Decisions are like leaves of a tree Some are good and others bother me They are fed by the rains of emotion And the winds of relations but them in motion After a little, a couple will fall But even after a while, a few remain of the all The winds of relation might blow them away None of those good or bad leaves will stay But then again, they might regrow How many good or bad, you will never know.
You gave birth to me so you are my Mum. You raised me so you are my Mum. You taught me things so you are my Mum. No matter what, you are my Mum.
You are my Mama My Mutti My Mother and my Mum.
You make me feel bad and guilty. You tell me what you bought for me and what you made me. You criticize the way I look and control how much I eat. You tell me when I gain weight and tell me not to cheat. You say I am no good, when I do something wrong. But you tell me you love me and that you only want me to be strong.
Maybe I have stopped knowing What the meaning of love is. Maybe this is just your way of showing Thinking I'd give you cheers and happy tears.
But you tell me not to cry. It makes You look weak. You tell me to **** it up And not to speak.
Whenever something happens you stand by. You only watch while I apply. Concealer and foundation to cover up. On my skin another layer of makeup.
Covering up the signs of sleepless nights Not showing to the outside what really happens at night. The blue and purple spots on my skin Caused by my own will and sinn.
You wonder why my brother never calls Calling him ungrateful and starting new brawls. Not with him but with me Hating that he is living carefree. Free from your words and actions And free from your reactions.
You say that you have it oh so tough. And that we give you a time that is oh so rough. You always awake my sympathy Making me a prisoner while you hold the key.
We should be grateful to have a mother like you. That we’re not going through the same things you went through. You are so much better than your own mother And you most definitely are better than your own father.
You might not do the ***** work yourself. But still I feel ***** hearing your words. Manipulating me left and right Making me shiver and cry at night.
I have nothing left for you than feeling sorry. You could’ve done things different but instead you chose to worry. Worry about your image and what people say Too focused on having the perfect family image to portray.
In a few years I will be leaving this place you call home I’ll finally be free and leave you to figure out your own syndrome. And one thing I know for sure is that my life Will leave you not being a mother but merely a wife.
Indestructible. Why do I have to be? Indestructible! Try me! - I always seem to cry. Disappointment. Again. Again! I dare you, I invite you! Sadness. Tears. Again. Again! And yet, still I stand. Or, the very least, I get up. Again. Again! But why am I indestructible? I wish I could break - or worse: Shatter! Surely, then MY feelings would matter?! But all your blazes are but tealights for me. Indestructible. I am! Indestructible! I sigh. Again. Again! Smite me - at worst I‘ll buckle; but never break or shatter.
Poet and poems The relation is like undefined "Mother for child" "Heartbeat for heart" "Oxygen for breathe" without a poem poets feel soulless Their heart cry when they loose their poems Everything is poem for a poet "Money and Health" prosperity is poem for a great poet Writing is their passion Reading is their hobby. i feel that "POET AND POEMS" emotions
No one can define POET AND POEMS relation undefined relation filled with all happiness. i loose my poems,i Feel like loose of everything Thanks for reading.
It is friday night and I am looking at a boy with brown eyes, Two colourful orbs, whispering soft lullabies, They swirl with fallen leaves and hidden ember Keeping me warm on this cold night of November.
We are kissing and kissing in each shade and hue, Tonight I can’t feel sorrow, for once i’m not feeling blue, Instead, colors fill my night while our heart are dancing. I am a kaleidoscope that will never stop spinning.
I had addictions which all appeared in colors, Hands stained with red, purple knuckles that are sore, Black holes in my head as I drank pink strawberry shots, But also the absence of tints and the white of my thoughts.
This time, though, the thing that is flooding my brain Is not the yellow of the granules soothing the pain, Nor is it the pale gray of the smoke of a cigarette, But the brown of your eyes I could never forget.
Don’t you dare stare away. Please don’t look down. Tonight I am looking for hope and hope has the color brown.