isn't it ironic
that just as i start
to get you out of my head
every time i think that maybe
you're just a phase i'm done with
life happens - things happen
and all my efforts turn to sand.
tears drip from my eyes
while a laugh escapes
from my mouth,
this isn’t sadness,
this isn’t joyousness,
this comes from knowing
that people leave,
life makes you go through changes,
yet my poor heart
keeps on hurting.
What a laugh!
I looked in her eyes
and saw that she was broken.
No one in this world
ever gets enough love.
We bleed our feelings
and silently beg others for help,
but no one ever comes.
Or if they do,
we smile and nod
and bandage our wounds ourselves,
afraid to be vulnerable,
afraid to be human,
afraid to give others the love we so crave.
and by every kiss, every words
i’m just having fun
i love you,
just don’t take it seriously
i’m just having fun
because i’ve been through this
i know it must meet the ends,
we’re just having fun
with the plastic love,
at least that's what we have
i feel like everything just start to be a totally *******, everything i do is for nothing and i got nothing to trust, everything
A pain in your gut
Throbbing thump in your head
The words I said have caused you pain
I truly tried but couldn't refrain
Now I just lie in my bed
Might as well be a cut
It's funny how we just forget
One Turbot says to the other "do you believe in Cod?"
The other replies " I think we each know a Sole". "I believe one day when the chips are down and we are at our most battered we will each know a Plaice and we are destined to fillet".
They exchanged a glance and swam away.... just for the Halibut.
I hope my Whiting doesn't offend. Remember believers.... believe in Cod and one day you will be Prawn again.
edited 12th April 2019
People get killed for killing somebody, but people are trying to teach society that people shouldn't ****** because it is illegal...Ironic!
I hate the fact that the death penalty is so hypocritical!!!
My secrets are metaphors.
The words are artfully arranged in alliteration
Or cautiously halted in
Enjambment so that they don't reveal themselves.
My secrets are anaphoric.
They are metonymic, swearing secrecy to the pen.
Sometimes they are synecdoches,
Begging, afraid, in rhyme for your attention again.
My secrets are anecdotes.
They write about themselves through personification.
This poem juxtaposes itself;
I've told you all of my secrets of secrecy-how ironic.
"you could write poetry"
there's so little you know about me
but that statement taught me so much about you
the people around here are weird
///cant seem to trust anybody
i'll keep writing