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Inevitable Feb 11
To the few people i've given away my secrets to:

The moments I spilled my truth to you, the fragile flame I call hope had finally emerged from the deepest cracks I call me, and cried for help.

I don’t do it for attention.

Okay maybe i do it for “attention” but when you call help “attention” it makes it feel wrong.

I remember when I realized she was telling on us.

i know when I walk late at night and the quieted light I call life, inside me, flickers weakly and posts my 2, 3, 4am walks for anyone to see
she is screaming for help

I realized one day those walks were filled with hope of an inevitable demise. These sidewalks have no place for any being at hours when demons creep but i'm so comfortable under the moonlight with my demons in tow. ******* help me

One of the most dangerous signs for me is when you think im fine
spoiler alert i dont think ill ever be fine but

You see me in public. You see me smile. You see me reach out and make plans.

This my dear friends is my goodbye

Just to make your last memory sweet because it’s all you ever wanted for me
But so unattainable.. Until now
Kole J McNeil Dec 2020
Her eyes blue
Her hair a soft brown
She is perfect

She doesn't see her worth
She keeps going after the guy that hurt her
Over and Over

I wish she could see how much she is worth
She means the world to me
But she keeps hurtong herslelf for a guy who doesn't love her

I cant stand to see her hurt
She deservs the world
She is tall and smart and beautifull
She is funny and kind and soft
She has soft hands

She's loud but gental
She is a picture perfect girl

All I want is she
She is which I am living
She is which I am happy
She is which I long

She is my Yellow
My Blue
My Red
My Green
My Orange
She is my rainbow
She is my light
She is my stars
She is my galexy
She is my moon

And she is my insomnia
She is my reson
She is my guding hand
And she is the badage of the wounds I give myself
And she is the trash that took the blades
And she is the mended heart break
She is the bottle that I never picked up again
She is the pills I put back in the cabnet
She is...
Jaicob Nov 2020
There once was an ordinary girl.
She kept the most beautiful garden.
She tended it often to keep the beds vibrant:
Her flowers were the brightest,
Most eye-catching scarlet.
She hid their Garden from others
Out of fear for what they'd say.
Her Garden is kept secret- It's only for her.

One hot summer day, Mother found the Garden.
Our protagonist was yelled at and forced to stop
Because her parents didn't want her having
A Red Garden.

She tried to stop gardening.
She now hides the faded plants.
She hopes nobody will find them.

She is now writing so she doesn't garden.
The gardener wants to stop
To keep her parents happy, she needs to.

No matter how addicting gardening is,
She has to stop.
No matter how beautiful the red flowers look
Our gardener needs to stop.
She doesn't want to be sent away.


So if you see somebody's Red Garden,
Or even the dried, withered bodies of flowers,
Please don't ask them about it.
They'll just lie about their Garden-
explaining it away as clumsiness
Or scratching themselves on something.
This is a free-verse poem that uses metaphorical language to explore a very deep topic which hits close to home for me and potentially others, This poem may be triggering for some. Please know that you aren't alone, and I, myself, am dealing with this terrible addiction. If you need to reach out, or even if you just want a friend, don't hesitate to DM me on Instagram: @darlingdrawingqueen
Where were you something so deep, so cold?
Trapped in the wishing well of the untold.
Surrounded by meer memories of my past, I am never to see the present.
Why is it for myself I hold all this resentment?
I'm mad at myself, for I am so weak.
Days are passing and breath feels bleak.
I would always play by that wishing well, never knowing what time would tell.
Jump, climb, try to survive..
Although my inner hopes can barely thrive.
Breathe! Breathe, I'm starting to choke..
I miss my home, I'm so alone, falling deeper into onset misery, setting up my life for catastrophes.
Losing, losing! My humanity; I've sunk deep into my own insanity.
Now I have fallen, now I am gone;
now this wishing well is full of my blood.
I wrote a poem about two years ago, and hated it.
But I went back to it recently and changed it a bit, and here is the outcome. I hope it's good, I don't really know
Postpone your worries and follow me through my imagination,
Act upon your wrongs and fall for their sedations.
Progress runs behind protection, projected
As living when death's deeply invested.
Vibrant red always becomes so much deeper.
Everyone tells me I'll heal but I'm not a believer.  
Relief is when I release it all completely,

Repeating history until it kills me.
Hover losses as shadows watch,
Oh the concern as all hope dislodged,
Evenings now tempt you to
Alleviate them for no longer,
Send me away from here forever.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
Matilda Aug 2019
Morning, day and night,

hopelessly I wonder,

Knowing nothing better?

Facing other fears?

I saw red and I saw silver.

when has blunt steel been useful?

like a wave of light,
there is nothing
there is silence.

then the guilt draws in, tiptoeing silently,
was it worth it?
what had I done?

there are no riddles no games

that was me
or was it me
so I have no idea what I'm doing but if you could give me advice I would appreciate it a lot thanks
Lot Mar 2019
Red and white vivid
The colours swirl together
Down the kitchen drain
Dylan Mcconnell Jan 2019
Anxiety sips from me
as though I’m it’s only bird feeder in the area
Depression eats away at me
as though I can only suffice for half of it's needs
And tonight? It’s hungry as it’s ever been.
Trauma kills me
As if it was an eagle looking for roadkill
Me being the roadkill
Drug abuse nailed me in the head waiting to **** me.
Waiting to **** me due to the fact I've been defeated.
So there they sit, all trying to defeat, the defeated me.

Bite me.
Maia Vasconez Jan 2019
She looked at me and pulled the scissors out of my hands. Her eyes drift towards my arms. She says she never trusted me with anything sharp.

I have serrated edges
I need someone to keep me away from high places
They read my diary pages and look at me like my guts are hanging out
She tells me I'm made of glass and she is getting tired of existing as an ambulance

Sometimes I go out too deep
I put so many holes in the ship I can't believe it didn't sink
A zipper on each wrist,
a body scratched like an old disk.
I needed a life vest
I needed bandages
I needed sutures
I needed stitches

I wound up stranded
in a doctors office
where they asks how bad
it hurt on a scale of 1-10

I came with
etched into my limbs
I scar like tree bark

I never get better
The nurses used scotch tape to put me back together
This poem has been inside me for years. I finally spit it out.
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