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Mar 2020 · 902
Creator Sun Mar 2020
I pick up a pen-
And set it down again.
This calling of writing has
Its own friction,
Pulling me back-

Into my own retreat.
I haven't written a poem for almost a year now. I keep trying to write but I seem to have lost it. So I keep opening and closing this tab.
Oct 2019 · 346
Creator Sun Oct 2019
One more time, one more time.
I’ll just do this one more time.
One last time and I’ll be fine.
I’ll just do this one more time.

One more time, one more time,
The crimson red is such a beautiful sight.
One more time and I’ll be fine.
Let me just do this one more time.

One more time, one more time.
The silvery gleam greets me once again.
One last time, I’ll be fine.
I’ll just do this one more time.

One more time, one more time,
Fresh roses are piling around me.
Is that you? Cruel angel of the world?

Take me away, one last time.
Another poem about self harm, I never seem to run out of those. It's a bit more compact this time, I hope you enjoy.
Oct 2019 · 1.7k
Creator Sun Oct 2019
You probably won't see this,
But what I want to say is that I.
I hate you.

You're stupid.
There isn't enough words to describe your awfulnesses.

So why does it hurt?
Why does it hurt when I push you away?
Why does it hurt when you chase someone else?
Why does it hurt so much?

As much as I want to say 'I hate you!',
I realise that I.
I love you.

It's stupid, isn't it?
If I told you this, you'll laugh at me.
Reject me. Pity me.
I just know you will.

And that's why I never told you.
That's why I kept pushing you away.
That's why I'm drifting away, drifting away
From my light. You.

But absence makes the heart fonder,
Doesn't it?
It hurts so much, it feels like I've
Left my heart behind. With you.
I'm salty that my poem got lost due to a connection error. Anyways, do you think this letter fits a Tsundere or Utsudere better? I'm experimenting with letter formats in an attempt to raise my motivation for my scenario writing which is where I've been focusing most of my attention onto. I have a lit exam tomorrow too, so extra practice in analysing my own poem for me!
Sep 2019 · 632
Creator Sun Sep 2019
I lag behind
My 'friends',
I noticed that I've become
Invisible. Unnoticed.

A husk of who I was.
A shadow.

A void in the night.
Outshone by the light.
I feel so empty,
Like a thought of the past.

I'm in another dimension,
A wall of words separate us.

Or rather,
A chasm of words unsaid.
Lost words they are,
Just like me:

A shadow.
A shadow of the past.
One of my buddies/peers told the CCA group at whole that she felt 'like a shadow' during ourhat of fears time. I thereby dedicate this poem to her.
Sep 2019 · 880
Creator Sun Sep 2019
If you're reading this,
Which you shouldn't be,
I just wanted to say,
You don't need me.

You don't need me.
I don't need to be here.
I'll just drag you down,
With my flaws and I-
I'll cause you to drown.

In loneliness.
With me.
I don't want you to suffer.
I don't want to suffer.
With you.

Is it normal to feel like
Someone else's shadow?
Is it normal to feel like a ghost
An ethereal spirit, disconnected.

I'm lost.
At a loss of words,
lost in this game called life.
And I don't even know why
I'm pulling out this knife.

To hurt myself.
Ghosts can't bleed, can they?
Ghosts don't feel, do they?
Ghosts shouldn't matter, should they?
I'm not making sense, am I?
A continuation of the previous poem, I'm not sure if I like this. It turned out different then expected. Oh well.
Sep 2019 · 1.1k
Creator Sun Sep 2019
If you're reading this,
Which you shouldn't be,
I just wanted to say,
You don't need me.
I really want to write more but I should try limiting the words and see where that brings me ahhhhhh I will write another poem that continues this but this will be set aside as the paragraph that should be said for the trials of the Voice Acting in the project that I will be opening in October.
Sep 2019 · 216
Creator Sun Sep 2019
Hold on to that thought
To that object, to that lot.

Keep trying, keep living
Keep doing what you love.
Something, anything
That keeps your mind above.

That doesn't make you sad,
That doesn't make you cry.

That doesn't start the cutting,
The dying and the lies.
Something, anything,
That makes you keep breathing.

Clutch that last straw with all your heart,
Your mind, you soul, oh all so broken apart.

Your bones are shattered
And your will is fractured.
Your mind is mutilated
And your heart has ruptured.

Black and white.
The colours of the sky.

They make me want to fly,
Soar so high
Above, so that I will never have to
Come down again.

For though my body is broken, my mind is free;
And that's the object that I sought to keep.
Random word generator gave me 'keep' outta many different words and I just guess that I did freeform and a bit of rhyming. The poem is a bit depressing yet uplifting at the same time and I don't know if anyone else enjoys bittersweet poems.
Sep 2019 · 189
Creator Sun Sep 2019
The colour that flows through our veins,
The power that we keep in vain.

The one that spills out of our guts.
The one that power our hearts.

You have no idea,
How many times we've failed yet-

We should not try, we should do.
To keep the old, to strive for the new.

We will never surrender,
In the face of hope or never ending sorrow.

We have to accept the others that share our cause
The ones that help us, the ones who support us.

We will rise up,
Above the ashes.
A quick nonsensical one.
Sep 2019 · 368
Creator Sun Sep 2019

I don't feel hungry.
I don't want to eat.
I don't want to wake up for breakfast,
I don't want breakfast.

I don't want to eat.
If not eating means death,
Then do I want to live?

I don't want to eat.
I'm not hungry.

I don't want to live.
I have this weird eating habit where I'll eat breakfast for brunch. I also have a pattern of eating where I'll eat very little on some days but then get second or third helpings on some days. I don't really have any perception of meal times or why exercising when hungry makes the hunger go away?
Sep 2019 · 838
Creator Sun Sep 2019
You're too late.
Too late
To stop what you inadvertently caused
Too late to apologise.

Too late to go back,
Too late to reverse
The damage you caused.
To him.
To me.

You're too late.
Too late to say sorry.
Too late to be sorry.
Too late.

You're just too late.
Don't be sorry.
He never wanted you to be sorry.
He just wanted you to notice him.
To acknowledge him.

Not to ignore him
Bash him
degrade him every time
Every time he comes to you
And asks for a second chance.

He is one of us.
He was one of us.
And you should live forever
In guilt
Of your sins.
A draft for a possible dialogue at the ****** of a passion project :)
Sep 2019 · 932
Creator Sun Sep 2019
Do you see the boy?
Skipping and jumping under the sky?
Laughing like he has no fear in the world.
Holding hands with air.

Do you notice the way he moves?
The way his feet jerks and grooves?
Moving so unnaturally,
Laughing like there's no end in things.

Lovely schizophrenia, isn't it?
The way it came from his mother?
The way he cares for someone else
Suffering from the same mental illness.

Delusions, fabrications, dreams that is unreal.
the way that he perceives the world makes me really feel.
Uncomfortable, yet I don't think that he asked me to feel
Pity for his condition.

Laugh of a thousand children,
Asking for a better future,
Those ones that seek the asylum,
And look forward for capture.
Public opinion on mental illness is changing, but is it for the better?
Sep 2019 · 239
Creator Sun Sep 2019
Why do we use
Those artificial smiles
To greet one another?
That goes on for miles and miles?

Why do we exercise
Those 10 muscles around the mouth.
When what we're really doing
Is being uncouth?

I wonder why the people still smile.
To hide their unrelenting pain.
When all they need to do,
Is diverge the rain away?

That was what I thought,
A few years ago.
But now with more experience,
I'll can tell you oh~

Pretend that you are happy,
And the world will be less blue.
Pretend that you are happy,
And you're start to believe it's true!

Ignore all your problems,
And you'll see that life's worthwhile.
Pretend that you are happy,
And your friends might stick around.

Smile everyday!
Hey! Try to sing this to your tune! It's written to be a song, inspired by Jay Foreman's --- Pretend You're Happy ! Anyways, have a good day and remember, there are people out there willing to help you if you just ask them to! Sometimes they'll just help you out without them asking anyways! Always keep in mind that the bad will pass, and you can do it!
Sep 2019 · 373
Creator Sun Sep 2019
Sounds of thunder and war,
A chant for freedom or gore,
The chance for a revolution,
A time for retribution.

But when the smoke clears,
And trust me it will,
The chance to breathe will be stilled.
For who are we fighting, but those before us?

Ones that protected us,
Ones that restricted us,
Ones that love us yet never seemed to let go of us.

Ones that we call our family.
Our countrymen.
Our people.
Yet still, we rebel.

Against our teachers.
Against the higher ups.
Against the system.

For freedom. For justice.
For the right to make a choice.
For democracy. For our lives.
For a social renaissance.

With our friends. With their help.
With the ones who feel oppressed.
With foreign aid, with combined power.

We overthrow the government.
The head of family.
The bosses, CEOs and stakeholders.
Waving flags that carry our hope.

And when dawn rises upon this darken wasteland,
We shall begin to realise
That the next generation
Will follow in our footsteps.

So be the flag that rises,
It'd be the flag that falls.
For what comes up must always come down.
And rebellions rises and falls.
This was prompted by a suggestion of one of my good friend and classmate in RGS. She gave me the word 'rebellion' when I had asked her for other words. Please do comment a word so that I'll be able to continue writing such poems every other day. :) Also, if you haven't noticed, I have no distinct poetic style, so I must wonder which poem do you all prefer?
Sep 2019 · 282
Creator Sun Sep 2019
Sorry doesn't cut it does it?
But it does.

It cuts into my skin, leaving trails of red,
Of crimson, of burgundy
Of a shameful, deep red.

I'm sorry, but you don't understand, do you?
You never do.

The rope feels inviting against my neck.
Oh how it fits my head!
Its forgiving roughness hugs my throat,
And I can't help but croak:

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that you were never here to help me;
I'm sorry that I never felt happy;
I'm sorry that you caused me to do this
To me, to myself.

Sorry doesn't cut it, does it?

Now, you feel sorry.
You cry those ugly tears of shame.
Tears that had pooled around my eyes
And grew, day by day.

You're sorry.

But sorry doesn't cut it, does it?

I'm already gone;
And you're here to stay;
With your sins of hate
And your late apology.

Sorry doesn't cut it.
So I felt that the previous poem was a bit messy, so here is another one. Sorry.
Sep 2019 · 229
Creator Sun Sep 2019
A wisp of a breath, a flick of a brush,
The canvas begins to be filled with colour.
A hint of violet, a dab of vermillion,
It seems that she is painting a girlish parlour.

A red drips slowly down her wrist,
As she wipes away at her work.
The foggy glass seems to offer some relief,
Against the cold harsh winter.

The girl stands on her frost-bitten toes
And look upon the scene with wonder.
As the tantalizing warmth appear against her fingers
She can't help but ponder.

Why are some people in the parlour
But others look from the outside in?
For she can't help but question
What is deep within.
This scene is depicting a girl looking into a parlour in the midst of winter. She does not understand why she cannot go in even though she is freezing. The concept of social hierarchy seems like a world away yet she tries her hardest to get a peak of what is going on inside. She had cut herself on some patches of the uneven glass and her lips were turning blue from the frost-bite. I would like to think that this takes place in Russia.
Sep 2019 · 264
The Cold Hard Truth
Creator Sun Sep 2019
I don't believe that someone can be 100% honest.
Because everything you know, do, believe in, understand...
Are all lies.

All of them are lies.
Yet we live in a world, content with these
beautiful yet misleading lies.

Why are our smiles so fake?
Why are our hearts so empty?
Why are our laughs so forced?
I'll tell you why; we're just pretending to be happy.

Everything is just a fabrication of your mind.
They are as endless as time.
But why? WHY?
Why do we still believe them?

Because there is nothing such as the truth.
There are only lies, white lies, more lies.
Everything you know and believe ARE LIES!

Religion? It's a LIE!
Atheism? Such a big lie!
Humanity is BUILT to be lied to,
to have something to believe in.

But still, everything you know is wrong.
Everything you do is wrong
Everything is faked, staged, fabricated, wrong!
Everything is a LIE!

So why do we delude ourselves?
Why do we exaggerate every little tiny thing?

It is because that is what we are genetically programmed to DO.
It is our sense of REALITY.
We have no other CHOICE.
Or do we?

Airplanes used to be a lie.
Racial harmony used to be a fleeting dream.
Woman rights used to be unheard of.
So are all lies hurtful?

Not all of them.
We barely have a future worth believing in.
That's why lies are so important to our society.

We LIVE by them.
We need them to SURVIVE.
It is in our code.

But yet we lie for every single little thing.
Do we need it?

YES. Absolutely.
It is in our programing.

Lies progress humanity.
It is our judicial system.
I'm high on classic coke, don't mind me giving my literature teacher an existential crisis of a poem. Yeah, it depends if she decides to check this out with the handwritten link on a card. If so, Happy Teacher's Day Ms Choo, I hope that you enjoy some other poems of mine. In this poem, I went with an experimental style of regular stanzas but irregular rhythm and repetition. This sounded better in my mind, but I guess it took too long for me to get back home and to type this out on my laptop, so here is a humble approximation of a psychological study. Also, this poem might cause some people to be offended, so please approach with caution.
Aug 2019 · 264
Creator Sun Aug 2019
They said that the pen is mightier than the sword.
I never would have underestimated it had I thought
That the words you said would hurt so much.
So much that I cannot think.

Cannot feel.

You and your short biting tongue.
You with a cannon for a mouth.
You who chooses your words to hurt.
You who said, "You're worthless."

Worthless, ugly, fat, deadmeat.
Why do you all hurt so much?
Why do you cause tears to run down my face?
Why do you feel worse than a punch in the face?
Why do you make me want to end
My miserable, sorry, uneventful life?
Why do you hurt so much?

Tell me, why do we learn language?
When it can be used against us?
I've personally never been attacked like that in my life, but I'd heard enough about verbal bullying. Many times, it can feel worse than being physically bullied. I hope that everyone can be patient and kind enough to choose better words to be said, better words to be written. I hope that all of us can be a Canadian stereotype, so that the world looks more warm and inviting.
Aug 2019 · 672
Creator Sun Aug 2019
Her mouth twists into a smile.
A couple of hours later it becomes a frown.
It looks a little lopsided, doesn't it?
One arm is longer than the other; and faster.

But she doesn't care. Nobody does.
She smiles and frowns all day.
For she is but a servant tell,
the true master of the day.

It reaches out to us.
Tells us what to do and when to do it.

An age old foe.
For no one can escape it's cages.

A fabrication of the mind.
It traps us all in it's never ending orbit.

It's just like a dime.
Our future depends on how we use it.
I've picked this word to write a poetry about today since I'd gone off schedule due to falling sick. So here's a poem about time and its servant. clock. We all have the same amount of hours a day, so why are some people able to keep everything on track while others fall to vices such as procrastination? I've been watching a few Ted Talks and the monkey one stuck out to me. Also the paperclip for a house. Anyways, I'll end the note now and get on to writing another poem. I do hope that you enjoy a new experimental writing style I've used!
Aug 2019 · 349
Creator Sun Aug 2019
Do they see me?
Do they hear me?

Can you see me?
Can you hear me?

Am I here?
Do I exist?

Those are just some questions that run through my mind,
Everytime they look away, don't respond, don't acknowledge;
I wonder if you know that I'm here,
But you just don't care.

They never do, do they?

Can you hear me?
Have you ever felt isolated? Like when you've been ignored by someone? The sad thing is that I'm sure that all of us have felt the feeling of loneliness before.
Aug 2019 · 550
Creator Sun Aug 2019
Loneliness is but a thousand words,
A solitary figure, nothing more,
something less.

He will never be complete on his own,
yet he cannot break through the bars of his own existence!

He exists to be lonely,
yet he can’t exist without others around him!

The others that surround him, ignoring him;
The others that surround him, that haunt him;
The others that surround him, that don’t notice him;
The others who exist just to place emphasis

On his pitiful, meaningless, excruciating existence.

He is not alone in his situation,
but he is alone.

He will forever be alone.

Unless someone breaks him free.

Ye, found my first poem, submitting/publishing it now.
Aug 2019 · 458
Creator Sun Aug 2019
Death takes many forms.
He can be harsh and cruel and cold
Or kind and merciful.

He takes people away,
Usually when the time comes.
Sometimes, the people even gave their permission for him to take them away.
Some even initiated it. Some were unaware of it.

Those were the ones that he truly mourn.
He mourns the absence of a bright-eyed child
In such a deep dark world.

For when the death knell strikes twelve,
A new world begins.

He watches as others try
to manage without the one taken away.  
He watches as they try and save
The ones that were taken away.
He watches as they call upon divine intervention,
Going so far as to ruin their lives,
Just to give the ones they love a second chance to live.

He wanted to wipe their warm tears away.
He wanted to hug them and feel as the fight in them went out.
He wanted to take them away to a faraway place where they won’t hurt no more.
But it was not time for him to do so.

He waits until the end of time.

He is inevitable and yet he waits.

He may strike suddenly, but still;

He waits.
I have personified Death in this second poem posted onto here. It seems that the first publication did not go through, so here is another one of my works written in boredom in literature class.

— The End —