Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
My heart is bleeding.
Because there is a blood.
Annika J May 7
That feeling
That I can't describe

When I know someone is genuine

It's physical
And emotional
It's happy
But calmly
Without any flourishes
Or bubbles
I feel it in my chest
A feeling of connection
It's...warm?
Not quite the right word
It's lukewarm
But bright
And roundish
Kinda like a sphere
Sitting next to my heart
Centered in my chest
There's love
But little magic
It's pure
Unfiltered
Connection
When I think of someone's face
I see open eyes
Open to watch another
But not wide with shock
I see a small smile
I hear a voice
Clear as a bell
And indeed
I think of pure
Golden bells
Not twinkling
Not ringing
Just a single
Unbroken note
I think of gold
Or is it orange?
Yellow?
Orange with a yellow halo?
It's energy
But not radiant
Not growing
Not destroying
Not dark
The feeling I get
When reading a classmate's essay
Or reading a good fanfiction

All this
Does not capture the feeling
But at least I tried my best
Philomena Apr 4
I used to hurt myself every single day
Used to maybe to go a week at best without fresh wounds
Used to need it to get through the day

And it's difficult to explain
And it's different for everyone that chooses to feel pain
Cause that is exactly what it is choosing to feel pain
It's wanting to not be numb
Wanting to feel alive
Wanting to feel anything other than that emptiness
Because the emptiness is the heaviest thing you will never have
It's like filing your heart up with rocks
Feeling it sink in your chest

And that heaviness at first is just a symptom
It ***** but you push forward
But it gets heavier and you slowly loose control
Instead of growing stronger the weight just wears you out
And son you feel the weight piling on more than ever
Every time they...
...call you a name...
...push you down...
...use you...
...ignore you...
...abuse you...

And it builds and builds and you can't keep going
And you start to wonder what if I just didn't exist
And the thought scares you to death but you feel so helpless
And you can't keep carrying the weight in you heart without help
So every single day the though come up
What if you just died

And every day it seems more and more like a better idea
Because you're tired of crying yourself to sleep
And you're tired of always feeling alone and unwanted
And everything is so numb that it hurts
So you give it a shot and it's messy
It always is the first time
And there's blood
But for once you don't feel like you have a heart full of rocks
Instead your heart is racing from the rush
And you feel something
Its painful and awful but it's something
And its nice but not necessary

So a few weeks later on you're at your breaking point again
And you put steel to skin
And the blood arises from the **** like a mountain spring
And your body feels the rush all over again
Before you know it every day is a pain and all you want is to feel
So you're like me
Slit your wrists before bed
Cuts in the mouth in the morning
And the torment all day between the two

And you're not destroying your body because you're suicidal
You aren't doing it oping you'll die
You're not ripping flesh from flesh because you want attention
The horror inst worth a few glances

You're spilling blood like a warlord committing crimes only against your own body because you're trying desperately to stay alive and only in this bleeding, in this pain can you find any peace from the pain of existence and the voice inside you that tell a you just to give up and die already

It's counter-intuitive but it's what keeps you alive for another day
As of writing this I am a year and 4 months since my last cut.
Farzaneh Qaf Apr 1
Never ask me for the reason
I am like a changing season
See me as if I am a tree
Buried my roots, still I'm free
Tired people, sit under me
Hide from devils, she or a he
Bunch of branches,
Come out of me
Holy Francis
Blind may not see
No more of a holly essence, O'Devine ******
No need for title babe, Qaf is a core
Tony Tweedy Mar 13
I sometimes take time to write a few lines of verse.
Quite often to express feelings to prevent them getting worse.
Often I express things that are there as thoughts in my own head.
Sometimes its just things that I feel have needed to be said.
I don't always consider the impact or repercussions of things that I may write.
And I don't seek to make it all rhyme as a way for me to seem all bright.
I find it the best way to express how conflicted I can feel.
Inside my head it helps my thoughts focus on what I see as "real".
You may not understand the emotions or maybe share my train of thought.
But I will write how I think and how I feel even if against things we've all been taught.
Its my way of expressing "truths" that I just need others to try and see.
In part an explanation of why I cant be the way others would like for me to be.
I write these lines as often as I am compelled to want to do.
To give understanding and to express the things my mind perceives as true.
Whether challenge or expression of lies life has forced me to be taught.
I use the writing of these words to patch the walls of my emotional fort.
I write the verse as a glimpse beyond my fragile fortress wall.
I do it so all can see my sanity was dented by its fall.
There is little I can do about the glimpses you may choose to see.
Knowing that what you spy beyond the wall is not every part of me.
The words are how I perceive the world not to influence thoughts in your head.
But maybe...you have some understanding of me... from these words that now are read.
This is what it does.... why I even bother
Caleb Nathan Oct 2018
fruit flies
whisper
in the ears
of house cats

thinking that
they’re commanding
god-willing lions

so no;
i will not
scribble insignificances
on some
toilet paper ballot.

i’d rather
pocket
my dignity
where it belongs:

up my own ***
Emma Sep 2018
There will never be enough words for you.
Probably that’s why I keep trying.
But what you mean to me is a swell of feeling, something I don’t know how to find voice for.
Not all the way.
You ask me for an explanation, for reason, for words when they don’t exist.
I am pleonastic, skin covered in scrawled ink,
But I can’t give you what you want,
Can’t give you something that is swimming so large inside me.
Because what I feel for you is more than me, more than I have ever had contained within me before.
I love you like you’re mine.
Brent Kincaid Sep 2018
Why are you leaving?
What did I do wrong?
Why are you not coming home,
Back with us where you belong?
You don’t hug me any more
You and Mom seem so mad
You’re always acting sore.
Have I done something bad?

Why, Daddy, why?
I don’t understand this.
It makes me want to cry.
That’s just how bad this is.
Why, Daddy, why?
Why can’t you two make up?
What happens to me then
If you two decide to break up?

When I am acting angry
You both hound me to ask
What is going on with me
Or you both take me to task.
You don’t let me be cranky
Without any explanation.
So, what on earth is different
In this family situation?

Why, Daddy, why?
I don’t understand this.
It makes me want to cry.
That’s just how bad this is.
Why, Daddy, why?
Why can’t you two make up?
What happens to me then
If you two decide to break up?

I want things to be back again
Like they were before all this.
I want to be rewarded often
With a kind word and a kiss.
I want to work hard in school
To bring home good grades.
But it doesn’t seem important
In this crazy mess you’ve made.

Why, Daddy, why?
I don’t understand this.
It makes me want to cry.
That’s just how bad this is.
Why, Daddy, why?
Why can’t you two make up?
What happens to me then
If you two decide to break up?

Mama says she hates it
That you want to go away,
And it hurts her to know you
Don’t need us both today.
She says you’ve changed now
And want to be more free.
That’s fine for you, I guess.
But what about her and me?

Why, Daddy, why?
I don’t understand this.
It makes me want to cry.
That’s just how bad this is.
Why, Daddy, why?
Why can’t you two make up?
What happens to me then
If you two decide to break up?
So, you ask,
How would I explain it?
Well certainly, as something
Not fun.
It's like...
It's like carrying a leach around with you.
When I walk, I can feel it,
It is a dead weight on my chest,
******* the life from my arms,
Making my hands and face slender,
What should be full and strong
It's like...
It's like when you're sick to your stomach.
That feeling of tar in your gut,
But instead of being isolated, it's everywhere
Throughout your body,
It makes you feel sick everywhere.

This is how I explain dysphoria:
Have you ever looked in the mirror,
And wanted to just rip all your hair out?
When a bad hair day gets out of hand,
Have you ever felt the need to just start over?
Even when you tear out a clump of hair
And your scalp looks raw and a little ******,
But you keep going anyway,
Just to get rid of that ****** haircut?
...no?
Alright, how about,
When you're watching the outtakes of a 3-D animated movie,
the scenes that have "gone wrong",
When the girl's eyes are far too big and pop out of her face,
Her arms are disconnected from her chest,
Her head moves but her teeth do not,
And you just want to scream "DELETE IT!"
Because it's obvious that someone has ******* up here,
And this nightmare, this fever dream
Is not what they intended their creation to look like.

Alright, well have you ever
Done a pencil drawing?
And you've put a lot of time and effort into it,
You're so proud,
This is one of your best works,
But something about it is just off?
You might not be able to tell what it is,
This will bother you for a long time,
You will spend hours on end thinking
About what exactly separates this piece of art from everything else,
What it is that keeps it from perfection...
Until suddenly one day, you realise,
You notice exactly what's wrong,
You grab an eraser to fix your mistake
But then, oh no
Your eraser was *****,
And when you tried to rub out that single wonky line,
You leave a huge black smudge across your paper
And now there's no way to get rid of it
All your work on this piece, ruined,
And you're really upset,
You were so proud of this drawing,
It was so close to being perfect,
It could have been so beautiful,
It was almost perfect, but now...

But now, it's wrong.
It just looks wrong
It just IS wrong,
It wasn't meant to look like this
I am trying to explain as simply as I can
That this body is wrong,
That it wasn't meant to look like this,
That it wasn't meant to BE like this!
Don't you understand?
This is how I explain dysphoria:
Have you ever looked in the mirror
And wanted to just rip your chest out?
Do you ever see your body, your parts seeming broken,
Your chest, legs, hear the sound of your voice
And just scream "DELETE IT!"
Because it's obvious that someone
Has ******* up
Someone was using a ***** eraser
When they created me, erased me,
And they've left smudges, mistakes, that I
Cannot get rid of,
And however hard I try to pretend
That I don't care,
I do,
And I still feel the need to erase them.
These leaches that I carry around,
They drain me,
And I was so proud of myself
I,
This body...

It could have been so beautiful
An attempt at a spoken-word poem. I wrote this a while ago but I came back and edited it, and figured I’d finally publish it. It's very different to the style I usually write in, I think at some point while writing it it just turned into venting. I figure if this speaks to one person, I've done well.
Next page