Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I feel like an Empress boo.

Divine iterations
of existence, unique...
And I truly hope these
make a good impression on you,
I do
not always know how things
will turn out
Often times I find
stalled; consumed with doubt
So if you could,
Be patient please.
Things are deeper than they seem.
There’s more to me than you can really see;
although what I share
is limited
to the confines of a square
Boxed In
is one thing I could never Be
And so world, here’s to me
And here’s to Being
I plan on using this as a caption on one of my IG photos..
c Feb 24
A peek behind the curtain:
I've tightened the rope
I've split up the track
And hold steadfast the ends (no slack)
Spinning above, mid-air like some antisocial acrobat
I've learned the words
I've carved the face
To only read smile
While the rest seem to float
All show
No rope, though
that could be an act--as well--

I am a poet,
or I like to call myself one.
My heartaches and heartbreaks give life to empty pages;
I rarely compose from glorious days.
I’m inspired by the world, by people around me
but mostly by my pain.
I consider myself an introvert
for you will rarely hear me speak,
but on the other hand, I have much to say
just not with my lips
but with a pen.
I hide behind ink and paper
ready to write my feelings away.

I am the poetry that I write.
Brittany Ann Jan 29
How too often,

as well as unfortunate, it is that

I find myself feeling at odds with-

ashamed of even-

for being the person I am.

My whole being seeming to be

something so very foreign-

as if all I am made of is

far too immense,

and much too intense

to exist in all its entirety-

that I instinctively work

to melt myself down enough

to be filled within the jagged cracks

of life's very own looking glass.

Where I am to be

hardened, bent

to fit and disappear into

it's illusive mold.

Where I am no longer too much

of something then-

I'll be nothing at all.
Brittany Ann Jan 29
I see a friend in the face of a stranger,

but I let the stranger pass me by.

As quick as a cold breeze

brushing against me in the empty night.

A glimpse of a person

whom could have been

that piece of a soul who could

connect with mine.

A connection brought out by love

that is also not love.

An innocent love fueled by companionship,

of two souls recognizing one another.

Not as the conjoining of one

but as if journeying side by side.

Like that of children,

conjoining only in the soft comfort

of two, gentle hands.

I've seen a friend in the face of strangers,

but a friend is still yet to be.

In the loneliness, I wonder,

does the stranger see the face of

a friend in me?
Brittany Ann Jan 29
Sometimes, I find myself

trapped in an empty room.

But... this specific room

isn't filled with an oppressive darkness.

The walls don't whisper

a devilish call in my ears.

And cold doesn't capture me

in an icy embrace.

In this room, it is still.

It is silent.

It is hollow.

And I am just there

sharing space among the nothingness.

In this room I should feel peace,

perhaps even serenity,

but there I stand and

I am impracticable.

I am insignificant.

I am inane.

And I am entirely alone.
Mimmi Jan 12
No one saw my pain
Even when I had no idea how to smile
I was literally dying inside
And at the closest call of ending it

No one saw my pain
I was sort of always in the backround
It sounds like a clyche but it was my reality

Everybody saw a door as a door
I saw a gate with steel bars and no password to get inside
They saw new people as an opportunite
I saw them as kings and queens, as higher royalty than me
I could never reach their level of "hey be my friend"
Why were they so scary
Why was I so afraid
I have no answer
It was just constant hell and me seeking for help without asking

I am not a happy pearl
I am not a bursting sea
I don't know when to turn back and wave for help
I always felt so trapped, there was just no place for me
Of all the steps I took, there was no shoes to be filling the path I made in the snow
Not a single one followed me, for my secrets are meant to be kept?

If they had just looked a little closer, way past the camera lense
They would have seen my scar, and my bleeding hand
They were always so happy and cheerful as they could be,
As I was laying on the ground thinking about what could be

How are they so carefree, when I plan every step and move I make
To not be in the way, but also be seen
I tried so hard playing that part, but with no confidence

They were all so cheerful
I just didn't understand
How can I be in the same room
But not understanding what is there

I just kept hiding those flaws they never saw
I didn't dare to eat the dinner that we cooked
I stayed far away and went around as a busboy the whole day

I think I could have been more
Maybe just a little more off the side
Not right in the middle but like a quarter of enough

I kept it a secret as long as I could
But I had to give an answer and to the emergency we went
I was hiding
I was venting
I was in pain
I am in pain
Will I always feel this pain inside
This was years ago,  you would think memories would go
But not mine no, they stay hidden until they pop up and i'm right back there again.
This is a poem like story telling of a trip I did with my choir some years ago. My mental state was B A D but what was more frustrating was the people who was there, who were supposed to be my friends knew nothing, they saw nothing and so alone I was and felt.
xoe Dec 2020
i cant write with you staring over my shoulder,
i am a song bird but i only sing to the sky,
my fellow mockingbirds sing in harmony,
but im my own being,
my own culture,
my own style,
i am a mockingbird of singularity.
i feel strange
Next page