Meet me in my emotional depths,
And settle with me among the waves,
For I can get lost there sometimes,
And not come back for days and days.
But if you cannot meet me there,
Do not drag me into the shallows,
And dismiss my ocean of passion,
Because you can’t handle the shadows.
It can be dark and, oh, so cold,
But only on my darkest days.
It’s clean and pure and true,
Whether or not you understand my ways.
My depths are real and here to stay.
My depths are part of me,
So you cannot tread the deep,
You had better leave the sea.
If you choose to stay on shore,
While I am swimming in the surge,
Then be prepared to say goodbye,
For I don’t dwell amongst the verge.
It’s all or nothing, sink or swim,
But the shallows are not for me,
So come and meet me in my depths,
Or walk away from this empath sea.

Sometimes you just have to let go of someone who isn't willing to meet you amongst the waves of your emotional depth. Don't ever let an emotionally shallow person dismiss your depth.

an ocean rises
beneath your shallow
eyes and i have never
been so afraid of
d r o w n i n g
in my entire
l i f e

i'm still holding my breath for you
Tatiana Oct 29

Perched upon an unstable stone,
that made its home in shallow water
is a kind of woman who does exist.
The early morning brings mist
that settles around this daughter
who always ends up alone.

The brook murmurs softly to her
she places her palm on the surface
ripples form as the tension breaks.
And then the water takes
her hand down with purpose
to see how much she can endure.

Though this brook runs shallow
and its waters are calm and gentle
there is still a problem that remains.
Around her neck are heavy chains
and to stay upright is a struggle,
her hand slid as if drenched in tallow.

Her screams are her own to keep
as she disrupts the shallow water
rock shifting, body falling.
The chains' weight is appalling
crushing the will of this daughter
and in the shallows she drowned deep.

© Tatiana

Don't strive too hard
For acceptance from others.
Most people
Have a hard  time
Accepting themselves

Crimsyy Oct 14

you would have
liked me shallow
thoughts like dipping only
half a foot in the ocean
thoughts like simple
one sentence answers

you would have
liked me normal,
seeing black for black,
grey for grey

(on second thought,
grey is probably
just a darker shade of white)

you would have liked my soul
just as dull as you
but i'm a spark of colour
in a monochrome set of walls,
i am green life in
a concrete jungle

you would have liked
our discussions
to not even be discussion,
just small talk
half-assed thoughts,
lukewarm effort

but poets just don't think
like that.

our minds are
more like trees,
branching out in every
possible direction
landing on the moon and
settling for the stars
when we don't.

a/n: thankyou so much for reading! here's to the poets and to the few people that aren't shallow-minded.

jewel Sep 11

Recently I've noticed, that the world's skin deep. We've stopped looking past our features, and started scanning from head to feet. Closed minds don't matter, when your legs are open wide. Just like a personality is worthless, when you only want physically inside. We say we want to find love, but only indulge ourselves in lust. Just  to wind up brokenhearted, and wondering who we can trust.

This is just a short poem I wrote when I was dealing with some fake people.

We are the
Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah.
We have no ideology.
We have no theology.
We have no political convictions.
We take beautiful selfies
So people will see
How sexy we are.
We are the prostitutes' prostitutes.
Our lives are
A walking advertisement.
Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah.

This poem was influence by the recording, "Woman at the Edge of the World" by Eliza Soares from Brazil.

He’s a refugee of sorts
From society’s glitter gutter.
His nouveau riche attitude
Show in every word he utters.
That is where he’s from.
He’s nothing but glitter litter.
If he doesn’t get what he wants
He’s bitchy, obnoxious and bitter.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

His daddy bought him toys
Of the fanciest richest kind.
Dad didn’t care what it did to him.
He must have been blind.
He ruined the boy with money
Buying his way through college
So that when the boy left there
He had style and little knowledge.

Daddy gave him a nice fortune
To start off his spoiled whelp.
Son was never really good at much
But having a few million helped.
The kid liked glitz and glamour
And especially glittery women.
One after the other he used them
And never really got smitten.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

Now a few children later
They have become a bother.
They keep needing things
Like money from their rich father.
He wonders where they got
That sickening greedy habit.
He’s fears if they can get
His gold they'll surely grab it.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

Alissa Rogers Mar 2013

And yet again, I care too much.
It burdens my shoulders
and suffocates me everyday.
Thoughts of everyone, everything,
efforts to remember,
it has consumed me
as would a storm.
To think that they-even you,
never wanted me,
it was always her.
Compare us
and I will always come up short.
And? I shouldn't even care.
It is dangerously shallow water to swim in;
but I cannot yet let it go:
I wish terribly to be
just one person's first choice.

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