Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
sayali Dec 2018
My father's name means
'one who doesn't mourn'.

But  I  have seen him
Grieving for  his
Grim childhood, broken
Home, fading away of
His own father after
Prolonged sickness, his
widowed mother of
Twenty years and his
Four year old self.

Maybe sometimes your
Name isn't something
You are, but something
You should be.

-Sayali Parkar
Vania Irene Nov 2018
i was born and raised
in a home of apocalypse.
all those
never-ending conflicts,
and endless wars
have wounded me deeply.
abandoned, and ignored
by people who should have taught me
about the definition of love.
but instead,
their actions shaped me into a person
who is so good at pretending,
for all to see that i grew up in
the name of love and affections,
when all i have ever witnessed
was hate and abomination.
eva-mae coffey Jul 2018
why do you yell?
why do you say these horrible things
because you love me?
because i could never get anyone else to love me.
and i storm down the stairs and
crawl into my bed
covering my head
and i cry.
i cry waterfalls into rivers into lakes
while my mother strokes my hair
and i love her but i need her to leave
but i am scared of what will happen
if i am alone.
so i try to sleep, but i choke
everytime i lay down and each
morning i wake up with marks on my
breathing quickens as i remember
what happened the night before
and how i am too afraid to open my
bedroom door.
i consider the window.
consider the faulty lock.
consider walking to His house at 2am.
he is the only one i can count on.
but i cannot worry my brother like that
and my mother would be distraught
i want fresh air
and water
but i do not ever want to eat again.
the sight makes me sick.
I want to wander away from this forsaken house
to somewhere better.
but is the grass ever greener?
because at this moment it feels like every blade is
dried and dying.
feels like thunderstorms and rain clouds but not
the exciting kind.
the terrible,
cursed kind.
the compressing kind
the depressing kind.
the kind that makes you want to jump off a ******* bridge
but the water's freezing.
the kind that provokes earthquakes.
i don't even know what kind means anymore because
the only one who shows me
i have not seen since april.
think of how lucky you are,
warm house, family, friends,
but they wouldn't feel ******* lucky if they stepped inside my head.
if they knew how many flowers crumbled up and turned to dust
at my touch or if they knew what it was like to have
no clue who you are.

i can't even ******* breathe anymore.
Timur Shamatov Jul 2018
Isn’t it lovely
Pieces of my shattered heart
Like petals of a rose
Across our bedroom floor
You’re never coming home
I guess I could have name the poem War Bride.
SangAndTranen Mar 2018
You are lying in bed,
Listening to the gentle whistle of passing cars,
And the roar of a passing train.

You bite your lip,
Because that is all you can hear.

A month ago, the sounds of the city outside
Would be accompanied by the screams and shouts
Of the two people downstairs
That brought you up.

Sometimes they forgot dinner time.
Or that you hadn’t been bathed in three days.
And all they’d do at night
Was fight.

Insult after insult,
Tears and a piercing smash.
And you’d lay awake and wonder
What you’d find in pieces the next morning.

As much as you’d squeeze your eyes shut,
And bury your face in the pillow,
You couldn’t help but be lulled to sleep
By the turbulence below.

It was your familiarity.
And sometimes,
Familiarity comes in the cruellest forms.

And now
There is silence.

You can’t hear
Your Father chugging alcohol.
Silently sobbing
Under the stark, white kitchen light.

It takes two to fight.
And now there is only one.
And now you can’t sleep.
Because there is nothing familiar about this at all.
This one is slightly less abstract. Also, I love messing around with second person, it involves the reader more! :D
SangAndTranen Mar 2018
Go to sleep, it’s past midnight.
And watch your nightmares come to life.
It’s a sick freak show,
Heck we should know,
Mother get me a knife.

This house smells of stale liquor.
The poison blood, it runs deeper.
Take my hand,
It’s so cold,
And soon will be colder and stiffer.

I watch the bruises bloom and fade.
But the shame – it will never change.
I’m always at war,
Face to the floor,
Father, this is what you made.

Drag me down and yank me under.
It feels like home in a whirl of thunder.
Will the sun shine?
Will you reach me in time?
Or back to misery plunder.

Vicious circle, round and round.
Get up, slammed down, get up, down.
I’ll hide amidst torture,
As least it’s familiar,
And I promise not to make a sound.

I see the needle, the stumble in your step.
Eyes roll back, warmth up your neck.
We are all insecure,
How can you be sure?
You’ll die if you overstep.

Put me in a blinding daze,
I don’t want to feel the pain.
Yes, I am running,
Coward? Maybe.
I tried to burn a flame.

I’m not made of china, I don’t easily break.
I am purely liquified so don’t make that mistake.
I won’t hold together,
Unless you cage me in,
Come and get me Lucifer, how much more can I take in?
So dark, as always.
n stiles carmona Mar 2017
Needles screech to sudden halts
in broken (record) homes.
What'll it be? White noise CDs
or the tune that's been playing for years --

y'know, the one with the violins?
You learned the lyrics backwards;
sang 'til you were sick and sore.
But you don't like it anymore.

The rhymes have grown predictable
and the song drags on
for too

Out of spite, you won't throw it in the fire.
You shot both the messengers
then pretended they didn't warn you.
we thank God for the roof over our heads and curse Him for the people under it.
Kendall K Sep 2017
My dad does not love me,
I couldn't tell you why.
I do not feel at home when I am with him,
I won't even try to lie.

I know he doesn't give a **** about anyone besides himself,
not me, not him, not her.
Dad, I think of all the times I asked if you were even listening,
though I always knew you never were.

He makes me feel like I bear no purpose
and that doesn't sit too well.
I'm breathing slowly in and out,
yet I still reside in hell.

But as much as I want to hate him,
I still can't bring myself to.
I swear to god, I'm falling apart,
will we ever make it through?

This tears me apart violently,
painfully, limb by limb
I want to make things better,
but it all just looks so grim.

I'm trying so hard to convince myself
that it doesn't hurt anymore
because you told me you would make this right,
but you lied to me, you swore.

Yet despite these words that spill from my lips,
your approval still haunts me, I swear.
Because something crazy happened that made me realize
how much I continue to care.

Because when I lost the stone of a ring you bought,
my wall came tumbling down
Because I found some love within that rock
that we got in my favorite town.

On that trip, I felt important,
so much that I'll never forget.
Of all my useless times with you,
that week I don't regret.

But now that my ring is gone,
there's nothing happy for me to remember,
so I'm left here on a sunny July day,
feeling like the **** frigid December.

I began to find a home inside my moonstone,
and I wore it everyday.
Now, my memory seems to be fading
further and further away.

It's sad, I know it's lame,
but I still find myself searching all over the ground.
Though I know it's long gone,
I look hopelessly for something that's nowhere to be found.

And often times,
I also find myself tracing a finger
over the now empty space
my blue ring used to linger.

I'm looking for something
that no longer exists
because my fading faith in you
consistently persists.

I'm holding tightly onto an object
because of the meaning I convinced myself it had,
but the painful realization that you really couldn’t care less
feels indescribably bad.

I guarded it with my life,
but a ring never made me matter
And now that I've seen the truth,
I'm scared to death I'm going to fall apart and shatter.

Maybe it wasn't the healthiest coping method,
but it meant the world and more to me.
A piece of myself died once I noticed its absence
because there's a door to my happy memories and that was the key.

That one small piece of jewelry
was the hope, the love, you left me without.
This is why I cried when I lost it
because it was one of the only things I owned that I cared so desperately about.

And if I never get it back,
I’ll never find any in you again
If I thought this feeling right now was the worst,
what will I do then?

When I think of you, it all comes back;
your mistreatment is all I see.
And I'm left alone inside my head,
thinking, that my own daddy doesn't love me.
2.2.16 | this is something i was very hesitant to share because it's honestly probably the most personal thing i've ever written in my entire life, but i just needed some peace in my mind and i felt like i needed to share this in order to get that release since this topic continues to be a reoccurring struggle in my life.
Madilynn Sep 2017
"What was hell like"
The little girl asks me
With eyes full of innocence.
"Hell is growing up in a house that only taught hate,
But have hope darling
Because I've seen heaven.
Heaven was learning there is so much more."
Next page