In this mad, mad world
All we seek is composure
But no matter how old
Self hate is alcohol,
You're either drunk or sober
Pulling up my sleeve,
it's always hard to perceive.
Those red and white marks,
all the anger it always sparks.
Happened because of self hate,
because I couldn't communicate.
Problems I wasn't able to surmount.
There's much to many to count.
I truly do hate them all,
Just waiting for yet another fall.
I did all I could do to be better,
But ever since I wrote that letter.
I've been nothing more than dead,
no more words need to be said.
Just let me go,
don't try and say no,
please just let me go.
Wrote this one a little more than a year ago
Reaching out to someone really can help
In the end I think
the pain was too much to bear
to see such behavior coming from someone so beautiful
to see such hatred towards myself
coming from my own eyes,
eyes as lush and green as a forest canopy
at least that is how you described them back then
but your own eyes,
deep blue pools of loathing
for everyone around you,
they tell me what you truly mean.
That my eyes are dull and ugly
and better off looking in a different direction
and that you don't care what I do anymore
nor did you ever care
As long as no one is by my side
and that I do not exist to anyone other than myself
you will be happy
Most poems I write comes from personal experience if anyone cares to wonder. I don't listen to him anymore.
The air to my lungs,
The blood in my veins,
The pulse to my heart.
You are the reason I’m alive
And I love you more
Than words could ever describe.
It’s been a while.
Sorry I ****.
I should’ve known how this would end
We played the part of distant friends
I knew this would hurt like a metal fist
When I came near & barely felt your kiss
You should’ve seen my hand the other day
Shaking and trembling like a rusty train
When it comes and goes in a fiery blaze
Lungs burn, blood boils, a grueling state
I’m calling around for a saving grace
And with two bruised knees, I’ll try to pray
What was that thing you said to my face?
Honey you’ll find love but not today
it's all black and white
you say. there are only two.
i'll be the grey, then.
We walk on the roads paved by Others,
dance to the music created by Others,
read the stories made by Others,
laugh at the jokes told by Others,
and try to copy the culture established by Others,
so why do We work so hard to discount and call them Others?
down the street, around the corner
hardship and poverty is more than a slap in the face
this is the real iron curtain that separates us,
it keeps us isolated from each other.
they're called monsters, thugs, and fools,
characterized by the caricature
drawn from the ignorance and prejudice
of the men who hunted and enslaved Others
but We have no idea.
the bigotry reflecting off our quartz skin blinds us
and as We look down from our ivory towers
built on the backs of Others
to the fruitful ebony earth
We just see bugs,
a nuisance and inconvenience,
and they're treated as such.
is this a reflection of reality?
or just the truth?
We say no
the monster inside
threatens to slash me into
tiny little bits
i do not feel fine,
i don't love you anymore.
just leave me alone.
A seething red rage pulsates
like molten metal
through vains on the brink of bursting,
As if he guzzled a gallon of gasoline
and with a sick sick smile
swallowed a lit cigarette.
Still shrieking he strikes the floor.
White knuckled with fractured fists
shredded vocal chords,
crimson tears and cracked teeth
he's held upright only by spite
and a heart harbouring hate.
So as he stands
He scratches a single name
into a single bullet
and starts to shovel two graves
then prays for three lives
that are about to be forever shaken.
Both love and hate burn scars into a heart that are slow to heal.