“It’s becoming tougher to love you every time you hurt me. It’s becoming tougher to trust you every time you betray me. It’s becoming tougher to be vulnerable every time you exploit me. It’s becoming tougher to lend you my heart when it feels like an open wound in your hand. You taunt me every opportunity you find, brag about my flaws occasionally, criticize and act cold at times. I am tired of visiting the restroom as though it is my sanctuary during occasions, shedding tears and walk out numbing my heart. We ought to be encouraging, loving and supporting one another and not pushing the other down to rise. But the heartaches are becoming often and old wounds are being reopened. It’s becoming tiring to experience it over and over again. I guess for it to not hurt anymore, it shouldn’t matter anymore.”
Before you criticise
yourself for the love parted with others
that have gone to vain
gaze at the moon that has been there
embracing everyone with the shaft of light
but never able to retrieve the love from others.
Confidence is something I seem to lack
The weight of what others think sits there on my back,
There’s nothing I can cling to to make it go away
Mirrors are my worst enemy when I think I look okay.
My face becomes hot I think I’m going to cry
Now I don’t want to be center of attention I think I’d rather die,
Just think what they could be thinking or what they might say
Rather than take the chance I think I’ll walk away.
I’d rather be by myself and just blend in with the crowd
Times like this I keep my mouth shut, I’ll be noticed if I’m loud,
I’ll just sit in my desk quietly until 2:30
Then I’ll race to my locker and it will just be me.
But I am the worst out of all the people who think
I scan every compliment and analyse every wink,
I don’t know why I let all the things get to me
What happened to the beauty I used to see.
The beauty of what I was, no matter what anyone thought
Now’s a faded memory all the positive I forgot,
Now when I walk down the halls I glue my eyes to the floor
And I try not to get stuck holding open the door.
I know it must seem sad how I torture myself
But what others think first and myself on the shelf,
I wish I had more confidence and didn’t care what others think
Maybe then I wouldn’t consider myself the weakest link.
I wish people would think before they acted and wouldn’t break my chain
If people could think about the outcome then I wouldn’t be in so much pain,
I wouldn’t think about what I wear and that I stick out from the crowd
I wouldn’t have to think twice if I wanted to be loud.
I could be as free as the sky above me & the sea below
Than if I’d never think because I wouldn’t know,
If you could support me and not criticize my style
Maybe then I could return it with a smile.
to your own misery.
to your own false idol.
No love to be found there
You can’t beguile us
For the swirling voices,
no longer bask in our glow
If you tell gold it's worthless,
It might believe you.
But does saying that
Make it true?
Is worth defined
By what's verbalized?
If you criticize
Does worth minimize?
Words are words,
Not always true.
But gold is gold!
And you are you.
Don't weigh your worth
On what you're told.
Despite it's value
Even some dislike gold.
but let me be humble.
Let me accept
and let me move past.
Past my ego,
past my desire
to be approved of,
past my desire
to be adored,
past my desire
to be validated,
past my desire
to be perfect.
I am in a safe space
a space of
It is my challenge
not to criticise and
not to become
to recognize myself
It is your challenge
not to feed my ego;
it is so much more loving
just to accept me
and humour me;
to entertain my ideas,
if only for a moment;
and to treat me as family.
The more my ego is fed
the more I must challenge myself
to purge of criticism
There is nothing wrong with a challenge.
each decision must be challenged.
must be tested upon.
Faith rests not upon the absence of
faith rests upon the existence of
decision to move past
Written in 2017.
Bethany G. Blicq
Strangers creep and float through the streets
Spirits filled with experiences
Weighted by regrets
Or elevated by happiness
Each one with a past,
They are close, but their thought seem afar
There´s one who catches your eye
Her hair is badly dyed,
Many would take time to criticize
But maybe something happened one day
Hopeful at the saloon for a change
When a call about a soul ´s demise
Took her out of the place
Forgetting about everything else
Not prepared for a loss
A mom dying with no cause
Who would stop to think about hair?
Would you see her in the same way again?
Now that you´ve opened your brain,
Now that you´ve dared to wonder?
Maybe presently, the deep blue curls
Match better with the sense
She might have felt that cold and dismal day
Maybe she should change to a red
Strong scarlet implying the anger
The feels she may get at night
Expecting mom back when she just won’t.
But I might be wrong,
My mind can have floated way too far
Trying to answer something I will never know
The history of the unknown.
Maybe I am just wrong with my guess
And she just has the worst tincture taste.
When I´m in the streets I like observing people and guessing their past, creating conjectures about their history. This popped in my mind when I was on the bus and I felt the need to write it down. Hope you enjoy it.
I got bars,
it's not about fancy cars or Lil Wayne rapping about Mars.
So far I am marred and scarred by false charm,
burned and charred that we are stuck in this dung tar.
It's about understanding we are stuck in the under standings so understand this,
can bring raze as I raise and rise to clear out these rinse and repeat Rhymes.
I don't care about the money or women.
Will your Rap make a difference.
Only a few got the conscious to talk about love.
The rest is a pile of **** I put to the side and shove.
The broken images float inside my head.. drifting away.. time take me out of the frame the mistakes i've made never seemed to fade out of your head (as it is) you were always too quick to criticize you left with all that i was inside i guess the mistakes i've made never seemed to fade out of your head..
The worst thing about being a poet
Is that you're drawn to pain
The pain and fear inspire
Great works and wonders
For those of us good with words
Some who are lucky
Can write well of all things happy
Those rare few
Most everyone I know
Write of pain
Pain and fear
Or we compare, criticize
This crap society of ours
Emotions fill us
We feel to the fullest
We might get scared
But it's not the pain we fear
We realize that pain leads us
Leads is to discover great rhymes
A nice flow of words
Words that help ease our minds