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Specs Sep 2018
I’ve been depressed all week
But she‘s been too.
She shares her coping methods
And she’s praised and supported.
I share mine and I get a single
“Nice.”

I’m the one willing to take bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To make sure I haven’t drowned
While lifting others so they can breathe.

At this point it’s not even them.
I’m force-feeding words into their mouths
As I watch them go about their lives.

I know that
They’re busy.
They’re tired.
They’re taking a personal day.
They’re working on themselves.
And I understand that.

But whenever
I’m busy,
I’m tired,
I’m taking a personal day,
Or I’m working on myself,
I’m there at the drop of a hat.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that maybe, just maybe
I need help too.

Irrelevant.
The delayed introduction after the
“How have you beens?”
“Fine and yous?”
“I’ve been great, I have this story...”
Minutes pass before I’m even thought of,
And by then I’ve excused myself.

I’m the one that’s taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes.
I’m taking you out and bringing you in
But I can only take so much.

I’m so desperate to be important to someone
That I don’t know how to be important to myself.
Even the saying of “one is sliver and one is gold”
Is unintentionally excluding.
I’m surrounded friends and their golds
But there are so many golds there’s not room for bronze.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that I give more than I take
And that I’ve given away my soul.

A sick feeling in my stomach,
But if I bring it up,
I know you’ll have it worse.
So I swallow my bile
And stretch out a smile.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I’ve made it out
Of the burning building too.

I’ve laid myself out as a doormat.
So why do I complain when people wipe their feet?

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I am
Broken.
I’m tired of meaning nothing to everyone
Lucid Sep 2018
everyone has that place their mind wanders to whenever boredom strikes, or whenever they become "zoned out"
mine?
my mind always imagines a ballerina in black, doing pirouette turns over and over again
it's especially vivid whenever i'm listening to music
over and over, round and round
i only realized this today, & it made me wonder why my mind always drifted there
i thought about it until i realized
how fitting
my conscious mind is always turning in circles
so of course my subconscious mind would, too

his hands on my body
the reeking smell of alcohol and coercion
my mother's lies
my brother's handshake with the grim reaper
the realization
the humiliation
the first time i told her i hated her
the sting of her palm against my face
my father's alcohol problem
i can't escape alcohol
my alcohol problem
the feel of the blade against my skin
the sterile smell of the crisis unit
everyone's willingness to condemn & forget

i don't forget

my body
his breath
her lies
death
humilation
the sting
the alcohol
the blood
the sterility
the pain
the pain
the pain

over and over, round and round
turning constant circles in my head
i fall down
With You - stwo
Julia Mae Sep 2018
-
and i'm sorry that i love too hard
too much
too all at once

i'm sorry that i can't help but to break down
when i imagine your body
intertwined with someone's else
Marya0324 Sep 2018
If I could write my life as a poem
For millions who'll read, understand, think
I'd conjure an epic, a mystery
A tale on edge, a tragedy's brink.

I'd weave gripping waves of pleasure
Together with heart-wrenching tides of pain
A sea of battles with no leisure
Of joyful wins going against the grain.

I'd stitch metaphors with gleeful pride
Constructing rhythm with a bit of rhyme
I'd dabble with similes here and there
It'd be my thread on the sands of time.

But when I see my life as it is now
How different it is from my lovely tale
It retains its mystery, some agony
A once-green crop grown dead and stale.

A lost yarn of mistakes and pitfalls
With regret binding the threads as one
Repeated faults with no known structure
A once-free verse that is trapped, undone.

So I'll cast away my dream of a life
In a graveyard as a forgotten goal.
Some dreams never come true, it seems
Just like some lives will never be whole.
AstralPotato Sep 2018
Crowded places; happy faces
Greeted a person with such ablaze
Offering radiance which resonated the sun
Defying his sense out of phase

But deep within, his soul conjured
A sense of loneliness emanated from his heart
From a mask he wore in fervent solitude
Trying to dig his oldest scar

From there he felt what he once endured
Faltering, as he ventured out
Scorched deep into his core
Old feelings trying to break out
Katinka Sep 2018
I always feel like I have to decide
as in right now
like I would need to have an answer ready any minute.

But decisions take time
you don´t just decide
you create pro and con lists in your head
or in reality

you think of every possible outcome
of everything that could go right  
and everything that could go so wrong.

And it is possible that deep down you already know the answer
actually it is most likely you do
so why not stick with that decision.

Maybe because you thought about it for too long
maybe you didn´t thought about it enough
or maybe you just dont trust your own decision

so it is now or never
it is always or gone
it is clever or foolish

Is it, tho ?
Decide.
Katinka Sep 2018
Today I wrote
again

I tried writing your name since I thought about you
but it seemed impossible

actually it didn´t just seem like it
after the first letter I stopped

I just couldn´t look at it
I just can´t say your name out loud
it tears me apart
like two magnets pushing each other away

How does it come your everything on my mind.
and everything I don´t want on my mind

Help me to forget you
I´d say, if that wouldn´t be pointless.
after reading this poem I thought how weird it is, that strangers read about this boy that broke my heart and it is possible that it reminds them of someone they know. But after all no one knows your name, your age, your look, because that will forever be mine.
Cherisse May Sep 2018
I've been so used to being lonely and self loathing that I end up pushing everyone away, hoping that it'll all go away.

This nasty feeling inside me needs to stop.

But something's telling me the only way I could ever do that is if I make myself stop.

Stop, halt. Ending.
These inner demons rising beneath my bedsheets trying to strangle me, trying to devour me whole. They're unstoppable, and I'm terrified at what I might do next.

I'm starting to lose all hope.
Cherisse May Sep 2018
Attempt 1,
7th grade.
I was ridiculed for self harming,
Since my "cuts weren't even deep."

Attempt 2,
8th grade.
I tried swallowing everything that said "Do not eat"
Hoping I'd lose consciousness.

Attempt 3,
Still 8th grade.
You made me feel like whatever you did was okay; it wasn't.
To this day, I continuously beat myself over it.

Attempt 4,
9th grade.
I tried looking up harmful effects of overdosing on iron,
But it only left me with scarred intestines.

Attempt 5,
10th grade.
I tried to hang myself, hoping I'll succeed.
My mom came home.

Attempt n.
I tried cutting myself, hoping I'll bleed to death.
I tried asking for help, but I realized I was just doing it for attention.
Maybe this sadness isn't real, they said, and I believed them.

Attempt x.
In between these mentioned attempts,
There were still too many attempts unnamed.
But who cares?

Attempt y.
Today.
I tried killing myself again today.
But maybe if I did, will my classmates joke about me hanging myself?

I don't want that.

Maybe my depression and never-ending self hate aren't real.
Maybe I'm just assuming I have depression.
Maybe I'm just overreacting.
Maybe I should end my embarrassing self.

I'm sorry.
A mess. I just needed to type all of these out.

I'm hesitant on using the words suicidal and depressed because I don't want people telling me "attention seeker; stop assuming you have depression or suicidal" "get over it. Such a trivial thing"

It's all my fault anyway.
Matteo Palermo Sep 2018
I'll hold your hand until you let go.
The tighter you hold on the longer I'll stay.
But to be honest if our hands lost grip
I'd still stay.
My hands are forever intertwined in yours.
Even if your small fingertips lose touch
I will stay.
I will be mindful of the color or your nails.
And the tremble of your hands from nervousness.
When you let go
just remember
I'll be waiting for you.
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