Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
danna22081 Jul 8
It might be said:

All this time, I was searching in every
Place, every dwelling led by the tugging vessels of my heart.
I never thought to peer into my very self.
I hold the answer to the greatest of my nerves;
Not all is contained in the perfected, coiled curves
Of a brittle, interchangeable key.

My change is inevitable…
And slight refinements in the wards and cuts
Of the key I believed I would keep
Are therefore inevitable.
And so the doors of justice obnoxiously flashed before my eyes,
But what I saw was not quite anticipated.

It was not quite the epitome of ecstasy,
Nor the quintessence of miscellaneous puzzle pieces,
Mending their corners and edges within one another,
Settling within the dull patches of irreversible actions and traits.
I saw one thing, one person,
And that was me, looking into myself.

For I am the three dimensions,
And I consume the elements which I so
Continuously twist into myself…
Every time I peer into the beaming, towering doors before me
With the assistance of one, temporary key.
But I can never decipher the elements I intermittently hold.
I finally understood the value of one key; that is, once it was held amongst many before it.
Isa Jul 6
I used to
the days between when he
yelled at me
and when he didn't.
when he asked for ***
when he asked me to
leave my home
at 2 am
to **** me.
though I said no.

when he used to tell me
that what God I believed
was stupid
and wrong
and it was
I was so ignorant.
close minded
and insignificant

that if my health
wasn't as bad
as his sister's friend,
it didn't matter.
because someone else was suffering
so I don't need help.
not my physical body
that was spontaneously trying to die
mattered at all.

but he would need it if he wanted *** again anyways.

"I don't know" was not no.
"I don't want to" wasn't no.
that if it was said two weeks ago
didn't count now
then it still wasn't a

I wasn't to be trusted.
so track my location,
track what I said to any ears
that weren't yours
"is she lying?"
"is she cheating?"
"is she gone?"

he would yell and yell and yell at me until I was bawling on my tile floor
wondering when I could ever be happy again
with a thousand diseases and the pressure
of giving that diseased body to you.

because you would need it if you wanted *** again anyways.

because even though you were absolute trash
but I believed you were God
I ended up asking myself,
"if he can't love me,
who will?"
if even garbage
doesn't want me,
will want me?

who will want me?

I'm less than garbage.
I'm less
i don't know if i'll ever understand my pain
danna22081 Jun 5
It might be said:

I would love to speak to you,
To read your state of mind,
To understand your hue
Of shades which seem to shape,
Which seem to mould your own sense of self.

Speak to me!
Enlighten me... tell me...
Why you seem to have denoted
Your form of communication with me,
When everyone else seems to be understating this perpetuating perception.

For I consist of eyes
Which strenuously stretch to the very depths
Of people’s lives.
The very details,
Which undoubtedly entail the ****** within their narratives of life.

The emotionally-driven sector of my brain
Prohibits me from detaching my attention,
From the issue upon the boat which sails...
Within a stormy sea of tenacious tides...
And waves which withhold my bail, and enlightenment.
I have written this poem as a psychological response to a particular issue in which I am not very much involved, however engaging in, myself. Forgive me if the poem is too vague.
I feel as if I am trapped in this box,
Where everyone else has put me
But I know I don’t belong.

Suffocated - they make me feel it,
I can’t stand existing inside this bubble:
The walls are thick, there’s no way out,
It’s the home of the unfound,
Where they put people like me who they can’t make sense of,
Patients they can’t diagnose unless it’s with the term “functional.”
I know there are others,
But I feel so alone,
Isolated from being understood
By the only people who are able to help me.

They won’t help me,
I try to fight back, I try to scream
Either no one hears me, or they take it as a mark of insanity.

It’s hard to speak up,
When you know the process all too well,
You walk in, they repeat things that hurt you (psychosomatic), and then you walk out,
Though you don’t know how,
Because inside you’re torn down again,
Answers aren’t found and each time is worse,
You’re still struggling but they insist
That you’re as healthy as you’ve ever been,
So once again you’ve been missed,
By professionals trained to catch out illness.

Every time your reality trips you down again,
You repeat the words they told you:
“You’re fine,”
You tell yourself you can do it
-But not out of encouragement,
Instead of disdain, because when no one acknowledges you
Why should you not question yourself?
We are taught from a young age these are the people you should depend on and treat with respect,
So even when they toss you aside:
Remember to say “thank you” and walk out with a smile,
Seeing as they believe that you really are wasting their time.

This is what nightmares are made of,
Except when you’re both asleep and awake
It’s always still there.
It’s hard enough passing each day this way,
But without an ounce of recognition,
I wonder why I should even stay.

I don’t want to do this anymore,
But still I have to knock on doors,
Basically asking people to reject what I live,
Constantly trying to prove that I’m sick,
To countless people who don’t give a ****.
It’s already too much effort existing like this,
Yet I have to get out of my bed to prove it,
Even though each time they write an essay about me being fine,
Or maybe a few words because I’m such a waste of time.
I face what I fear everyday because my health’s at fault,
Yet they say it’s not really at all.
It’s been a year and they still have the audacity to tell me,
It’s because I’m not coping mentally.

Maybe I am a mess psychologically,
But I want you to know, it’s only because of them.
I would be stable, I’d be perfectly fine,
If they didn’t keep coming around telling me my efforts are wasted,
That I just can’t deal with my mind no matter how much I already put in,
So clearly I will just never be fixed.
It’s what they’ve told me though, it’s all of their responses and words,
That made me question my sanity,
That dredge up all of my anger for them,
Because not one bit of acknowledgement did they spread.

So here I lay,
Stuck in this box where no one can see me,
I can’t fix myself because - it wasn’t my state of mind that was broken.
I’ve been here for four-hundred-and-seventeen days,
Where I try to imagine a future where I’ll be safe,
But the trauma of looking for a diagnosis I know will stay,
Because they told me it was only caused my trauma in the first place,
But the only kind I’ve experienced
Is the kind they inflicted whilst I was already suffering.
Are you sure?
I've never really noticed.

You did a lot of huffing,
I did a lot of coughing.

I've never been sure of your intentions,
Were you looking to build me up from a faulty foundation?

Favoring straw over stone, cause you never really liked this settlement that much to begin with.

Your icy words did little to warm my tiny, dingy rooms, plummeting in my fireplace like soaked logs.

With the continuing weight,
I was forced further down.

Yet you had provided,
that was your thing.

For quality you had no regard,
It was all about quantity.

Money over love,
duty over kind words,
outer appearances over warm hearts.

You could have turned me into a mansion,
yet after all these years I remain a hut.

A shoddy and run-down hut.

Are you sure you're a father?
©Laure Winkelmans
So much pain
Outrun the brain
Situated under chandeliers
In the old, ailing cavern
Reverberating ghouls
Lick the well of my ear
And now I am frightened
By the notion of the sun

Twisted asunder
Incisive thoughts
Corrupted domain
I live under a sky blue dome
A construct of my headmasters
Where I roam
Restless in the gloam

The brain has weighed me down
To my knees
I cannot find my knees
Or my eyes
My crooked fleece cannot protect me
From the chartreuse breath of the past

Life does me no favours
I will give it everything
Until I am hollow and adjusted
Senile and peculiar
Must the brain remain?
Must the brain remain?

My words are a disservice
To the motions of the planets
They cannot grace this life
How little it all may matter
You are a night sun and I am blind
in my heart till I left god
a person who feels like death with two hands
and one thought

I can't face the lost moments
even when you hold me up

is a dream
inside is a

one that I knew more about
than life itself

you are always walking alongside me
one thought
one throat two hands
Kaden Mar 19
chaining myself down is not encouragement
forcing me by the hand is not motivation
direction is not inspiration
honesty is not a policy
i'm honestly, not okay
stop the screaming

use a led ship the side of a button
it'll sail through the abandoned mind
looking for a lighthouse
but there is no light in this house
the doors have been locked for years
i locked them
don't let the monsters in
i didn't realise i was the monster

isolation is not safety
i'm not safe inside my head
a ship has found me
offers me sleep
and i'm tired
my head hasn't rested in days
the ship enters me and i fall asleep.
Next page