Do you sometimes feel like a pillar

Like you are the last thing holding everything and everyone up

Like you are the last thread preventing everything from unraveling

So much so that you are not allowed to rest

That if you do
The hairline fractures in your foundation might widen

Might become cracks that are no longer safe

That anymore pressure will cause it all to collapse

And that at the end of the day
You are the only one eroding

The only one who no longer can stand tall and true

Can no longer be a pillar for you

To slowly become dust

Picked up by the wind
Swept away and forgotten
You can only support those around you for so long. Be selfish; care for yourself as well.
"I Wish I Was A Fridge"

I trust no one,
But I agree to see you;
You come every six weeks,
To see anything new.

I hardly know you,
I saw you last year;
I've seen others since then,
I know im difficult - thats clear.

But you came back again,
because there's no one else,
I have to trust you again,
When I dont trust myself.

But should I really trust you?
Or are you the same?
I hadnt seen you for so long
..i'd forgotten your name.

You ask me to explain,
And I try my best,
To explain whats in my head,
All the confusion and the rest.

I tell you everything,
With paper and pen;
Absolutely everything,
over and over again.

Then you say you cant help me,
So I feel even worse,
You say you are not a therapist,
I should have remembered that first.

All you care about
is whats in my fridge;
You go into my kitchen,
and check out my fridge.

Well the fridge is fine,
It might not be full,
But it has milk and leftovers,
...I wish it had wine too!!

You come here and visit,
And then I feel worse;
For I trusted you with things,
I should have thought again first.

For you cannot help me,
Why do you come?
My fridge is always quite happy,
My fridge is having great fun.

It has no nervous system,
No brain, no spinal cord;
Its incapable of "feeling"
Or trusting in the Lord.

You come all this way,
To look at my fridge,
You come here from Lamlash,
And check out my fridge.

I am clearly a failure,
As its always the same;
The fridge is just fine,
The pain is in my brain.

I wont see you again
for quite a while;
But I cannot promise
to put on a smile.

But my fridge will be fine,
I can promise you that;
If only I was a fridge...
...does anyone else feel like that?!

I shall get out some pens,
And draw a big smiley face;
Stick it on my fridge,
Just for you and your "fridge case".

I wish I was a fridge too, could put in and take out what I choose;
But im not an inanimate object - im a human being,
And I do often wonder....what got me into this state ...in the beginning.

All the best...with love...from the fridge :/ x
Rambling poetry during moments of frustration....not knowing who to turn to.
Forgotten love
Memories floated away
At night you come to me
And at dawn we fly away
Hidden in the crevices
Weaved between lines
That is where you reside
Somewhere deep and secret
Locked away in me
Glipses here and there
No longer than the width of a hair
There I hide you
Not to deny you
But to keep you
For only me
And my memory
If only time flowed backward
If only it could be more than a glimpse
If life hadn't invaded and twisted
.
If only it is to be back then
I'd do it all again
Tik Tok
says the Clock
with all the memories
forgotten and left behind.

Lub Dub
says my Heart
with all the affections felt
for the memories left.
PART I – BORN TO CHAOS AND IMPRISONMENT

Imagine –
Being born in a decade of hate,
Of fear of being attacked, front and rear,
Of sleeping with one eye open,
A present reality that is far from golden –
It is a nightmare of self-perpetuating terror.
Welcome to Palestine;
The land where the dogs of war
Come to feast and dine.

70 years of violence;
70 years of resilience.
Millions killed or displaced,
Homes vacated but never replaced,
Not even by those who got out alive,
Scrambling to rebuild, desperate to survive.
For how can you not be enraged and stupefied
When your country’s being erased
And hopelessness is causing suicides?
How can you not throw stones and riot
When your own government kills you
And then proceeds to alter the story or deny it?

That is the reality
That Mohanad Younis was born into;
One of many, a broken generation,
Born with a noose around their neck,
Betrayed and forgotten as a nation.
Desperation was an eternal companion,
A sibling, practically,
Always with them like the Colorado River with the Grand Canyon.

Mohanad was a bright, industrious soul;
A voracious bookworm, with the hunger to swallow a library whole.
Dostoevsky, Dickens and Euripides,
Amongst many others;
A young man who wrote his own tales,
Perhaps keen to escape reality,
Or encapsulate it if all else fails.

When guillotines rain down from the sky,
When prayers are said but your god(s) don’t even reply,
No author, nor their best tales,
Can overcome the missile storms and the bullet hails.
This will be the story
Of Mohanad Younis,
The beloved writer who killed himself
Because all else really did fail.
A eulogy to a fellow soul, writer and inspiration.
'No need to apologise for your early departure.'
Raw is superior to polish.
Better is worse than before.
Spent a night on the rusted pier,
ain't nobody come here no more.
So, we've gone equals.
We've no settled score.
We've settled down in our hometown,
living life full of galore.
Glamor shots and tequila cops.
Ain't a single night spent alone.
A fistful of whiskey neat,
eyes full of buzzing,
and bonfires made of bone down on the shore.
life without regret is a basement full of floodwater
What a rash of time we've wasted.
Drunken, displaced it all.
The hiking trails up solemn, summer
ridge lines. Jagged arrowheads lifted
out toward the sky and we feel gifted.

A crack in the rock a millennia old.
The dangers of going it alone;
the spy who came in from the cold.

Two open throated eulogies and scatter her ash.
Two years of time spent together, now memorized pash.

Sifting through sight lines of our mediocre city streets.
Sweating up the summertime together-alone,
and getting twisted as we jam to louder growing beats.

We took our hands and divined a place on the timeline.
Steady rocking for two revolutions until
she set over the horizon beyond the sunshine.
Look for her and see her in every which place.
It's never her figure and never her face, but
shower curtain blurs and the curls in hair of other girls.
She exists as every brunette that I'll never forget.
Not that I'd want it.

They say, "She loved you. That much is clear."
What a romantic gesture to abandon me here.

If you can read this from your heavenly repose. My heart has grown fonder and still it grows. I'm sure you can see me,
the struggle of having to be anything at all.
Your number is somebody else's now. There's nobody to call.
Summertime gives way to Autumn,
I'm sorry if you hurt having to see what I do now.
The glyphs in my mountain roots.
My rotting bark and lost spark.
My constant stops and false starts.
My swelling, my welts, the harm I cause.
You're not to be blamed, darling.
Not a single word from my tongue nor do I entertain
the thought of others who wish you disdain.
I've lost a bit of myself in the guilt and the shame.
Truth be told, I'm not sure I'll recover and be the same.
A jilt is one thing, a turn down is fine.
But I lost who told me she was mine.
I should've doted more and been more attentive.
You fell in love with me because I was romantic.
So where did I fail you and how can I improve?
I just want to make you happy,
I just want to show you.
There was no need to quit the way that you did.
We could have taken a break,
you could have hibernated, hid.
But it's fine you chose the way you did.
Now you're the punchline of my dark jokes.
"Oh, I'm sorry, no, I only kid."
Repeating myself like I've forgotten what I even said.
Loving is hard when you've never felt it.
But it's harder than that when you feel it and lost it like I did.
Do you think you can forgive me?
I don't know if promises will be kept forever.
poorly written poem about an anniversary i hate to be alive for and the two years before where my life peaked

six years is much too many,
but still i'm here
sadly
Nika J Aug 4
Everyone and Everything ends up leaving in the end..
So what choices can we make to force em to stay?
Beautiful minutes only for a moment...
Precious moments only for a minute...
Then like water, when dried by sun, they go...
What is there, but memories wishing to forget?
And sadness boiling beneath skin.
A touch of corrosion upon the heart
Seemingly shattered by calamity.
A tasteless march through storage spaces of lost love and never caring enough
Dashed with nothing but an empty veil we try to fill.
If everyone is only here for the moment
What's the realization of allowing your own self to withstand being used by humanity?
Never forgive those who have once walked out... and try to come back.
Trust has died and that pain is not something you can take back...
Regret means nothing when you've damaged a soul
And to think it meant nothing to you but to move on was for you
Don't come back now looking to tie the broken pieces you left behind
Sheer boredom? To reopen gashes that left scares but have healed with phantom pain...
Your existence is a reminder of the hauntings that has plagued the heart
Your words are like venom and your eyes are... lying.
Forgetting the idea that you drug along another soul
Whispers of sweet goodbye's become a resting tragedy that ears hear...
Then you smile, joke and laugh to the one you brought hurt
Redemption, forgiveness you desire it, eh?
You forget the unforgotten...
One cannot erase pain...
this room may be filled with color,
but all i see is grey.
this world may be filled with light,
but i am shrouded in darkness.
this face may replicate a smile,
but the heart holds a longing
for youth, freedom, love,
overshadowed by a depression
i cannot overcome.
i spend my waking days
growing weary, sleeping until
my headaches have passed,
eating until i become so full
i can vomit out my feelings.
and yet, i have not let a tear fall
because i am waiting for the day you'll wipe them away.
a poem i wrote on paper a few months ago that was hidden away in a corner of my room and forgotten
Kathryn Irene Jul 28
The destruction of this family has
since been long overdue

The clock has stopped moving since
six o'clock

The grandmother died of illness
The father ran away with a whore

The mother collapsed from overworking herself
The child left untended for too long

Why this happened no one knows
Since six o'clock they all left away

Abandoned,
forgotten,
dead.

The clock stopped at six o'clock,
it was long overdue.
From my instagram
www.instagram.com/SkullsNB0nes
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