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Lillian Apr 30
You made me feel
A world of hope
Life seemed brighter
When you gave me
Butterflies.

I gathered my courage
just to seem
like some "Sweet Girl"
To you
After all
Our conversations meant nothing
You blocked me. No Reason!
Just to avoid the awkwardness
Building up my hope
Just to disappear without a trace
Now all tears fall down the face
As I'm deeply confused of what I did
To make you block out my existence.

I understand rejection
It's so normal
yet so painful
I'm not mad you rejected me
But why did you blocked me?

I don't get it
I'm exactly your type too!
Abyssal black hair
A face as pale as paper
But I guess Something about me
Must've pushed you away
Weather it's because
I'm in Marching Band
Or that I religiously listen to Slipknot
Or both
I don't get what's wrong with me.
But why should I care
maybe because you left me confused
Yet I'm so sick that I refuse
To stop wondering
Why you blocked me out
When all I said was
"Sorry for making this awkward".

I've never got rejected
So this really
Hurts
But I will get over it
soon.
just a poem from an angsty teen girl, just pouring out my tears of confusion.
I am incapable of writing
So don't try to convince me that  
I possess countless poetic ideas.

Because at the end of the day,  
I see only failures in every attempt.  
And I'm not about to lie by saying that  
each setback helps me along.

Because no matter what,  
                        I feel trapped in a cycle of mediocrity.                        
And I am in no position to believe that  
true inspiration dwells within me.

For even in my darkest musings,  
Am I as uninspired as my doubts proclaim?
Backwards poems are so fun to write! They take away my writer's block!
Dom Mar 31
Well, in the weight of it,
All these thoughts that bury a spark
Creativity suffocates in the absence of light
Where these clawing arms reach from the floorboards
To pull me under tenebrous silhouettes -
Ripping my skin to the **** of my soul
Poking their rods to extinguish my all,
I am famished from the hunger for a muse in the music
I am thirsty for a tide of color -
Oppressed by the terrorist of harmony,
A prisoner of war in my melancholy.
Aaron Beedle Mar 18
Folding thoughts like origami
fortress of the hectic army
a sea of fans cheering wildly
and nothing certain waning mildly.

A pile of notes and bloated files of writings,
the little terrors these forgotten worlds invite in.
A choir of friendly voices turning choices into stressful hourly junctions degrading your peace and eroding your mental function.

I write in lines the complex as the simple but between them find a blurred reflection, a swirling mirror in which I seek answers but find only an ever increasing number of questions.
About: I write my thoughts in my notes to try and clarify them, but don't perceive any increase in clarity.
Aaron Beedle Mar 17
A poem a day keeps the doctor away.
Get flowing and pay tribute in text
don't get vexed that you're now in a challenging place
just relax and give it your best.

The turbulent scene is a flurry of fiends
but you're fine if you write the lines
you'll be safe from the clutter and strife of things
as long as you put in the time.

Do I rhyme, do I rhyme, do I redefine?
With the keys that I clatter
do I shape black matter
do I channel the ink, do you think?

Well I try, I permit
for a time I will sit
and get to the bit
where I rhyme on the slither
of white placed before me
the colour that bores me
until the words hit.
About: Entering poetry competitions and trying to write more consistently.
Aaron Beedle Mar 17
I'm cursed with a terrible mindset
I forget all the good of this world
There's evil afoot, and I know of such
but of love am I rarely reminded.

I long for the abstracted season,
when the world's undone at the seams.
When wild gods come knocking, the cradle stops rocking
and insolence bows down to reason.

I yearn for the coming of laughter.
For the chill wind to tell me the tune.
The song still resounding thereafter,
as we walk past the relics and runes.

I'd show you the gift of the rainstorm.
But few would sit and see.
The Otherland is all around.
But no one's got the key.
Aaron Beedle Mar 17
A mind, I'm trying to find a mind
to read to help me get refined,
so that my guise may come to hide
behind my shallowness of mind.

But friends are few, and far between
a while it's been since I have looked upon them,
so I'll love the world
a little less while I'm without them.

Still I'll push on, borrow a breath
to test the mind out of context
to get to know someone I've made
but I will slow with each delay.

And now I write in Jic and Saw
my people are in pieces
I might just try to talk about
completely different species.

For those you know cannot be faked
but you can take a part and break
the pieces off until you have
a species for the minds you make.
About: Trying to create authentic fictional characters.
My head is empty,
I think there's a hole,
Because every time I fill it up,
It all seems to go.
Did my inspirations take a walk,
Is my talent wandering?
Where are my thoughts,
One empty head,
That's all I've got.
Blanks are all I'm drawing
On a cold and lonely day
I sit, with pen in hand.

Blank pages lie before me,
begging for truths,
or even lies
A prize of ink,
to satiate the soul.

I fumble with a line in my mind.

Not yet have I put my pen to task.
I fumble and I start,
then recoil.

The ink still abstains from the page.

For when the ink begins to flow
it will spout truths
I didn't even know.

And in a rage, it will ravage the page.
Ravage my mind, ravage my soul.

Depleting me completely,
Until,
A calm falls upon me
like snow.
So I thought I had posted a long time ago.
Only to realize when I was making the you tube video that I
hadn't.
So I'm posting now the video is already up please give it a look
if you have time.
Thanks.
https://youtu.be/NZdSwo2UKLY?feature=shared
or
www.youtube.com/@tsummerspoetry
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