Ash Feb 12
Your thoughts go blank
Nothing seems right
Nothing is good enough
Or it doesn't make sense put together
You want to write
To spill your guts out onto paper
But you don't have the words to make it happen
I have writers block.
It’s the new year,
Time for resolution, or inevitable revival
The point of this winter season when everything seems…
New and fresh, like anything is possible.
But is it really, if all we will do is make the same resolutions
And live out our consistent, boring lives
Grasping to the idea that change,
Only change,
Will somehow add meaning to the meaningless-
Inspire the uninspired.
We find that so easily our life will pass us by,
And we will cascade into our indifference
For the lives we made for ourselves and the unimportant choices we took
Even though we heard the necessary calling for change,
We ignored it,
Until the year changed and our lives became one year bleaker.
Call me cynical, or pessimistic
But the change we crave, the change we ache,
Is too busy living inside of the dream of a fresh start
Instead of living inside our lives.
kas Dec 2017
i'm constantly stuck between
bones and blood and amphetamines
i keep thinking that
i can have it all if i just find the right scene
and i can see toxic thoughts like toxic waste
contaminating the oceans of my mind
a bitter aftertaste, a better nursery rhyme
the glowing eyes of my demons
reflecting off the blade of a knife
and the half smiling rings on the coffee table
are the only things keeping me
company at night
i never thought i'd ever describe pain as
"almost warm in the right light"
i'm stuck here, falling apart
a glass object breaking in slow motion
becoming bones before tomorrow starts
fissures turn to fractures, an explosion
kids these days call that abstract art
who i am hates who i used to be,
and who i was always wanted to be
a human typewriter who knows
how everyone's stories begin and end
a tree limb that never breaks, only bends
the back end of a horse
a street with a dead-end
a best friend a godsend
wind me up and watch me pretend
turning circles and spitting up my
heart on my bedroom floor.
"this is as good as it gets, my friend."
SwordNPen Dec 2017
I put pen to paper every single day
and my pages still end up blank
I have no muse this deafness is
like a noose. Im living in a world
with no words. What can I do?
Alien On Earth Nov 2017
I miss the way I use to write constantly. the way words, feelings and emotions surrounded me, grabbing me ever so tightly. bringing meaning into my life. the way my words cut the silence, like a cut from a knife. man how I was so powerful and just so sure. now I find myself carefully choosing words. I think I lost sight of what it really meant to write. not so much thinking but just allowing my words to take flight. pulling you closer allowing you to feel exactly how I feel. shit so real, for a moment your soul is what I steal. I felt like I lost it, like I was just lost in the world. another being trying to find peace but my thoughts in a swirl. can i capture your soul like I use to do. of course I can. I was solely… made for you. I was made so you’d b able to feel me. for you to capture who I am. free willingly.
tap into my mind and inhale thee.
 well look at that, Im alive b
3 years ago
Lizzy Sharples Oct 2017
Staring at blank screen
Dark night and caffeine
From wasteland trying to inspire
Barren- and true to nature I desire
To have what I can’t hold
To possess what can’t be sold
Life to fill this mortal frame
Not with child but with flame
In vacuum of my own making
All things numb to stop me breaking
Can’t survive like this for long
I imagine myself strong
Force my eyes to adjust
Force myself to trust
That the night holds beauty in a different way
Revealing what can’t be seen by day
But see no purpose to this torture of my soul
Except I know I’ll be stronger when I’ve crawled out of this hole!
I can't write poems.
I know I can't. Everybody knows.

Poetry is for the soft ones.
For the hurt ones.
For the broken ones.
For the talented ones.
For the edgy ones.

For the special ones.

And I am certainly none of those.

Pretty damn sad, huh?

Yet, poetry is for everyone.
Because... Art is for everyone,
Because you're supposed to feel comfortable while writing it. While creating it.

Art is for everyone.

But not

I know I suck at this.
I must admit I enjoy writing down my feels.
I must admit poetry is one of my favorite types of therapy.
But I also must admit I suck at this.

I'm not going anywhere with this poem, to be honest.
I'm just wasting your time.
I'm just wasting my time.

I'm a waste of time.

And I am so
lndsytyn Jun 2017
His love is dry toast
On a counter
And I'm chewing gum on a lawn chair
In the hottest trailer park in the country

My love expands in water
In the fish tank of your parent's house
Waiting for you to take me out
Or for you take me anywhere

Your love is a desk drawer with dry ink
Shining in the light of the lamp your dad keeps on his desk
The smell ruminates for years
Dull. Uninspired. But still haunting.

I don't remember a single interesting thing you told me
I don't remember what it's like when you hold me
I'll chew gum and wait for clouds
But I'm here for now
emme m Mar 2017
it's like i'm swimming from coast to coast
but still i'm drowning everyday
by body is an unwanted host
that dosen't listen when i pray

it's like my soul is so tired
that it wants to exhaust
i'm mad and uninspired
i'm lost
Leigh Marie Mar 2017
haven' written in a while
its not cause I haven' been inspired
just been traveling the world
and growing into myself
been growing into the world
maybe its cause I don' feel the same
pain anymore or cause I don'
think bout you anymore
which isn' quite true but I don'
think about you like I used to
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