Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The smallest things
Seem so overwhelming
Take a shower
Get dressed
Get out of bed
Clean
All of them
Seem so hard to do
They take so much energy

I've learned that the only thing that helps

I s

T o

B r e a k

I t

D o w n

Even with the small things

Wheneverharmonicathingsredpilemicrowaveovereachotherlight­bulbitsbalconystartstogetbananacrazy
Sorry if the last part was confusing

(This note was written by someone's autocorrect in their brain malfunctioning a lot. I know many like this.)
I cannot seem to be able
To unwrap the vines of pain from me
After all
It's in my name

I would do anything
Give anything
To make this bad
Heavy feeling
Be lifted

I would call a plane
And a crane
To get it off my heart
If that's what it takes

I want to feel better already

The time is moving too slow
And too fast
All at once
Who is messing with the clock?
Is it a monster living in the walls
Or is it living in my head?

The vines get tighter
The more I want them to loosen

Are they the problem
Or is it me?
What's the difference
I can't see

It doesn't matter
Get them off of me

I want to feel better already
Liana is a kind of vine

(This note was wrong then by a catfish that was named Pig and ate spaghetti)
300 people
Have heard what I have to say

300 people
Liked it

It's crazy to me
That even one soul
Could care about my words
And my woes
But 300!?!

300 people
With thoughts
Feelings
Love
Sadness
Pain
Problems
And poetry
Have read and enjoyed
Wow, this is a dream

I've written
Quite a bit
About feeling lonely
But just a second ago
I looked at the number of followers
And saw 300
A beautiful number
Built from beautiful people
And I felt together
And like I was no longer a weirdly shaped puzzle piece
With no existing puzzle to fit in to

Of course
I write for me
But it sure felt good
To see

Thank you,
Each and every one of you,
You mean so much to me
(this note was was written by a hippo that ate a blueberry sandwich for linner. Linner is a mix between lunch and dinner. His name was windowframe.)
Even the brightest stars
Will explode
One day

Even the sky
Needs to scream and cry
Sometimes

Even the most beautiful poem
Will one day be forgotten
Even if that's
When we reach oblivion

You're allowed too
Don't feel bad
I need to remember that, maybe you do too.

(this note was written by a shovel that has dug up a purple turtle. The shovel loved doing jumping jacks.)
We can hide who we are,
But only from ourselves.

Others see us much more clearly.
Know thyself.
It is a difficult thing to do
Is it a sign of the times,
That my phone knows me better,
Than anyone else ever will.
Tea
Do not spend too much time on your why.

It's your how that will make all the difference.
Kindness
was a house.

Knitted by
knowing you.

It was made
of sticky notes.

Encouragement
aching for actions.

Friendship
is the fuel.

Hearts only
in its windows.

Looks didn’t
really matter.

A firm foundation
invisible.

Gates of wisdom
walk to it.

Depression
laughed at it.

Gossip galloped
away from it.

The golden rule
knew better.
Next page