Writing writing Tomorrow I would be written off My book value For some may be zero For some millions Scrap value for all zero For some I may be a hero For some a zero Others may consider a villain All these would be opinions I shall go An elevated soul It's my opinion The fact would remain You won't find me Even If you spend trillions Writing writing Tomorrow I would be written off Whatever my book value An elevated soul I shall go It's my opinion
I float without meaning, just my head in the clouds dreaming . . I'm stressing myself out, just; to have recognition that I can do something meaningful . . and to distract me from the eyes of envy that kills me slowly, oh so slowly Even though I am far younger then most people here . . I long for the talents they have because I am surrounded by people whose talents greater than I have . . I take a scroll every day; and see them I don't like it; but it's okay . . . "It's alright," . . Since that's what I always say right? . . I feel like a fragment; either reused as something greater or . . . . . I want to disappear without trace; and memories of the sea along with the sky; that lacks its own sense in a weird way
I tried writing a poem using one word in mind. I also tried making it look like a transverse wave.
I always say that once a friendship breaks and mends back again, that it’s never the same No matter how much you want it to be the same... It never will be A relationship is like a piece of glass When it shatters, all of those pieces scatter And you find yourself left to pick up the pieces You get hurt... hurt from the sharp edges of the glass and hurt by the person who broke it You try to fix it... You think you’ve put it back together again but there are some pieces missing... You don’t know what happened to them You spend hours searching and then tell yourself that you don’t need those pieces That the pieces are not important But deep down you know... You know that it’s incomplete You know that it’s no longer perfect You know that it won’t be the same anymore But you don’t want to let yourself know that You put on a smile... You don’t let them know they’ve hurt you You don’t let them know you’re incomplete That whatever you guys had is broken and different and imperfect And it hurts, it hurts when you think about it It hurts that you cut yourself on the glass of what you had and it hurts that you want it back to the way it was But... it can’t go back It can’t go back because the pieces are missing It can’t go back because the glass isn’t the same anymore It can’t go back because now, you’re left with shattered glass
I always used the metaphor of shattered glass as a representation of a broken relationship with someone. I finally made that metaphor into words.
They say that, “the saddest poems are the ones that were never read by the person they were written for” But how do I tell you that... you’ve read all the poems I wrote about you You just didn’t know they were for you
A scrap of writing I did on somebody I love but won’t love me back, at least not like that