Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
I want to be able to live,
to breathe and to love.
How can I do this when I can't even fix myself?
I've done everything...
Smoke fills my lungs and boys keep me warm,
but I still can't fill this empty void.
I want to be whole.

I want to be whole,
so that I can live life instead of surviving.
I've done everything...
I'm at rock bottom and no one
or nothing can seem to pull me up.
How do I get out of this?
How do I stop being pathetic and lonely?
Do I need God?
Do I need to chop off my hair and leave?
Do I need to ink my skin so I won't empty?
What do I need to do?
I'm out of options.
I don't want to die,
but at this point it seems like the only relevant choice.
But...the thing is that I don't want to die.
I want to live.
I want to breathe,
and I want to love.
Alex 1d
Who do you see when you look into a mirror?

Yourself? Or a distortion?

A toddler figuring out how to walk on shaky ground?
An adult standing tall?

A friend?
A loner?

A sibling?
A daughter?
A son?

Or do you see numbers?
Do you see scars?
A failure.
I am everywhere, the shadow remains of the girl I was supposed to be.
This amazing girl, full of life and oh so sweet. She whispers to me sometimes in my sleep.
I wish I could see her again, hear the silent voice before it cracks like a tweak underneath your shoe.
In the park without trees, I remain still. I made my bed, crushed underneath my anxieties.
The hope that washes away from me little by little, the sparkle in my eyes replaced by a deep understanding of nothingness. A hollow shadow that can only see.
I am nowhere not now here.
I once lived, really lived once.
But once is not here now and once is not me.
I am the shadow of something that was supposed to be me.
It feels weird to be alone,
With nobody else in my home,
Can you see the scarecrows,
Lining up to take my gold,
Their greedy, beady little eyes stare through me,
And into the treasure behind me.
With every ounce of my being,
I know I cannot let them get to the pile,
Of all the things I cherish,
I cherish the gold the most,
So don't doubt me when I say that you mean so, so much to me.
The scarecrows taunt me,
Saying that things will always go wrong,
I can't trust anything that enters my head,
Even my own voice,
So I'm sorry if those scarecrows start to scare you,
Cause they scare me too,
And I don't want to lose you to their vice-like grips,
When the sun begins to set,
The shadows in the corners of my room grow,
Then their eyes begin to glow and teeth grow long,
Somehow they sneak past me as I'm paralyzed in fear,
The voices sink into my treasure,
Tearing it apart one by one,
What do I do?
My eyes have fallen out of my sockets,
I'm doubting everyone I've ever known,
I remember there's a gun in the room next to mine.
The sun rises and I'm awake again,
Shadows gone along with the scarecrows,
My treasure is intact, but where did my head go?
I don't miss you and I don't care,
This isn't right,
And I realize that the scarecrows never touched the treasure,
but ripped through my body like fresh meat,
Eating through my core while hissing doubts into my veins,
I'm sorry, God I'm so sorry.
Find me and I'll love you again.
'we rise by lifting
others' : my hands are full yet
feet unsupported.
stop waiting around for knights in shining armour. Go forge your own swords and fight it out because no one is coming to save you. And thats the truth.
I wore your shirt home on Tuesday
1 am and the way the street lights danced across your skin
I'm not sure if I knew you then
I'm not sure if I could picture more than present tense between us
but the present felt so nice and I liked the way your hand fit in mine
maybe I knew the entire time I was never meant for someone like you
Sunday still took me by surprise
I think you taught me you can lose someone without feeling like you've lost yourself
I think you taught me I can care for a person without it being the end of me
Myrrdin Sep 11
You matter,
If not to me,
Then to someone,
And if not to anyone at all,
I hope at least to yourself.
You may not know this,
But you're laugh is like music
And it plays in people's heads
Long after you leave the room.
Your eyes are what inspire love poems,
Poems that don't ever do them justice,
Someone is thinking about those eyes right now.
If your sadness is going unnoticed,
That doesn't make it any less valid,
I hope you find a warm shoulder to cry on soon.
Your pain is not a sign of weakness,
And I'm sorry if you feel ashamed of it,
You are lovable, not "despite of" but "because of"
Your body is beautiful because it is yours,
It is holding you together right now,
It is lovable, you are loving, so love it.
You are as magical as Christmas mornings,
As miraculous as the universe you live in,
As awe-inspiring as sunsets over oceans.
You exist.
And I love that about you.
Nohémie Sep 9
noun  \ ˈhōm \

Definition of ‘home’
a: one's place of residence
b: a familiar or usual setting: congenial environment; also: the focus of one's domestic attention

• home is where the heart is

Home is a word loaded with meaning, with feeling. The word itself vanishes so quickly into thin air, you’d think it wasn’t even spoken.

Home: a sound of a peaceful hum, of tranquility and peace.

Home is where the heart is,

where the chaos settles, where the stress shouldn’t dare come in. Often, we build ourselves in occupied fields. We plant our walls, furnish our space and sigh joyfully as we sit comfortably thinking home is where another person lives. Our growth becomes dependent of theirs and stops soaring with the limit of their confined being. The space in which their body expands becomes our sky, our limit. Sometimes we lose ourselves in the way that person gets ahead in life, we think their way is the only way and we start to follow. Their words, their mannerisms, their points of view and their habits become our points of reference on how to operate and we lose sight of our individuality. We lose sight of our being.

Home: a soothing sound trapped in a controlled and now, rigid mind. A sound that forgot how to stand tall and leans onto someone to vibrate, to sing.

Have you ever thought about home being yourself? Have you ever thought of living, growing and experiencing things for your own sake? Heal the wounds you’ve looked for people to heal, take care of the seeds you’ve planted in your own garden so that the grass gets greener on your side. Make a home out of yourself, bring back that peaceful hum.
home: somewhere I'm headed back to.
astiani Sep 9
they said love means you fill each other's up.
l o v e; is yours meet mine and intertwined just fine.
l o v e; is a half-full coffee combined with a condensed milk and we called it us.
yet if i only knew, i'm barely bring the house down,
that you are an olive oil to my fiji water, period.
I like americano better
Elvira Sep 9
Someone is staring right back at me.
Through the side mirror,
I see a boozed woman with a devilish grin.
She's luring me in and inviting me to ecstasy.

She looks familiar without the piercings and tattoos.
She reminds me of a dork I once knew.
But as I shift my gaze on to the rearview mirror,
the blurry resemblance becomes a lucid.

I am the girl with the devilish grin.
I am the dork from the past.
And currently, I'm a woman inside a car,
surrounded by stoned lads caught in euphoria.
They're tempting and enticing me into their bait.

Out of the blue, an image of light and dark takes shape.
Angels and imps clash.
They're fighting for me,
wanting me to join either one of them.

The white light offers me purity;
it wants me to resist temptations,
but the dark glow has so much to offer.
It promises jubilation, bliss and pleasure.

My judgement is hazy,
but I've made my choice.
I've been high for quite sometime now
and I don't see any reason for me to quit.

Once more,
I glance at the side mirror.
The reflection tells me,
I have made the right choice.
Next page