Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I guess I must be
A criminal
Because I
Am a prisoner
And people hurt
For a reason
As far as
Reasons go
I don't have many
Just a bucket
Full of guilty
Misbeliefs
All the lies
That I tell
To the me
In the mirror
I know I'm
No good
But god I'm
Just a little girl
Only fifteen
Aren't I allowed
To think
I'm pretty
Can't I believe
That someone
Might love me
What happened
To twirling my
Fingers in
My curled hair
Because they
All say to
Trust my intuition
But intuition's
A *****
And she says
Everything
I don't want
To hear
That is my
Heartbreak
Reality
My saddest
Totality

I am not
Pretty
I am not
Witty
I am not
Smart
I am not
Creative
I am not
Loving
Nor am I
Loved
I am not
Perfect
I am not
Enough
I don't know what to believe anymore. Sometimes, I want to believe that I am not bad, but it just seems so fake. I know I'm full of ****, and I might as well own it. Right?
LK Aug 2
I prayed to God at night, but thought that faith, it might dead.
Dear God, won’t you help me? Nothing kills faster than one’s head.

Maybe I didn’t want to make it until I really knew.
I needed God to save me, to reassure me he was true.

I didn’t want to save myself, He needed to transpire.
So why then God, the guessing game, if to repent is all you require?
Aaryn Nov 2018
you aren't going to win











no one                 guesses











what terrors                     lay behind                   my       eyes
















because                             I hide










behind           this          smile
Although if you really look
when I'm alone
the game stops
Brittany Hall Oct 2018
Second best to all of your friends,
'Cause you know I'll love you 'til the end.

I am what the others were;
A hopeless fool who's dancing in your blur.

Wrapped around your finger, I do as you say.
It feels like you just linger, but I'm asking you to stay.

Unsure if you can handle this, so you keep your options open.
I pretend I don't notice, so they don't see me choking.

Constant competition with people I've never met.
Offering you a better life in pictures on the internet.

The grass isn't greener on the other side.
But when you've got no grass, even the weeds look nice.

I used to be the wild rose, and you didn't mind my extra thorns.
But now the cold wind blows, my petals fall and I am scorned.

Everyday, I hope you still love me.
In your eyes, is there anyone above me?

Every night, you leave me guessing.
Be honest with me, relieve my stressing.
Eric Babsy Oct 2018
Cold and heat combine.
Temperatures are a gaze we lose our mind.
Currents of the ocean predict.
A pattern for me and you something we can not forget.

Weather is used as a weapon.
Not only by nature but second guessing.
How can this be, you would ask?
Something more you can give us, something we could grasp.

We are all in for a rude awakening.
Electricity is all that they would be faking.
Plants and animals cease to exist.
The kind of anger that makes me pound my fist.

This is the only weapon they can use.
To feed our guilt to fill this ruse.
Being human and united is the only way we can be.
In the future maybe then you will see.
Ezis Mar 2018
Do I make more out of this
you and me
when I write poetry about it?

Do I over analyze it
and dream too much about it
so that I think its more than what it is?

How am I supposed to know how you feel
if you don't tell me?
All this guessing
and going with the flow,
makes me anxious and all I want is you.
I want to know that I have you.
But do I right now?
It's okay if I don't, I just want to know you aren't going anywhere.
Tatiana Jan 2018
"I say it was the butler,"
And so the accusations begin.
They fly through the dining room
with their winged reasons
based on heresay and whims.
"It can't have been him.
He wasn't even there!"
A professor counters with snark.
Pointing out the other was wrong
for their own chance to glow.
"Well then it must've been the maid"
A woman in red counters
Glaring daggers like the ones
That get buried deep into trusting backs.
"Maybe it was one of you!
Looking for monetary gain!"
A man exclaims pointedly
Green overcoat buttoned tightly
as he perused the crowd unkindly.
"Everyone calm down!"
A gentleman speaks soothingly.
"Since we're speaking in clichés
I thought I'd put my two cents in."
the man inspects the body
and with dramatic flair
Announces:
"It was Colonel Mustard, in the dining room, with a rope."
And the fancy dressed group
Cried out in frustration.

But upon further inspection
of the victim dressed
in peacock blues and greens
yielded a braided rope pattern
surrounding her neck.
And it left them all to wonder,

"Who is Colonel Mustard?"
I haven't played clue in forever but this idea popped into my head. Mostly because I love giving a clue reference whenever someone asks "who did it?" Or "what happened?" It's instantly funny.
Seanathon Mar 2017
Either I know everything, or I know nothing
I'm never close to the in between
Which is why you seem so far away
At least in time, within this space
Because I cannot see your face
I can only hope most ardently
That for once in my life
Somebody like you
Knows everything there is to know
About someone like me
Zee hope. Is real. (:
George Krokos Sep 2016
Out of the fullness of being comes many a blessing
about which most people really can only be guessing.
____
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's
Nik Jul 2016
Whisper into my ear all the words you wish to say.
Whisper into my ear all the secrets that you hold.
If you are too scared to speak the truth, write me a poem.
Hide your feelings in metaphors, write your heart's desires into illusions.
Tell me how your heart beats in metre, so late at night, when the night is still-
when there is nothing to hear, but a faint heartbeat,
I know it's yours, yearning for me.
Please, tell me how you feel, I'm tired of guessing
Next page