Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
JT 2h
Suppose it starts
with wildfire;
lightning on
your driest trees
or once-loved campsites
left neglected, or kindling
that you'll never see--
it all burns just the same.

Suppose it starts
with wildfire;
flames beget
a blood orange sky
and magma pits
beside black trees,
and all your kindest woodland creatures
hurt and hide and crawl away--
and they burn all the same.

Suppose it starts
with wildfire;
see your landscape
on the hill, sickly scorched
with trees rail thin,
stark beside lush greenery,
almost lovely in how clear
the story of the suffering feels,
and burning's just the same.

So what if it starts
with wildfire;
there's no need
for water, seeds,
when warmth still crackles
in the wood and
you have pain and gasoline;
light the match and you will see--
it all burns just the same.
Kristen 4h
Saltwater has filled my lungs before.
I have felt this storm run over my skin,
felt the cracks of thunder and lightning
as the water dragged me down.
I fell in love with the bruises and the burns,
the pruned fingers and the gasping for air,
but you,
you are the dry land I have ached for all these years,
warm and soft
I have felt oxygen with you for the first time
I have laid down on your sands and felt the sun on my skin for the first time.

I am no longer a corpse,
a bruised and bloodied mass of guilt.
I will stand on these two shaky legs,
and feel the oxygen in my lungs,
and remind myself that
I am enough.
You have shown me that I am enough,
Feeling the sand between my toes reminds me that, despite everything, I am alive.
And that is enough.

I got addicted to the feeling of drowning every day,
and sometimes the storm ***** me in like an old habit
but I know that one day I will leave this ocean behind
and you will be there on the other side to guide me home.
And that
will be enough.
your happiness over mine...
back then and until now.
but tomorrow...
when the sun rises
in the east.
i'll try to find happiness
in its heat. and forget that
i risked almost everything.
so i can burn in yours.
Yesterday I weighed myself.⁣⁣⁣
On a scale.⁣⁣⁣
And had a huge breakdown.⁣⁣⁣
And hated the number.⁣⁣⁣
And hated myself.⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
But after thinking about it,⁣⁣⁣
After crying about it,⁣⁣⁣
After having 18843765345 thoughts about what to do about it,⁣⁣⁣
I did nothing.⁣⁣⁣
It’s ‘just’ a number.⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
How is the amount of times I made someone smile, ⁣⁣⁣
Measured in that number?⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
How is the love I’ve been giving,⁣⁣⁣
Measured in that number?⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
How are my memories, ⁣⁣⁣
travels, ⁣⁣⁣
personality, ⁣⁣⁣
friends, ⁣⁣⁣
life, ⁣⁣⁣
WORTH,⁣⁣⁣
f*cking dependant on a number?⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
It’s simply not.⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I weigh hope, ⁣⁣⁣
I weigh determination and ⁣⁣⁣
I weigh the fights I didn’t give in.⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I weigh the risk of the unknown,⁣⁣⁣
I weight the times I rose up when I thought I couldn’t,⁣⁣⁣
I weigh stories and kisses and adventures.⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I weigh the colours of the sunset and the dreams of the sunrise,⁣⁣⁣
I weight the sound of the rain and the smell of the earth, ⁣⁣⁣
I weigh the million pens I’ve used to write my story.⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
And all that ***** heavy.⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
I weigh so much more than I ever have,⁣⁣⁣
And I couldn’t care less about my weight.⁣⁣⁣
Because I weigh me, and that’s never too much and always enough.⁣⁣⁣
⁣⁣⁣
Yesterday I weighed myself.⁣⁣⁣
On a scale.⁣⁣⁣
And I realised ⁣⁣⁣
There will never be a scale that can weigh me.⁣⁣
⁣⁣
Written by: Maria
Haven't posted any poems in a while, but today I chanced upon this lovely poem which I believe would resonate with many of you too. Often we end up hating ourselves and getting depressed for many reasons- maybe because we think we are not good enough; maybe because we have set too high expectations for ourselves; maybe it is because we feel that we do not look as good as others or as skinny as others. Here is a reminder, and an encouragement for all of you out there who need this: You are NOT defined by your weigh; you are NOT defined by what others think of you; you are NOT defined by the challenges you face or your "failures". Everyone makes mistakes; everyone is special is their own way; no one if perfect and the most important thing is for us to take a deep breath and reflect: to realise that everyone is different and that we are unique in our own way and therefore we should love ourselves with our whole heart for who we are; to embrace our "flaws" and instead learn to love these aspects of ourselves as they are the things that make us special. How can you life be defined by a small mistake you made; a criticism you received from someone; or even just a simple number on the scale? How plausible is it for you to hate yourself and want to change yourself just because of that? Your life is precious. Our live are worth more than these minute things-- if ony we would take the time to pause; to reflect; and to see the beauty in life- and most importantly-your own beauty. Love yourself ♡

Have a great day everyone :)
I’m being told to practice honesty,
so honestly,
getting sober kind of really *****
most of the time.
I take my medication every morning,
I go to my meetings at night.
I fill in the spaces with adjectives and nouns and bad reality tv.
I make my phone calls
and attend my appointments
and talk truthfully with the counselors
who have the same credentials as me.

But I float along on my “pink cloud”,
happy to not be bleeding out of my nose
or begging my racing heart
to please, calm down.
I feel things,
maybe less intensely than before
but in a real sort of way,
that isn’t filtered through
whatever I decided to numb myself with.
It’s not exciting, it’s not glamorous,
but I guess I’d rather live this way
than trudge through hell every day
and die a disappointment.
Lydeen 2d
Finally
I can wake up in the morning
And be okay.

And not just... Okay....
Really.
Okay.

OCD is still an
Unwelcome
Visitor

The self loathing
Is still here,
Sometimes,

But I'm really okay.
I work a 9-6 job,
Sleep regular

Talk to boys,
Argue and talk back,
Get tired

My problems aren't gone.
They're still
Very much present

But,
I'm dealing with them,
Finally
I want to write about this, because it still hurts.
Maybe it shouldn’t.
Regardless, it does.

Because I am ready to let this voice go, this evil in my mind,
But then I see her figure, skinny-minny, and I try to
Forget about all the pain and heartache,
And instead remember the control, the discipline,
And how it felt to feel lovable.

I do not look like her,
And I am still grieving the possibility
Of ever looking like her.

But I can’t be tortured anymore.
I can’t keep being the torturer, either.

I see her prance around, delicate and lightweight. .
And talk about how she wouldn’t fit into her high school prom dress,
She’s no longer a size 6,
And it hurts.
Because I am.

It won’t hurt much longer, though.
I am getting stronger, still,
Even when my weakness shines through at the sight
Of her sharp collarbones, her
Boyfriend calling her pretty,
her effortlessly getting on a pair of jeans.

I am getting stronger, and maybe not because I want to,
But because I have to.
If I ever want to be anything other than beautiful,
That is.
its hard to let go, but its necessary.
Sometimes I wonder
If those who've never experienced the grueling lows of depression
Truly experience the moment
When the sun catches your soul in just the right way
And you finally feel warmth in your bones.
Jul's 4d
I wanna escape
To a place were there is love
Instead of everyone who don't believe in me
  There is a cape in my heart that needs to be filled
No matter what some one pulls me down
Right when I'm happy with myself
I have worked so ******* my sobriety
I just feel people in recovery understands me better
I am a better person now
I'm not in a fog nomore, an I'm not a push over nomore
I'm the one who's gonna win an the people
Who support me in it
Sam 4d
how
another chapter just keep reading
hearts not broken but im bleeding
the other half will never care
though shes numb shes always there

smiling words when she cuts me
dripping venom while she guts me
im always winning or on the way
numb im numb another day

you can do a lot when you dont feel pain
but not so much when you feel insane
my body aches from standing up
i have good friends to fill my cup

or my lungs
my head
my heart
expectations will rip you apart

thats why im bad thats why im bad
you expect too much from me dad
ill cut your trust ill burn your hope
mom its just how i coop

i love you all i love you now
dont ask where just ask how
this poem has a lot of mixed emotions attached to it
Next page