons more must I wait
to hold your hand in mine?
Eight years.

Long, empty time laughs cruelly at our labors
as we struggle to hold together a friendship
(now a bloomed and wilting relationship)
that we once held above all else.
My love for you is unending, a thing of faerie tale,
but I find my patience lacking.
I have waited and I have yearned for you.
I have tried, to no avail, to leave you behind me-
instead, I was greeted with the haunting realization that
nothing compares to you.
No man, no woman, no circle of peers,
can provide for me the things you offer.
I know you feel the same,
though a mix of dread and delusion prevent you from showing me
in the way I need so desperately to be shown.
I know that you, too, feel this pain.

Seamless, ceaseless pixels bring me your countenance,
now weathered with sadness and age.
Once upon a time, I thanked them.
Now, I throw curse upon curse;
hurling all my animosity at those things that carry you to me
in the only form I've ever known.
"I've been living so long with my pictures of you that
I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel."

If I cannot feel your hand, cold in mine-
If I can't smell your hair
or feel your chest drenched with those happy tears of
At Last!,
do you really exist at all?
Mercilessly, cruelly, are we brought before our judge,
The Test of Time.
Eight years; is it wasted?
Wrote this Oct 10, 2018. Computer crashed and I thought I'd lost it. Here ya go, I guess. Sorry not sorry for the pop culture references. These things are a part of who we are, and I bring my soul forth to bear.
SangAndTranen Mar 2018
Many years I have spent,
Trapped in the painful numb.
An abyss embracing my tortured mind,
No destiny, no forwards, nothing to come.

My dwelling silent, so silent,
I don’t even hear my breath.
Broken-down, an old ghost town,
Branded with sadness and death.

I gulp, I step, my frail legs so old,
I step
I step again
My body going cold.

I feel my voice is taken,
I hear the non-existent screams,
I see my haunted sister,
I see the light in her eyes lose its gleam.

I’m shaking with sobs,
I’m struck with grief,
I’m frozen on the stairs
Of house no.3.

I look up,
I hear the sound, the tinkling of the piano,
My former-self sitting spellbound,
At her soprano,

Sister, o sister,
How well you used to play,
I rush, suddenly, with a surge of love,
Up the stairs I have dreaded every day.

The landing is cold,
In the lonely gloom,
The piano sits, deprived of being played,
In a cobwebby tomb.

I approach it, fearful,
But content,
This is the object,
That caused this event.

I know what to do,
With shaking bones,
I place my hands on the keys,
All of them, clones.

The chord, I play,
The very last one,
The last one she played,
Before she was gone.

It brought me back,
To the terrifying time,
The moment of her peril,
That corrupted my mind.

I push down the keys,
The sound rings out,
I suddenly scream,
I sing, I shout.

I am freed from my pain,
Freed from this cage,
My mission complete,
I’ve finished my last page.

The whistle of the chimney
Sweeps in, nothing to say,
The wind curls around me,
And blows me away.
Really old one. Wrote this when I was 12 in the middle of my science class. Inspired by Miss Havisham from Great Expectations.
saige Feb 2018
of course you can stay here
where safety is synonymous with wasting
where you can water your paper whites
funnel your life into words
dust your suitcase
brush your hair
and rename the stars
from your kitchen window
but when you remember
when that passion hits you
like a boomerang
and beckons you
like a baby brother, or big sister
like guiding lights
and abandoned pups
all the same
don't let anything
a hitched breath nor a fitful heart
still your stampede to the door

for in that fleeting moment
time will catch and crash behind you
urging you onward
lending a splithair head-start
in a fresh lap
of your leap for life

so bolt into the world
and don't check the mirror
on your way out
don't leave a note
those who love you
will jump for joy knowing
you couldn't break from dancing
as you fled

don't let your eyes tell you if it's raining
but don't let your feet stop you if they do
don't keep track of whys and nots
don't keep a greenhouse of regrets
and dear, sweet dreamer
don't you dare come back
LLillis Dec 2017
Salt streaked blacktop cage,
defining your future plight.
Dear... must we go in?
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