Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Someday you will love me, said the hopeless lover.
Someday you will get over me, said the reckless loner.

Someday you would want to come back, said the heartbroken mistress,
Someday doesn’t exist in my head, said the cheating husband.

Someday I will find my soulmate said the hopeful maiden,
Someday, they will know your worth, said her loving bestfriend.
we comfort our souls with lies
and we
burn our homes to be free.

we dab perfume on our dead bodies
and we
stitch smiles on faces to be happy.

we turn up the music (too loud)
to be deaf upon the cries of our names
wedged between curses
and scorching regrets.

we try to dance along with the songs
of ghosts -
whose skeletons have been
long forgotten in our antique closets.

we drain bottle after bottle,
light a cigarette after another,
**** ourselves so we don't die -
a surrender to loneliness is worse, after all.

and so...

we say goodbye without considering
that we are worthy enough to stay,
we apologize for the words
we actually meant to say.

we crawl back to our hollowed grounds -
yet we love with the strength of that
who has never been loved.

we travel barefoot on unknown,
desolate roads
in the hopes to find where we belong.

we do the mistakes we've done before,
not because we are stupid,
but god, because we've learned.
Alan S Bailey Jul 2016
If it isn't popular, if it doesn't speak from some
Religious text, many men will ignore it.
There is nothing worse than not being Christian or being gay,
I'm hated, I'm ridiculed, I'm forgotten, I have no friends.
All the world knows this is the same at all ends.
If you aren't Christian, they act like you have AIDS.
In secret they avoid you. Some Christians are the worst haters,
They always point out how "sinners" are supposedly haters,
It does say in the Bible to avoid those who are non
Believers when it comes to being close friends or on
Any level other than business. I can see how Christianity
Breeds hatred if you must witch hunt others in the process.
YoungSymba May 2016
I love when you all over my lips
And it's the same air that you and I breathe.
As I take you to cleanse my soul
With each breath I take you in.

Why would I ever want to leave,
When you keep me afloat when I'm drowning in my tears
And vanish with my fears when I prophesy the future bleak.

I blow you one last kiss,bye,
As you burn,while you whisper with the winds "everything's all right"
Some random *** words I pieced together for the love of ****.
Hao Nguyen Apr 2016
If the shadows were not bound
by the sciences of light,
sometimes I wonder and fear
if it too would leave me behind,
because I do not fear
being separated in the dark
where mercy blinds the eyes.
I am instead terrified
that when the darkness lifts
and the world illuminates with clarity,
I will be standing alone.
Jade Sep 2015
To the self-harmers, self-haters, the loathers, the detesters,

Our homes were the hiding places of things sharp, pointy and jagged.
Things to take away the pain with more pain,
the fear with control,
the uncertainty with decisiveness.  

Because we did decide,
to take ourselves apart.
Bit by bit.
Like their mutilating stares weren’t enough.
Like their toxic words didn’t burn away our innocence.

What would you know you’re *******.
You’re so fat a cow couldn’t compete with you.
Hey there ***, yeah run to mommy.
Hey ****, did daddy not love you enough?

But how could they know he isn’t *******,
his mind is a beauty you could never compete with.
And that fat girl hasn’t eaten a bite of solid food in eight days,
because the word beautiful has never known how to never stick to her skin.
And the *** doesn’t have a mommy to run to,
she died fighting a battle he would never wish upon anyone, not even you.
And the **** only wants to feel normal,
hoping she will if only she can carve out enough of the bits that feel different.

But if normal is you then normal is the worst thing in this world.
Normal is a bully hiding their truth behind venom.
Casting out into this world all their hatred, all their pain.
Not caring where it lands.
Whom it bruises.
Whom it kills.

The numbers are rising.
Higher than a mountain we can ever climb up to.
There are children on our streets.
We don’t look twice.
Our phones are outdated.
We worry.

What if our self isn’t enough.
Maybe these shiny coins will get us our attention.
Maybe then we will be enough.
Because the person staring back from the mirror is a friend who never was,
a stranger too familiar,
perhaps a ghost with our truths
dangling from the tips of its claws.

Worry about yourself,
because we will learn to be enough.
We already learnt to sleep on the streets.
Under the skies, near blue seas.
They said we wouldn’t make it.
But look at us succeed.

We are already enough.
More so.
So much more.
Anthony Caceres Nov 2014
I sit here on the Edge of Reality
Lonely, searching the Galaxy
People think I am losing my Sanity
Or my Mentality is something to not be entered

Everything seems bleak and hopeless
and my body is trying to pull my soul from lifelessness
When the world heals; my scars shall not
The world  covered in disdain and “grace”…
The saint like people are ignored by the famous
Cookie cutter everywhere, Originality is nowhere
Where everyone is money hungry
Where everyone is *** hungry
Where everyone is hungry
Two are fueled while the other is left in the dust
I’m not trying to make a fuss maybe some just

Trying to allow people to think, with their own mind
to see what they can find
to open their heart and be kind
With limited time
We are at a bind
How Can we see when we’re blind
So Tell me what you know about dreams
Tell me what you know about feeling something can’t even touch
Tell me what you know about reality something you can’t see
While the bumbles bees bee and the tree throws apples
When the Govern govern and then Reality is ****** into pan
And When people act like you’re Stan
When addiction isn’t a fan and you're
Trying to stop the Cars
But you’re being held back by bars
as the Cars fall off the Edge of Reality
you realize all the duality but its too late
Your head is being ripped off...fatality

Now when the World's Ablaze and you feel Sub-zero
Courage is their doing charades trying to show you their is more
So get up and grab the stars and nothing is stopping you
As more people get up and grab the stars left by you
So Don’t be the bad guy thats make fun of people that die
Be the person who can show the message of truth
Be your own person
The person who is not manipulated by things like the fox
as the Donkey and Elephant duke it out
for the final bout, The person who thinks of something higher than reality
With the People who sit there on the Edge Of Reality

Wrote this in writers workshop a few years back and pretty proud of it. I figured hey might as well be my first poem up on here. So anyway here you guys go.
Enigmuse Mar 2014
Her eyes and lips and waist are sad poems,
which he finds pretty, but hard to look at, due to
the fact that unlike anyone else in the world, he's
indulged himself in the words she's composed of;
he's ran his fingers over the black print covering her
skin, and, mesmerized by her story, found solace in the
melancholic stanzas of optimistic sadness.
A girl with eyes as wide as the moon, maybe even wider,
hides behind books and songs and movies,
which prove nicer than the real world.

He stands tall and silent, one epic poem too long for
the world to read. However,while he's
fast asleep, she runs her fingers over the words and
pictures he's made visible to the world. One long,
sad poem about the world, one the rebels would marvel
at, about what it really is and what it never was.
Tattoos starting at the nape of his neck,
traveling down his arms and back, ink spilled upon a
lonely canvas, displaying a sad but accurate portrayal
of him: the boy who grew up too fast..

They're both odd and difficult to understand;
they are the poems that do not rhyme, the ones with
breaks midway through lines. Scriptures written along
the brims of both their beings, about a precocious boy
with tattoos and a naïve girl with dreams.

Love and dreams and perfume and flowers,
stars and books and blood and tears,
tears and blood and fire and angst,
want and drugs and needles and hate.

But that's okay.

In their affair of little talks, awkward silences,
holding hands beneath tables and speaking with their eyes,
they make beautiful silk webs of words, which hang from
the ceilings, are strewn along the walls and cover them in
their sleep.
Words to lines to stanzas to poems to stories.
Never had there been a more bitter-sweet relationship than
that of two beautifully sad poems in love.
Where he won’t say ‘I love you’, and she swears she understands,
and he sits on the sidelines drinking, while she waits to be asked to dance.
old, but mine

— The End —