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d Aug 2018
Why is it that even if someone breaks my heart I'll take them back? You could hurt me over and over but I'll be holding the door wide open the next time, no matter how much I cry or how angry I am, I'll forgive it all for a chance at the good times. People call me strong but actually I am so weak I cannot support myself, I act so fake like nothing hurts me at all but inside I struggle to breathe as I am drowning in my own hatred, I cry and try to stop but everyone thinks it's a joke since I'm happy the rest of the time, I write down my feelings which are true in the form of poetry but everyone thinks it is just an expression so they don't worry.

That is both an advantage and disadvantage of being a writer, I could write all my deepest and most sincere thoughts, and everyone will think it's merely a beautiful poem.

Is it not?
Jac Aug 2020
individuals, dozens of them
prying until the sun
lit up the grounds

it felt like the heavens
when you did not

yet my smile
appeared too soon
faltered when you left me

bounded with affection —
crippled butterflies
leaving to never
fly near again.
façade faded every sentence you uttered directed at me
M Cannon Aug 2020
The hardest part of being happy
Is keeping up the charade.

Behind each smile is a sore lip
Bruised with anxious bites
Each time someone looks away.

Behind each laugh is a broken sob
Muffled into silence,
Hidden and saved for a rainy day.

Behind each kind word is a crack
In an already shattered heart,
Taped together with the words
“I’m fine”.

Behind each “I love you” is a desperate cry,
Screaming “Please don’t leave me”
Until their voice is gone.

The hardest thing about being happy
Is you can only play this game
For so long.
Andrew Choo Nov 2018
My life’s a show
I’m holding back things
You don’t know
Mind’s inside out
My social anxiety’s got me
I ain’t too loud
Keep close my pride
I try to hide
My alter ego is an alien
I aim to be superhuman
Distance, I create
Help, I cannot wait
Taking myself into isolation
Need some insulation
My heart’s cold
Can’t stand the heat
Pressure’s too heavy
Expectations got me beat  
I’m going down
I don’t know if I can take this

(Now read from bottom to top)
For the past few years/months/weeks/days, I've been feeling so drained. It's like there's no motivation to do anything; it honestly hurts to think, sleep, talk, speak, breathe. That constant mental battle of feeling worthless and having no purpose. I feel like I'm an alien, isolated from everyone else. Alone, but not lonely. Dying, but not dead. It's like everything's upside down. Downside up.
Phantom Poet Sep 2017
Wear glasses,
Because weak are my eyes,
Am one of those backbenchers in classes,
Cracking jokes and breaking the ice,
Upon my lips always a,
I try to be the perfect friend,
Take the blame in the end,
Play lots of sports,
Mastered games of all sorts,
Teacher's pet,
Prefer when a plan is set,
But it's all the face of a card,
That's all a façade,
In reality I'm a mess,
Always high on stress,
An emotional wreck,
Overthink every little thing,
I'm the Joker in a deck,
Unwanted and ignored,
I find joy in being lonely,
For then nobody I can trust,
And words won't hurt me,
I may look strong to see,
But inside I'm very weak,
It makes me sick,
Sadness is a pain,
But in it I feel a dark pleasurable gain,
And it kills me from inside,
It is how I am as a person,
It is my style,
My life now,
For tomorrow is another day,
Before everyone I have to dawn a smile..
This is my 100th poem,and for me it's an achievement, and I would like to thank the readers for taking their time and reading and never criticizing, I appreciate it a lot, my little moment of joy it is
Ginelle Mar 2017
it was never about you;
those words were written as a form of art –
each word planned and meticulously placed.

it was always about the broken smile romanticized in books, plays and films;
or the way a single strand of hair paralleled with the pigment of the morning sun.
it was how your features resembled the most artistic and aesthetically pleasing parts of the world.

these poems represented the “honeymoon stage” of a relationship,
[our relationship]
a façade;

when you read these poems,
remember that they’re a form of art;
you were the poison behind the inspiration,
you were never the art.
everything about you was a lie. i was in love with the honeymoon, never your eclipse.

— The End —