Get up and dress my myself.
I don't impress myself.
Need to express myself.
Not to detest myself.
Start to respect myself.
Outwardly reflect myself.
I won't reject myself.
Go out and test myself.
No time to rest myself.
I'll be the best, myself.
Ndanyanyukwa Aug 9
I hope they know that I was writing.
I hope they know that poetry was the reason why I could fight it.
At night with my broken heart trying to fix all the pieces that have broken apart.
So do we call this art?
Or is this just the start? Of finding all the answers left from the people who have left their mark? Will we ever know? Will they ever show? The love they once had for us which taught us about growth.
I highly doubt so.
Emotions on low, that every single person I've met asks me why I don't glow. I guess this is the part where I start to explain, how I am still alive and how I manage to stay sane.
"you learn to numb the pain" caused by people, circumstances and something's you can't mention in vain.

If pain takes me away, I want you to proudly say that you knew somewhere that I was writing and I'll be okay.
life is worth living. sometimes it will take others longer to realize that.
Rebecca Yong Jul 27
do not be angry at me,
i have cried my eyes out already.
please let me bleed and breathe,
let the feelings i can't express
sigh into my poetry.

do not be angry at me,
even when i write about you
and about what you said.
it is the only way and where
i can write about me
about what i wish i had said.
please give me
this liberty.
eyes are tired, body weary. body is tired, eyes teary.
These words written
are more understood and accepted
than the ones, I wear and speak.
My thoughts are tucked
safely in these words
than the ones I disclose to people.
My pen never
leaves
decieves
hurt
hide
and judge
like people do.
It just pours ink for me to craft
and offers paper for me to be listened.
If I am asked, what is the best topic to write?

I will always reply,  
THE SILENCE
Theme: Silence got a big voice
Genre: Autobiography
Vane glorious and absolutistic,
     though I defiantly,
     cavalierly, and blithely attest
Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy
     mine acidic breast

houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic,
     barbaric, and bubonic
     cannibalistic demons within thy
     safely guarded Pandora chest
atomic cesium clock

     timed to trigger avast
     burst of anxiety, frenzy, and
     (What me worry
     Alfred E. Neuman) blast
ting mental quietude at most
     inappropriate, inconvenient,

     inopportune, out classed
adrenaline rush, nausea,
     palpitating heart, vertigo
besieging, corrupting,
     endeavoring fractured arrant

cleft daemonic gripping
     hellishly psychic chant
rendering unto sieze hoar,
     a choking vise grip extant
yule hiss sieze indomitable

     banshee fully controlling grant
diabolic, dogmatic, and dynamic,
     anguished corporeal ache
easily, egregiously, and emblematically,
     exemplified historically

     graphic fatalistic, and ecstatic coup,
     (koo), when I caused furious frantic flight,
     and/or fight betake
king angst causing just desserts
     for Marie Antoinette,

     who got her humble pie cake,
thence dispensing with formalities,
     where a joshing drake
     (named Gill O. Teen)

also known (solely known
     to mine selfish source error ways)
alias i.e. as; the Lewis (loose)
     lunatic, heady harvester,
     and decapitation Deacon trumpeting,

     trouncing, and triumphing tranquility
     for fifty three Tuesdays,
thence sea king punishing psychotic
     pre pound payment
     basking in glory (re: gory us)

     amidship crashing quays
music to mine ears hearing plaintive neighs
high pitched straining
     vocal chord hamstrung keys
regaling oceanographic
     lambent hagiographic essays
and keeping at bathos bays.
Enigma Jun 22
The feels that rise within my mind
sometimes I keep them packed inside.
but now I sit and here I write
to vent them free, in this twilight.
Some call me rude and some say shy.
Yes, that's the truth, I hereby lie.
I am no hermit, don't be mistaken
for I am uncouth and slightly shaken.
The profused silence, it is divine
like dots to connect, in bedlam of mine.
Only in tranquility and peace of mind
is when I fathom world's great design.
The more I speak, the less I know
The less I speak, oh, there you go.
I am no different, just as different
as floating lava, amidst the snow.
These words, these thoughts.
They freeze, they burn.
It's like a grand storm
trapped inside an urn.
This quietude is my escape from life
this serene silence I have devised.
This solitude exposed me to the placid side,
that never had I known, until my demise.
But now I sit and here I write,
to vent these words under this moon.
I often lose myself in this
and seldom find myself here too.
A.S.
Be free to share your thoughts if you have ever felt anything similar.
Semicolon Jun 6
Hey mom-dad, listen.
Hit me, hate me, throw me out,
But don't shut me up.
My dear mom, my dear dad,
Please listen to me talk.
You're the place where I can unveil myself and be true to who I am.
You're the place where I can pour my heart out and expect to be heard.
You're the place I want to spend my life talking and being heard.
Please don't tell me to shut up
Because I talk too much,
Because no one likes what I speak,
Because I talk rubbish,
Because no one would listen to me,
Because I need to stay silent sometimes,
Because nobody likes the stories I have to tell,
Please don't tell me to shut up,
Just because that's what I need to do.
Listen to me.
Please.
Nylee May 2017
A single day,
for the whole life
you loved me,
made me who I am today.
Things that you left behind
and the struggle you went through
to give me better future  .
A single day to express my gratitude
and to apologise for my ill mannered attitude
is not enough
.
For my Mother
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