Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
fifty years have come and gone
since that fateful November day
when men of greed and fear of peace
took the chance away

removed all hope of paradise
a world serene and free of hate
divided not by war, but sea
where love directs our fate

we run and hide from truth we fear
denial is the easier pill
we laugh at those who held the truth
whose innocent blood did spill

should the Sun soon set
on our Camelot lost
when evil conquers good
they will find no mention in our history books
of the ****** in the wood
oldie
I’ve got no strings
To hold me down
To make me laugh
Or make me frown
I’ve got no one
I let them go
There’s no one left
I’m all alone
I’ve left it all
It all behind
There’s nothing left
Nothing to find
I just can’t stop
I need to cry
It’s so bizarre
I don’t know why
My heart is gone
Broken in two
And who’s to blame?
I know it’s you
They all just took
My life away
I’m empty now
No more to say
I love myself
in a world that longs for perfection.
And perfection is defined by
slender figures on shining billboards,
perfect scores on standard tests,
and a heart of gold in a heartless world.

I love myself
in this race we run against each other,
trying to be the first and the best.
Where only a few ever come close,
and many never do.
After all, we were born imperfect.

I love myself
so I won't let myself fall behind.
To subject myself to scorn and judgement,
and disappointment and anxiety,
when my efforts are too little and too small.
"Do whatever it takes to achieve your goals."

I love myself,
I promise, bent over porcelain sinks
with my hair tied back and ******* down my throat.
Because of a number on a scale,
the nausea that builds and the memories of
cloth draped over foggy mirrors.

I love myself,
I promise, as the hours tick by late into the night,
and I study until exhaustion takes my attention.
Because of a number on a paper,
the knowledge of failure and that
I will never amount to much in this world.

I love myself,
I promise, as the penknife hovers over unbroken skin,
and when the rush of traffic seems welcoming.
Because I am tired,
I am tired of imperfection, of
being unable to give myself what I want.

But eventually,
I swallow back my bile,
I pull away the cloth,
I hide the penknife in a drawer,
I step away from the traffic.

Because I love myself too much.
Societal pressures can be overwhelming, and even though we know they're wrong, we're tempted to turn to easier methods to cope.

All I can say is, whatever youre going through, you're not alone. Don't be afraid to reach out to anyone if you need a listening ear. Compassion is one of our better traits as humans.

That being said, it definitely isn't easy. Stay brave, stay strong.
I'd like to be alone,
but I don't want to be lonely.

I'd like to be in hope,
but I don't want to be hopeless.

I'd like to be in love,
but I don't want to be broken.

I'd like to be sad,
but I don't want to be weak.
For when I'd like to be 'me', but I don't want to be 'her'.

ㅡn.s

— The End —