Jen Oct 1

Every time I wake up, I open my eyes.
I scan my room seeing it fills with my stuff;
my guitars, my desk, my mirror, my pain..

Locked door, shut windows, absence of lights.

As I scan through this sad dark room with trapped air from
days ago gasping for freshness while I was fine with
carbon monoxide filling my room every single day.

I feel safe when I'm in my room.
I feel safer when I lock the door to my room.
And I feel even more safer when I turn off the god damn lights of my room.

I'm not alone.. No. I have people. People in my room.
They are shadows and darkness and they try to be my friends.
I rejected them. I rejected them since the first time I met them.
But when things are falling and my ground is shaky,
They come scrambling for me and tell me this is the time when they come in handy.

I hate myself. I punish myself.
I punish myself because I let them in.
I let them control me.

My room is like a dead party.
When I leave,
my room literally becomes empty.
When I storm back in,
They were waiting, stretching their ugly, rotten, dark, arms
to grab me and my poor bastard soul.
Sucking on my energy, my happiness, my only source of joy
out from my mind, my body and my soul making me feel
so god damn tired.

And when I am tired,
I lie.
I lie on my bed
Feeling half dead
as I bury my face on my pillow, sad.
I try to sleep..

But I can't. I can't fucking sleep not even a minute.
Not even a second. Not even when my brain begs for a little rest.
I am so sorry brain but I don't know how to make it stop.

And I wonder and keep on wondering,
My room needs help.. or maybe I need help?

Contains vulgar language.

i met god, he said
"nobody prayed for you,
you didn't even pray for yourself"
i said
"i didn't know i was supposed to"

you're supposed to help yourself as much as you want other people to help you. oops...
Cat Pollock Aug 25

Turned self hatred to ego death
Order out of chaotic mess
I have sinned, I must confess
From denying that I am blessed

For I’m a vessel for the power
Big and bright, to which I cower
Self-protecting, sad wallflower
Procrastinate my finest hour

My heart expired, my talents latent
The Universe frowns at complacence
Signalled for change in ways so blatant
Uncovered what was truly fated

So “no more!”, I said aloud
In a tone uncanny and proud
Gathered the few truths I found
Stood for justice, stood my ground

Wielded tools for reinvention
Based on only good intention
So whilst my past begs for a mention
I’m better pressed to break convention

Break myself and forge another
Birth my own daughter and mother
Court my own subconscious lover
Love yourself, then love each other

Because life’s too short to kill yourself
It’s got that sorted, watch your health
Harness your power, know your wealth
You’ll gather dust sat on that shelf

it's a little too cold,
the spaces between us,
ice sinks like truth
deep in my bones

I know I said I love you
I know you know I meant it,
dream of tangling fingers
as I pull away

friends that call me turtle
for the funny faces I make
but now I'm edging back into my shell
thinking they just know me

a little too well
and it's a little too close
for comfort—what's comfort?
hell, I'm just kidding myself

help me, I'm breaking down
no, leave me,
can't save me now
just know: I hate myself for this

these lips pushed and pulled
forming shapes
to imagine your kiss,
a kiss I'll never get to taste

please let me drift.
more space between us;
let the ice sink like truth
deep in our bones

sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
and I love you and I'm
leaving, gotta leave here
don't wanna be replaced

Alvira Jun 19

i watch people throw those three words
around like they're nothing but decoration.
'i love you' spilling out in the middle of the night,
instead of 'thank you for listening'.

'i love you' instead of 'i like us',
because nobody wants to feel unloved,
and nobody wants to admit they're afraid
of being alone, of being forgotten.

so he says those words to her, trusting
that when she says them back, she'll mean them.
it seems that he hopes that when he says those words,
that she'll stay; that she'll continue to love him.

but what if, in the end, we're all lying?
what if we're all pinning those words in hopes,
hopes that they will stay, and we plaster on a smile,
hoping that they can love us, as we need.

broken and left behind, we pin our hopes
onto those three little words and we listen intently
for them to be said back. we seem to trust, all too much,
in the shared words.

but, when we find out that things won't work,
and the relationship crumbles, we struggle to be okay.
we lose the hope that someone can love us as we need,
we lose the hope that we can love as someone else needs.

i feel like this is more of a train of thought than a poem.

I flee in fear as the enemy grows near,
I stumbled as a bullet passes my ear.
I stand, I turn running away with a tear,
I fall down as if I was hit with a spear.

I took on this war a long time ago,
With myself I had hoped that I could grow.
I lay down beginning to rot away,
The hours passed as I begin to fade.

I wake up and I see these wounds of mine,
Glowing as if I was filled with such life.
Slowly my wounds begin to heal and fade,
And such I begin to fight another day.

Never did I knew that that day drew near,
As I remember those days fleeing in fear.
Now I stand and fight my demonic night,
And I shall die with my tears shining bright.

I lay in this self-made grave from a self-made war,
Yet again my heart glows as if being revived.
I faced myself and gave myself a scar.
Yet it was healed by an angel from afar.

Inspiration from a post I saw about the phenomenon of the "Angel's Glow" during the American Civil War. I have applied it to my battle with myself.

She has never taken a silver spoon to the contents of her head,
or buried her body in a lover's empty bed.  

She is not the old jacket hanging on the back of the chair-
but the inhabitant, a throne's rightful heir.
I imagine a life where there are no ghosts in the mirror;

when friends talk about their fathers, there's no bile in her throat-
the thought of spilling the contents of her stomach is an unfunny joke.
She doesn't change into her clothes as if a gun ha
d been pulled,

or dream of Icarus’ voice, “Jump” he goads
She looks both ways before crossing the road.

Her fingers don't pry at a laceration's half-hearted mend
or dig into her womb when the wind howls for her end.

Substances don’t brush away her thoughts,
Or birth them again.

This stranger version of me-
probably so easy to understand-
not a martyr in the least.

I imagine without these callous grooves in my flesh;

I couldn't figure out how to fill the empty spaces of others
or hide myself
just right
under the covers.

pondering who I might be, had certain privileges not been taken from me

sky as grey as my dreams
it's spring but winter clings
my hands are always cold,
my arms goose pimpled
and I sit in a t-shirt
doing nothing about it,
this chill that lingers
on my skin, in my bones

don't touch me with your
warm hands
I don't deserve the heat,
let me freeze over into ice
and push me under sea,
sky as grey as my dreams
it's spring but winter clings
I'll soak up the salt water
drown myself to peace

Faith Marino May 5

her hair falls down her back and
glistens as she flaunts passed me

she has new jeans and heels that click down the hallways announcing her

she smiles at everyone and it is so
clean and beautiful that you can't help
but stare

her skin is smooth like the girls'
in the commercials that flash on your

if i am compared to a daisy in a field
of roses then she is the earth
in which they sprout from

she is the definition of lady like
while I am the elbows on the table
at dinner time

she is the girl next door
the one you marry and have at least
2.5 children with

i am the one who has whispered
curses and disappointing stares to
define her

she is not sugar and honey but instead
is the combination of lavender and pine

relaxing and natural

i am hours in the mirror
staring at my reflection wondering
when will it start answering back

she doesn't own a mirror for fear
that she will behave selfishly
because looking at yourself is vain

i think looking at myself
is punishment that i was so wrongly
convicted with

but my paroles aren't short lived
it's a constant voice in my head
saying i'll never be like her

she is everything i am not
because i am not like her
but i want to be

i want to be someone i'm not, but what else is new
Next page