Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Cole Aug 2019
Tears in my eyes,
Will you please dry?
"Never cry"
Never cry

Bloodshot eyes,
Will you please close?
"Never sleep"
Never sleep

Hanging rope,
Will you take my life?
"Please die"
Please die

Holding hands,
Will you release?
"Never let go"
Never let go

Running mind,
Will you please slow?
"Never calm"
Never calm

Loud noises,
Please shut down.
"Never quiet"
Never quiet

Wiping my eyes,
Please don't look.
"Never weep"
Never weep

Asking why,
Pleading to leave.
"Never run"
Never run

Trying to sleep,
Making me cry.
"Never dream"
Never dream

Holding my breathe,
Faking a smile.
"Never speak"
Never speak

Changing my mind,
And my heart.
"Never lie"
Never lie

Crying inside,
Please don't die.
"Never mine"
Never mine

Make a sound,
Don't turn around.
"Never scream"
Never scream

Begging on knees,
Yelling at me.
"Never move"
Never move

Confused inside,
Wanting to cry.
"Never show"
Never show

Making me cry,
Hands in the air.
"Never yell"
Never yell

Lump in my throat,
Telling me "no".
"Never talk"
Never talk

Closing my eyes,
Shutting my mind.
I want to die
I want to die

Broken inside,
Wondering why,
"Never ask"
Never ask

Running time,
Never slow.
"Never rhyme"
Never rhyme

Breathing slow,
Closing my eyes.
"Time to die"
Time to die

from the day I was born
I wasn't meant to belong to myself
a cursed being without any power of control

my fate was written
in a lazy handwriting
on a wrinkled piece of paper

very early in life I learned so
that I had strings tied to my limbs
and I'd never be able to walk alone

any glance of freedom
where I dared to dream
was followed by a unwanted label

I've always been
someone's sister
someone's youngest child
someone's crush
someone's heartbreak
but never
in the purest
the freest
I often lose myself because of other's expectations and labels
Maria Mitea Apr 2021
our dying kiss
two babies were born
with flying wings
Maria Mitea Dec 2020
the reality
of papet figurines
has collapsed
at the most invisible touch
J Dec 2020
Candles are how we keep fires as pets.
we scoop the pyre into our palms
and dump it into pots
and expect it to stay lit on its own.
I keep getting worse at writing
Lukai Oct 2020
A puppet on a string.
Every movement
Every word
A mimic
A rehearsal
Every breath is controlled

It wants to see the world
It wants to be free
But all the puppet can do
Is hang off its string

It wants to make friends
It wants to be happy
But it meets the string’s ends
And life’s quite ******  
It can see
But it cannot reach
It can hear
But cannot speak

If only it were free
Then it would speak
It if were free
It could reach

But the hands that hold it
Are its own
And it can’t decide
When to let go…..
John McCafferty Oct 2020
Translating emotional state
Takes some discipline and listening
From thoughts to words in place
Don't lose sight of actions in flight

Tame the beast before it feasts
Monkey brain reframed
As allowing a creature out of a cage
isn't necessarily the best way to participate
Elevated above this primate state

Contest shortness of breath in the chest
Slow feelings in controlled action
Pause for a rest and step left in turn
Observe the effects that reflect on you best
To check what you've left
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Poetic T Jun 2020
In this place where we lived there were
no doors, every room had a mirror.
            A reflection of what was, is.

And each was unique to the observation
that was seen beyond the tinted
                                            frame of creation.

                  Some places were, could be,
not a complete reflection of what was
contorted and beyond the conciseness
                                           of tangibility.

For some places were either hairline fractured,
on purpose or by mistake, most of these had
                                                                ­ warnings.
                         "REALITY DERUTCARF RETNE TON OD,

All who entered these were doing so at there
                                         own health and life..

Some did it for the buzz,  some weren't lucky..
         The Mirror Collective,
that's a posh word for reflective reconstitutes.

Ladies and gents that fixed the flaws,
                         fragmented reflections that
could lead to either two version of reality..

An obituary of an abattoir,  
where the breaks even though hairline
were like papercuts on the flesh.
                   And where they stood is where
the pieces collected upon each other..

Some rooms were purposely fractured,
           for those who broke the rules
were kept in shard rooms..
     These were places where others of less
reputable reflections were kept.

                             Solitary confinement,
there was just a jagged piece of mirror left,
enough space for a paper plate to be left.
Once there sentence was completed  
           The mirror collective would be called
to reconstitute the whole mirror..

If they were of sound constitution, not mad...
Then they were reintegrated in to the society..
                                  What they didn't realise is
the lights of different frequencies
were purposely shone within there room.
            Nearly all were unseen to the eye,
but were used to program them,
sublimely to have a more compatible persona.  

Me I wants like those others, my reflection was
                  always polished. I would enter
a reflection and be the person who'd stepped
through a moment before.

We were a society mirrored on the refection
that everything was meant to be perfect.

         But what we didn't realise that
every refection is distorted no matter how
                              perfect we think it is.

And the perfection we looked upon,
             was cracked beyond our contemplation.
We were just slaves to the mirror of our own
                                                                ­              egos..

But what ever you do don't look at the refection
staring behind you,
                        you looked....

                                                     ­          I'm sorry.....
K-ROB May 2020
I’m stuck in my dungeon,
trapped with no way out.
Nothing to do but eat, sleep and think
I messed up,
But nobody deserves this.
No phone, no car...
Little contact with friends.
Lindsay can’t come to St. Louis.
I can’t go to Buffet
I can’t wait to go back to school!

I’m drowning in my self pity.
It’s a downright shame.
Where do I go?
Who do I blame?
Myself, but not completely!
I’m banging on the door,
Trying to pound my way out
But there is no answer,
Just ignorance and pride,
On the other side!

Do I stay or do I go?
Do I stick around or do I flee?
Do I think of them or if me?
That is the unanswered question
I might know the answer; I don’t recall...
They make themselves feel BIG by making me feel small.
Who needs counseling again?
That just isn’t healthy!
Man, how I wish I was wealthy!
Then there would be no questions on what to do!

That’s what makes me happy, them.
No place to go,
I wish it wasn’t so.
I’m stuck and imprisoned,
A prisoner in my own home, with no key.
Rock bottom is what I just hit
It’s a new destination,
A new and different place,
And I just can’t escape.
I wrote this poem in high school when I was grounded. Talk about dramatic. Now in  I know where my daughter gets it lol. I am posting this one now because I think everyone can relate at this time with the virus. It’s not as bad as it seems though, definitely not Rock bottom
Next page