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Perhaps it’s time

I don’t understand

You’re right, and this is where I draw the line

Can you please explain?

I’m tired of this life, tired of the lies

I had no idea you were in pain.

Does anyone, really?
Do they really expect it?
Do they have any idea to expect the worst from me?

No, they don’t.

That’s right, they don’t. I hide it too well.

No, you don’t. I saw. I noticed.

And you were too late. Don’t you see me pulling away?

Are you? I had no idea.

Just let me go now. Let me fade until I’m just a bad memory.
I've been the one to be left so many times. Why can't I find someone who'll stay?
eve Sep 27
we communicate through the phone maybe once or twice a week
you uphold my financial status, but have no relative experience in raising me.
you claim to be a trying father, but your behavior never match up to your promises.
you think being a dad is a check off a ballot, an easy task to complete, truly believing that money will always compensate for happiness,
but imagine if you put as much thought into yelling and screaming at your mother when you get mad over the tiniest thing into realizing your beloved daughter, mamita linda, carries a heavy burden with her and on her shoulders each and every day.
she faces people who mock her in class and treat her with no respect for doing what she feels is right
she judges her face fat, waist size, and stretch marks in the morning
dealing with things teenagers her age shouldn’t be dealing with and after all that she has had to support herself by carrying that burden of teaching herself everything she doesn’t knows and even, about men that treat women with ultimate disrespect
like you, she looses patience easily and the gates of hell break open when she rambles on while temporarily disregarding who she is where she is and who she is talking with, no matter what, she will continue to rant about whoever or whatever drove her to lose that one thought in mind, waiting to be said in that moment of time.
half the time she is missing out on hanging out with her friends because you tell her she is not supposed to do that,
she is unsatisfied, spell one divided by two on her forehead
nobody understands what she says, according to a wannabe intellect in her advanced placement classes
she prefers a busy schedule because she moves on quickly and does not prefer sitting down, tuning into pointless, nonstop lectures, and perfectly accentuated monologues written and presented by her father in front of everyone she cares about.
as a result of that, she cries herself to sleep, dwelling on the thought of that while praying for someone or something, to take her away in the middle of the night
she fights waking up in the morning, to repeat the daily routine and process of adding more than she can handle on her plate
you can consider her a runaway from personal issues,
but you should be thanking her for still existing and experiencing a cruel world that surrounds her.
be grateful she is blessed with the right mindset, she is not following in your footsteps and making half the mistakes you once did,
those mistakes, every single of them amount to the overall guilt that rises in your throat before you prepare yourself to speak or perhaps, whenever people propose an idea that isn’t yours.
she reflects on your weakest points and tells herself to consider what she needs to learn more about,
her reflection connects to the previously mentioned thought process that is on-going in school
her hand trembles as she grips the pencil because she writes a lot to relieve her senses and stresses of past abuse and mental break downs.
call her a try hard, but in reality,
she is dealing with things nobody would ever think could be possible
she paints a picture in her head of a perfect life, one that involves leaving from the once familiar faces and settings she once admired,
placing everyone she has ever cared about to the side without rational thought, she is saying goodbye to those she would never think to,
she chose not to overcome her stressful relationship with her dad,
instead, she just got up and left, leaving everything she has ever considered to be important behind along with the boy she incessantly thought would someday provide for her.
a circle of thoughts run in and out of her scattered head everyday,
and if you are still wondering why, it is because she has big shoes to fill and lesson plans to organize when she travels from one place to another
she cannot seem to sort out or understand her issues fully yet she tries and strives and drives herself to the point in which she lets her work ethic outperform the people in the room.
she not only copes with the rude remarks and “constructive criticism” from ignorant people,
but with confronting people about issues she is has no part in
she is deep involved in unveiling the reasoning behind why, these people, of all people, attempt to grasp a hold of her, only then will they be able to clash their issues with hers.
similar to the behavior of her father,
her mom attests to her daughter serving her daughter’s fathers’ outlook on life itself because they act the same exact way.
she and he demand until their words fall short and their tears begin to escape from the corners
she and he cry until their sockets cannot take anymore and hearts begin to race double the beats per minute
they pounce on each other like enemies,
even though, they are blood tied and reflections of each other
as much as she hates to admit it, both she and he know it’s true,
but he will forever get his way and she will get her messages across every time.
Mitch Prax Sep 27
Just like the switch
to this ******* room,
I wish there was a switch
to turn off this heart,
this soul and
this mind.
Breathed in the breath of the saviour,
To enrichen a soul that is poor.
I puffed out a portal to the cloud kingdom,
Clinging to the scales of a dragon.
I reached a height as high as heaven,
Given the chance to look past the cloud,
As I put my head through to look,
I was dropped down to the ground.

I met an angel with a kick,
Wanted by the government.
Made my eyes as wide as a rabbit's hole,
As bright as a solar moon.
Black stars in between white spaces.
Generating a reluctant mould.
There are golden flakes in its hair,
When I swallow, they choke my throat.
Thought it was my angel,
Turns out it was fool’s gold.

Who am I,
I don’t know anymore,
I lost myself,
So long ago.
I lost pieces of myself,
In those inner landscapes.
I’m struggling to find the pieces,
I can’t remember their names.

I forgot how I got here.
I can’t feel anything here.

Are you out there!
Shine a light on my face!
Oh, I want to die,
In a beautiful place!

I am so tired,
Of keeping these ghosts inside of me!
My eyes are ****,
Take them away from me!
My thoughts are ****,
Take them away from me!
Everything around me is ****,
Take it all away from me!
When I die,
Will my god die with me?!


I think I, may have found my god.
I’m melting in his eternal sunshine.
Breathing in, a crumbled image of his face,
It turned my tears into wine.
The earth’s my grave,
And the sky’s my cradle.
Unearthing my new low,
To find the highest place one can go.
Dying In A Beautiful Place
TD Sep 25
Could I

catch a raindrop on my lips and
spare it a kiss?

taste moments like whispers of romance
teasing my dreams?

wonder at the miracle of life
as it breathes?

delight at a horizon dipped
in diaphanous seas?

I have,

still,
I want more.
Creator Sun Sep 22
Hey.
If you're reading this,
Which you shouldn't be,
I just wanted to say,
You don't need me.
I really want to write more but I should try limiting the words and see where that brings me ahhhhhh I will write another poem that continues this but this will be set aside as the paragraph that should be said for the trials of the Voice Acting in the project that I will be opening in October.
Mitch Prax Sep 14
I wish her well in
an awful year and I hope
to make her forget

6:10 PM
14/9/19
Mitch Prax Sep 11
I wonder if you know
how to love me when I’m down.
Not only through affection, but  
to be a shining light in these
tunnels of darkness.
I constantly battle my demons-
will you be the angel by my side?
Are you able to fill the void
when a piece of me is
missing from my soul?  
I want you to be here through
the dark days, not only the bright.
J J Sep 10
Weeping sonatas haunt the patio
Underlined with your twisting fingertips
Once ablur and tracing Beethoven Debussy
Mozart and Bach and it's all gone now—
I still recall your grey eyes as clearly as the rusted
and snagged red wood that forms the old arbour
Where we use to sit and trade stories.
Still here and seeming
A relic that should have been forgotten.—
I  watch the sun turn the wood white
Then crackle crisply into night, I can still
Hear your spectral steps from the day you
Left us.

I slept in the bed that used to be yours wondering
   why.
Written about two years ago.
Mitch Prax Sep 10
why is it that we
only believe the bad things
they say about us?

9:27 PM
10/9/19
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