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MA Feb 24
Hey, I’mamess
Can I have a moment with you
Don’t you know that you’ve been looking like the world is against you?
Well, ya know
I’m just curious what the hell are you going through?
If you wanna talk, just tell me
I’m all ears for you

Hey, I’mamess
So you’ve been feeling stuck
And you can't figure out what’s causing you to feel like that
Could it be your mom, your dad, your grandma, or pa?
Or maybe it's just yourself
Oh, I guess that's that

And now you’re telling me you also feel uninspired
And you can’t even write a song, a poem, or anything that rhymes
Singing is now boring and your fingers are tired
Tired of playing the same tunes almost every night

Hey, I’mamess
I heard you know God
And you’re telling other people about His great love
I must say, it’s a good thing and I salute you for that
But now you’re telling me you’re a hypocritical wing nut

Hey, I’mamess
You are indeed a mess
You’re an unproductive, recalcitrant, idiotic wreck
But hey, I’mamess
A lot of people like you
They appreciate your talent and the things that you do

Lastly, I’mamess
I think the world is not really against you
You are a mess because you criticize you
I’m just talking to myself
lk ode Aug 2020
Poor little thing
spewing words like poison
gurgling, bubbling poison
a putrid mess from ****** lips.
still you have much to learn
Michael R Burch Jul 2020
by Michael R. Burch

I am her mirror.
I say she is kind,
lovely, breathtaking.
She screams that I’m blind.

I show her her beauty,
her brilliance and compassion.
She refuses to believe me,
for that’s the latest fashion.

She storms and she rages;
she dissolves into tears
while envious Angels
are, by God, her only Peers.

Keywords/Tags: reflection, mirror, image, anorexia, bulimia, cutting, reflections, self-image, self-worth, self-criticism, self-shaming, mrbref
maria Jan 2020
I'm sharing a house with her;
She's the moodiest person I know

She drinks her coffee without sugar
in the cold days,
and with sugar in the sunny days.
She calls it way of living;
      I call it lost of interest

She sleeps all day
to drive her demons away
     -I think
      she's creating more-
and if not,
she cries over a crack in the wall

Melancholy should be her second name
      -she annoys every cell in me
        I'm not even trying to explain-
so much sadness in a face
she destroyed the colours of our furniture  
in the very first day

I think of driving her off the house
but then,
  an abandoned house
is the most miserable thing
I can think about
voices in my head
I'm bored with myself
I am her that's annoyed
or am I, me that destroy?

written on January 25, 2020
© ,Maria
Allison Wonder Oct 2018
You feel so ignorant
When you share and express
Everything that haunts you
And what makes you a mess.

Yet nobody listens
Nobody seems to care
Unwilling to lend help
Or even say a prayer.

But once it's their turn
To cry on your shoulder
Your existence is essential
Forcing you to grow colder.

Don't take time for yourself
Accusations you've gone ghost
Even if being alone is
What you really need most.
Allison Wonder © 2018
thelemonpolice Jul 2018
I've got to be better,
I've got to do more!
You paint small paintings?
And I'll paint a wall.

I need to be better,
I need to make more,
I must be creative
Or else I'm a bore!

And all of these pressures
Swell up at my joints
And I just can't focus
To make me seem poised

And everything's blurry
As if I have choice
And everything's choking me
Even my voice

I've got to be better,
I've got to do more!
You've seen twenty countries?
Well me? Twenty four.

You got a good grade?
even a degree?
Just sit here and watch
While I tell you in glee

That I've got more houses
And I've got more cars
And I've had more boyfriends
And I've touched a shark
And I've snogged a stripper
And I've met the queen
And I've seen the things
that terrify me.

But maybe I'm lying,
and maybe it's false.
Maybe I'm ordinary,
It's just a pulse

It's all that we are
It's all that we'll be
There's truly not much
That separates me

There's nothing that's better
Than thinking your best
There's nothing that's worst than
Pretending to impress

And wasting your life
In elaborate lies
And pining for greatness
From unholy mind

It's stupid to care
And it's easy to fight.
What if all I want's hugs
At the end of the night?

And it's easy to suffer,
but I struggle to learn.
And I count all my blessings
As if they are burns

And it's scalding my mind
To recount all the goodness
Cause I just want to tear off
All the sutures

And yes this sounds crazy
I'm rambling thoughts
When have I been sane
Not for years I'd have thought

And if everyone's crazy
They hide it so well
Behind masks of confusers,
And bullies,
and well

I can't find my place
I don't really fit in
And sometimes I wish
I was my only friend

And I'd take me away
From everyone
Maybe then I'd enjoy
What you people call "fun"

And I just want to write
And I just want to scream
Cause things in my mind
Make people seem so mean

And I just want to travel
I just want to learn
But what is the point
If I end in an urn

Maybe that is the answer
There is no confliction
Your knowledge is power
We use to make fiction

So I'll tear me apart
And I'll suffer for days
And you'll draw open curtains
And I'll think that I'm saved
Aixela Jun 2018
I think guilt might be killing me.
Now you may ask yourselves: "What did I do to feel so?"
- **** someone?
No. Nothing so radical.
In fact, nothing that might actually warrant this level of guilt.

Misplaced guilt is like my personal ******* -
an addiction that my brain can't get rid of, constantly calling to be fed.
I latches on every small mistake
Sinks its claws deep into the marrow of my bones
and stews for a very long time -
whilst my brain vainly strives towards perfection.
NeroameeAlucard Oct 2016
You scratched the record
And now my head is back on repeat
It goes over that same beat
Over and over again to the point where
I don't even wanna attempt to speak

If silence is golden
Then I'm the biggest known mine
Because it feels as though I've been skating over myself when putting words into rhyme
Always the same topics from me and not to interesting metaphors

You scratched it like a DJ on turntables because I'm winding up to the end of this fable, I can still write and I'm more than willing and able but I gotta stretch my muscles again before I lose the sharpness on my pen, that's my sword

— The End —