"gnorw" poems
gnorw ti ta gnikool ruoy esuaceb s'ti esnes ekam t'nod sgniht nehw semitemoS
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
Was it a mistake?
Or rather, what kind? Was it,
Carelessness or recklessness,
That brought you to hit send.
It's like every time I start to think everything is going to be okay,
You come back and knock that down.
In person, or in my texts, or in my memories, or thoughts or this ******* stupid website where we confess the ****** things in our souls.
If you want to talk, I will.
But if you have said all you have to say to me,
If you don't want to be the best friend I once had,
Then do me a favor, and lose my number.
Because I can't keep being knocked down.
I can't keep lying in bed and holding the stupid clown I was raised with close and cry while it stares back at me without any ******* eyes and then be expected to wake up in the morning and go to the school where every ******* hallway reminds me of one of the times I made you smile.
I can't keep being spied on by my former friends, by the security guards, by my brother and by that ******* staircase.
I can't keep living in this ****** world like nothing is wrong. Because it all is.
It's all just wrong, worng, wnorg, gnorw, ngrwo.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
I wanted numb
I wanted to be a certain thing
I wanted to release myself to the wave of the world
I wanted to be taken away and washed on shore
But I don't want to feel nothing
I can that feel with the rawest sting
The burn of life pulses through my bones and prickles at my skin
You can pour water on me to put me out,
I will sizzle and smoke and rise higher and more fiercely
Laughing as I look you in the eye.
I used to think with my eyes downcast even when closed.
Behind a wall, shielding me,
protecting me from having to follow my dreams
Of the boredom that comes with passionately saying, ‘this is what I love!’
Because, how tedious is it to commit to your dreams?
How boring to practice and practice and practice and practice.
Just saying the word, practice feels like practice for something.
Practice, Practice, Practice
Practice..
It’s uncomfortable
It is off-putting
Too many words, and the flow is all of.
It’s. Not. The. Right. Rhythm.
or.the.right.feel,
esmegnsiht osklo gnorw.
So, I’d rather go numbly through life
biding my life by
till someone does it for me?
No one is going to tell me who I am.
No one is going to know my thoughts,
or hear my voice,
Unless or until I open my mouth and tell them.
Every thought I think is a statement
So every move I make must matter.
My voice is my strength and my gift
It should be weird that people don’t know that about me.
I am not the timid voice with roaring inner thoughts kept to myself.
How can other people know me for how I know me
if I don’t tell them who I am.
So here it goes.
This is who I am.
This is what I will fight for.
The discovery of self.
The belief in self.
The belief in my dreams.
The discovery of my dreams.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 3:52 AM UTC