A broken mirror gives the wrong reflection
But you managed to hide your cracks from the world
I can still see them, seeping with lies

Innocence
Corrupted with the guilt of knowing
That you could see yourself what you were doing

Destruction of happiness
A hollow body with a soul that had died
You were at the threshold, made it slower, more painful

I couldn't bare it any longer
I was suffering silently
You were watching me with a smile on your face

You could see I was hurting
Pretending you cared
But laughed when I finally gave up

Everyone loves you
But they don't see who you really are
A broken mirror, pretending to be perfect

~Several years of bad luck~

I need a little help
I took a little break
See I have to work, work, work!
Otherwise I'll be a lazy good for nothing!
Its ALL work and then SOME play.
But if its SOME work then surely its NOTHING at all.

Words, word, words!
I can think them just fine,
Some days I'll even speak them quietly, to myself.
But here lies the problem, I lose them in translation.

I am thinking, I am thinking
Such a good line, such a clever prose.
Open the pad and notebooks and not a word goes!
I am thinking, I am thinking
Such a good line, such a clever prose.
Open my mouth and its out the window!

I want my words back,
I want to write,
I want to write poetry
I want to just empty my mind
I want to leave out all the words
I want to be satisfied with these little things.

This was a start, I am sure it helped.
It had to.

Rebel Heart Apr 14

Well I'm crashing, barely breathing
The feeling I've lost all control
On the driver's seat, but who's driving?
I'm sitting slowly losing my soul

You told me it would get better
Told me to give it some time.
Is it time enough now though,
Now that I'm bleeding out in rhyme

Flipping over and over again
While broken shards of memories lost
Burn through my bleeding brain.

Crashing and turning over again
While sounds of sirens drown me out
Driving me insane

Yet the impossible promises never stop
"You're going to be okay"
I'm gasping and drowning for air
While you're begging me to stay

So close to the end
And I never felt more alive
I just took a shortcut out
Of this never-ending drive

"...in a major accident..."
And the voices are drowned out by chimes
Because the only mistake I ever made
Was struggling to live all this time

So what's so bad about that?
I'l never see the finish line
But there was nothing waiting for me there anyway
Except a simple "dead end" sign

A poem I dug up from about a year ago but still gets my feelings right today

Stop.
Please stop,
with the little blonde
with the short hair,
doe eyes, like chipped ice,
and the tall slim blonde
with the gray eyes behind
glasses, and double braids.

Stop.
Please stop,
with the pale brunette,
with the small breasts
and crocodile smile
framed with coal black eyes,
and the brunette
with the page boy, thick lips,
and perky c-cup tits.

Stop.
Please stop,
with the freckle-speckled redhead,
with the thick ass and thighs,
forever flirting with my fire,
and the cream clear redhead,
with the tight butt, prismatic gaze,
and double-d rack.

Please.
Keep them away from me.
Or I will be forced to use
what you gifted to me,
to make them mine,
if only for a little while.
Please.
Tell me which one I'm supposed
to walk with, from now on
until the sun swallows the earth.

Or, kill me where I stand.

Dear Jesus, I beseech thee.

Permutations, that all bend before my smile, have me longing for those pre-saved days.
Paige McCulley Mar 20

Heart pounds
Hands shake

Getting dizzy
Need a break

Anxiety falls like rain down on me
I really hope that no one sees

How small, how scared
How scared, how small

I'm really struggling with it all

Leigh Marie Mar 15

I tell you bout my trips and everything I’ve seen
about my laughter and what I’ve learned but
I’m afraid to tell you that I feel like I’m losing myself again
that stopping my medication was the wrong decision
like I am trapped in this opportunity, can't get out and can't go home
I don't tell you about being filled with regret
that my flashbacks hurt more than I expected
That I lost my safe place and I feel abandoned

You did yoga today and I travelled some more
I laughed a little, and took a nap
you're seeing your friend tomorrow
I know what you are doing
but how are you doing

Hannah Mar 13

There are days
that I have
where I don't
want to face,
chewing,
or doing,
or running
the race.
I just want
to lay here,
head lost
in space,
but reality
comes laughing
reminding me
there's no escape,
so I tell myself
get up,
start moving,
you're being
such a waste.

~ today is one of those days.
Hannah Feb 28

I love you so much,
you never miss my cues.
I'm always here waiting,
watching all that you do.
I make sure you're perfect,
not whiny or shrewd.
I'm always in your head,
controlling what you chew.
I won't leave your side,
we are stuck like glue.
I've been your best friend,
since the time you were two.
I love watching you move,
it's quite a beautiful view,
but if you make a mistake,
I'll beat you black and blue.

We met at the bar
No, I was way too young
We met at school
No, you were way too old
We met at 7/11
No, you wouldn’t have stayed and talked to me
We met taking a cigarette break outside the 7/11
No, you would smoke in your car
We met at a bar I was too young to be in
No, I didn’t go out like that when I was young
We met at the library
No, you don’t read
We met at the grocery store
No, you live a town away from me
We met at the Christmas concert
No, you hate organized functions
We met at Barnes and Noble
No, you still don’t read
We met at an underground music show
No, I wasn’t that cool
We met at the park
Maybe, but why were you at a park?
We met at a family party
No, it was a secret from them all alone
We met at an alumni thing
No, I wasn’t an alumni yet

Rewriting our history
To make art
Seems a little too much
Like lying

And fiction never
Really was
My thing.

Chara-Ruth Ward Jan 16

The unexplainable, bubbling sensation,
Of staring at a blank doc searching.
They call it young writer’s frustration
But it call it creativity yearning,
For answers that can’t be found.
The longer I look the harder it gets.
Isn’t it profound,
The more I see the more I forget.
That I’m a writer with skill,
With the pen as my powerful weapon.
Yet I lack the will,
To get the last two lines of this poem done.

Rest in piece last lines that never got written
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