Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You were happy.

And I was supposed to be happy.

My gold leaf covered hands danced through every key and every scale.

Every symphony that you threw.

I gave you all that I could give.

The golden spotlight and rusting trophies that decorate your shelf.

You always wanted more.

But I'm afraid there was nothing more I could give.

You always wanted me here so why?

What did I do to deserve your shame and hatred.

Maybe you finally realized I was only plated with gold.

But thank you.

For scraping my dreams, my mind, and every hope I had for myself growing up.

Now I know that steel only bends under unimaginable pressure.

And I can walk away from you.

At last in the deep but soothing uncertainty that lays straight ahead of me.

Only having the hope that things will cool down eventually.

-Kore
Let me leave.
DanDoes Mar 30
This weight on my back
Reminding me who I am
Failure on the move
Jason Mar 3
Ah shiny approval,

Warm and soothing on the skin,

Absorbed like a lizard,

When one is hypervigilant.
Β©03/02/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved

Thanks for all the love HP!
persephone Nov 2020
Like a monster
wearing my own skin,
I question yet again
whether the cries I upend
are signs of intelligence or
the incoherent utterances
of an imposter begging
to be let in.
Is this about bipolar or imposter syndrome or both idk but the Wendigo legend always creeps me out to think about
casper Nov 2020
My writing will never be nice.
It will never have rhyme or reason or hold iambic pentameter.
It is not typewritten on aged paper bought from a small bookstore, carried home hurriedly under a black coat in a downpour.
My experiences are not universal,
on the contrary,
they are painfully singular stories.
My writing will never be featured in a book,
or on the front page of a trusted source,
it will be buried away in a desk,
dormant with the other scraps of musings once cherished.
I am not one like Keats, Byron, Frost, Dickinson, or Poe,
I, for all intents and purposes, am a fawn lost in the forest,
admiring the sights and sounds around me,
listening to those wise ones who can describe them in such perfect tone.
It would be fair to say that I am not even a poet,
I am simply a brain that thinks,
A body that moves,
And a soul that feels that very special something.
Dated for the day it was written.
To fulfill a psychopath’s pleasurable dream while under psychological stress is rather an unorthodox way to keep your mind ******* on tight.
don’t do it β€” you would unmistakably lose yourself in the end if you treat yourself to these people’s wishes. do not fall to the manipulative appearance of a potential lover, for there is more charm amongst the living right-minded people.
Yashita Oct 2020
My syndrome is a trigger
My mood swings, the gun
Victim, prey and dear
Is my poor head
Carrying the basket of an emotional rollercoaster
One without all the fun
With recurrent depressive episodes
Haunting day and nights
Visiting me fortnightly
Dragging me to the edge of losing it all
In addition, not a single person around me
Knows how it actually feels to feel this way
My episodes are just a show
They have all watched on repeat
Without knowing and understanding
As a standby on the road
Of my moods dragging me to the abyss
Flashes of anger bursting like crackers
And I cover myself
Sit like a baby protecting myself from the harm
I cause to self
When anger is chasing me
As if we are playing bandhi chain
I, the last person to catch
My mood swings seem this desperate
I lose my calm too often
Find me into a pond of tears
My mind becomes a maze
All the endings closed
I struggle, I shout and cry
Hopelessly!
The window of opportunity
I have to create
Started building a castle of health
Hope in heart
To finish and relax in my castle
One day with peace.
Naveen Malhotra Oct 2020
Baby where have you gone?
I can see the undertones
You are a butterfly
In love you can't deny
Come come in reverse gear
Tear the fear with courage dear
Baby where have you gone?
I can hear the babbling sound
No stream, no river around
HeartsΒ Β beating at same frequency
Same phase and same wavelength
Love syndrome, love syndrome
Come come without fear dear
I wait at my aerodrome
For a flight of lovers' paradrome
Regina Jun 2020
tribute to down's syndrome children.....you are God's flowers,
His joy, His own
Next page