"learned" poems
I LOVE MYSELF
With all my flaws
In my Beautifulness,
In my mistakes,
In my weakness,
In my darkness.
I love myself, because I am worth it.
I am a high power person who can move mountains with my love, thoughts and dreams
I am good, kind, funny, full of life and love, contagious with my explosive energy
Some things may be equally essential but nothing is more important than loving oneself
And at this moment the love I have for myself goes above and beyond.
It could reach the end of the universe if I just unwrap it
I love me in my inane, craziest, sanest, beautiful twisted, darkest and funniest way
I love me in a way that no one does
I love me in my fullest woes
I am everything that I can and will be
I am frightfully proud of my flaws and proudly wearing them as no one is perfect
This is the start of a new journey to me
The journey of love and self acceptance
The journey to fully embrace and value my own self
I allow myself to fall in my stupidest and biggest way, just to get back up and catch my breath again
Failure will not stop me but make me stronger
I am fully seeing me and smiling at my imperfected and distorted reflection
Hugging myself so tightly, refusing to let go
The more I am spending time with me,
The more and more my love grows
Is it bad for my health ? I do not think so.
It’s true, I am better, happier, more free, powerful, at peace
The sun is shining on me
I don’t need no help to be beautiful, ‘cause I’ve got me
I’ve got that uncontainable light from within me
I am smoldering a treasure, sharing laughter, joy and sadness with myself
I have learnt the phases of myself
So distant from that little insecure girl I used to know
As I allow her opinions to matter
I have accepted her difference
Her different kind of beauty, I have learned to love
This feeling of wholeness, self acceptance, comfort and love, is liberating
I wrap myself around my contorted and beautiful else to form a ME
As I am, Raw and Real
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
There are roots that
delve deep in our bones,
wrapping us like our skin.
They define who we are.
But,
who am I?
I am learned, sophisticated,
well versed in history and language.
My companions are numbers, papers, pens, and letters.
I drive a fine silk suit: shiny, clean, fragrant...
Though
am I, really?
Or am I
one who acts the opposite?
One who is
surrounded by those who have numbers, papers, pens, and letters as companions
whilst I am with pebbles, leaves, sticks;
driving a worn out hide made from a dying pig.
Or maybe,
I am both...
No.
I am not common folk who act out the Streets
on a home lined with shiny rocks,
smooth paper on a lap,
twinkling fireflies hanging from the roof
whilst displaying what I've learned from being raised around uniforms and books.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
it's the same as before
or the other time
or the time before that.
here's a ****
and here's a ****
and here's trouble.
only each time
you think
well now I've learned:
I'll let her do that
and I'll do this,
I no longer want it all,
just some comfort
and some ***
and only a minor
love.
now I'm waiting again
and the years run thin.
I have my radio
and the kitchen walls
are yellow.
I keep dumping bottles
and listening
for footsteps.
I hope that death contains
less than this.
96.8k
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer, not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”
My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.
The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.
Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you,
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.
This world is not tender.
II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.
split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.
My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.
But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.
III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
I would have taken the easy path
But that would leave no room for glory
I would have picked out a comfortable life
But that isn't God’s kind of story
I would have followed a prettier road
But missed the most beautiful way
I would have clung to familiar things
But lived out my days in the grey
I would have chosen what’s stable
But grown cold, apathetic and bored
I would have sought out earth’s riches
But lost all that in heaven is stored
I would have liked more successes
But not learned so quickly of grace
I would have seen myself praised more
But given up knowing God’s face
I would have tied all my loose ends
But not known it’s He Who brings peace
I would have wanted for happier times
But traded a joy that can’t cease
I would have opted for normal
But not tasted rare delicacies
I would have preferred a man’s love
But been robbed of Divine intimacy
He’s chosen for me the high road
More jagged, more narrow and steep
So now I must travel this difficult way
Ever knowing it leads to the deep
Now I must choose to cherish His path
And trust Him to walk with me there
Now I must hasten to take up my cross
The fellowship of His sufferings to share
For one day this life will be over
And all my afflictions will end
It is then I will see what all this is for
In my Bridegroom, my Savior, my Friend
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 11:12 AM UTC
The people that come into our lives
do so for a reason
It may only be for a day or a month
or may just be for a season
But when two paths cross, no matter how brief
There's a lesson somewhere to be learned
It may be just that we're on the wrong path
and there's a corner that needs to be turned
It may be to teach us that we can still fly
and soar in the heavens above
or it may be a brief and torrid affair
to show us that we can still love
And maybe my words are speaking to you
and I'm part of some message you need
To show you the signs that surround you
so between the lines you can read.
Apr 24, 2010
Apr 24, 2010 at 7:38 AM UTC
she's young, she said,
but look at me,
I have pretty ankles,
and look at my wrists, I have pretty
wrists
o my god,
I thought it was all working,
and now it's her again,
every time she phones you go crazy,
you told me it was over
you told me it was finished,
listen, I've lived long enough to become a
good woman,
why do you need a bad woman?
you need to be tortured, don't you?
you think life is rotten if somebody treats you
rotten it all fits,
doesn't it?
tell me, is that it? do you want to be treated like a
piece of ****
and my son, my son was going to meet you.
I told my son
and I dropped all my lovers.
I stood up in a cafe and screamed
I'M IN LOVE,
and now you've made a fool of me. . .
I'm sorry, I said, I'm really sorry.
hold me, she said, will you please hold me?
I've never been in one of these things before, I said,
these triangles. . .
she got up and lit a cigarette, she was trembling all
over.she paced up and down,wild and crazy.she had
a small body.her arms were thin,very thin and when
she screamed and started beating me I held her
wrists and then I got it through the eyes:hatred,
centuries deep and true.I was wrong and graceless and
sick.all the things I had learned had been wasted.
there was no creature living as foul as I
and all my poems were
false.
59k
She can walk
between
night and day
never letting either
get in her way.
She learned this trick
many moons ago
by
going deep within
and never letting it show.
Her soul is innocent
her heart is pure
she’s gone through more
than most could endure.
She’s an angel of light
an angel of dark
you never know
what you will spark.
You want to hurt her?
Please, go ahead and try
she’ll be the one to show you
just how well she can
f
l
y.
Her soul innocent
her heart pure
but never think for one minute
that she’s not secure.
Say what you will
please, do what you must
but your jealousy and hatred
won’t waver her trust!
~
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
I'd like to think that she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
As she sits on the corner of her bed,
Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.
I imagine her,
Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.
Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,
Then looking to her class ring,
Made entirely of imitation ingredients,
Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.
When she was still a friend of mine,
I never saw her wear make up,
I never saw her show off in tight jeans
or low-cut tees.
But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,
Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,
Next to the side door
that leads to his sister's side room.
The make up she wears
is from the night before.
It's skewed and shows evidence of running,
Like a wasted watercolor.
I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,
And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.
I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,
He's in grey sweatpants,
He's wearing a black tank top,
With a Confederate flag backdrop,
With two barely dressed babes looking ******
in the foreground.
His hair, unwashed and greasy.
He rubs his belly,
And bears an idiot grin
on his face.
Looking like he just learned how to smile
at this pace.
"Did it feel good?"
feel good.
After he asks, he scans her body,
Beginning at those crimson toes,
And Ending at that clumsy hair.
Every second he scans,
He still wears that drawn-on
Idiot grin.
I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.
Of my warnings and prophesy.
Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,
Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.
And finally reach the only thing she has on,
A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.
A t-shirt, when given by him,
It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".
Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,
During last night's expedition.
He still paid her back with a morning
one-sided session.
"It felt good" she says.
In reference to the ten minute **********
When her body was strummed and plucked,
Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.
As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,
On a bed that is six days *****
While he is grinning,
Being everything but wordy.
I'd like to think she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
The day had come when lovers had to say goodbye
Bid a piece of smile and wave a little hand
She thought that their love was so real
Yet ended up being strangers to each
Weeks had passed and you are still there
In her little mind that is full of moments
Moments that you had shared together
Moment that you should have cherished together.
It's been a while since her heart was so alone
And now, she had learned something new
That no one could fix her broken soul
But only she could do it, if she only knew.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
*I can't look into,
those eyes,
eyes that I've learned will judge you,
eyes, that will make or break you,
no,
please no.
I can't look into those eyes,*
**but I look you in the eyes,
and every memory,
or being laughed at is erased,
all I see is your beautiful face,
and maybe the laughing memories comeback,
because all I think is,
I wanna kiss you,
and how much,
your going to laugh at me,
if I did,**
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
in all my years, i can truly say
you are my biggest regret
i learned to turn the cheek
learned to forgive, but can't forget
*i have to accept you hurt me and got away with it
i've got no closure
but i have to finish closing these wounds*
i went through the dark, the storm
i'm something else now
i'm a different being
i’m not the same
i don't like it
i can see it on other's faces
i know they don't like it either
so i just detached
i'm an island now
purposely deserted
alone, and sometimes lonely
i pray this isn't the eye of the storm
i don't have any more rounds left in me
Oct 5, 2025
Oct 5, 2025 at 11:33 PM UTC
Our parents are always telling us , you have to go to school, that you'll learn everything you need to know before you're ready for the big world, and that'll you need it to get into your dream job
But now a days our education isn't about learning, its about passing
Our education now isn't the same as it used to be
It teaches us that if you're not at a certain grade level, you will not succeed
That if you don't meet a certain criteria, maybe you're not for fit the course
This education system doesn't teach us whats really important for the big world
It doesn't teach us how to live, how to do taxes or how to survive
It never taught us the living expenses or how to buy a home
Never taught us what to expect once we leave for college or how to balance our schedules
No. It only taught us homework, about a plant cell, about tangents and circumferences
It taught us that homework is more important than family
That it's more important than being a kid and having a life
It taught us that if you spend time with loved once and didn't do your work, you're setting yourself up for failure
They pile us with work it feels like we cant breath
They never once thought of the other class assignments that must be due not even 24 hours later
They make us memorise things that will no longer be important when we apply for a job
We study for hours in hopes to pass that final test that we'll soon forget
But what are we suppose to say when someone asks us how we're feeling?
We were never taught that
We never memorised an equation to help us find the answer
We were only ever taught to keep our mouths shut and do our work
Its quite funny what we learn in school now
Things more than 80% of the students will never have to use let alone see again
School was suppose to prepare us for our future
For the job choice we pick
Instead we meet and learned quadratics and plant cells
We were taught homework is what your focus should always be on
We were never taught about the future and what to do
And most importantly
We were never taught how to love ourselves and the things we should be greatful for
They've turn us into sad, mindless robots that's are more concerned about grades and passing than whats going on with the family
We lock ourselves in our rooms doing homework for 6 hours than talking to our mothers or fathers who wonder about us
We were never taught the importance of family before it was too late
Every single highschool student wishes they can turn back the clocks, but it'll never work
We were taught the hard way that you don't really know what you have until its gone
Something we weren't prepared for
They never prepared us for the future
Instead, we prepare our self for the possible failing outcome
How are we suppose to make a living for ourselves when all we have learned was the stress over homework and family?
The depression over a failed test or assignment?
The lost feeling of the lost time?
How are we suppose to love ourselves when all we do is put yourself down because of school?
This education system never prepared us for anything
Instead, this education system officially has broken all of us.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
You never stop running;
Never slow down.
You’ve learned that silence
Is the screeching of sound.
The days keep changing,
But it all bleeds to one,
As you’ve found that sleep
Only wastes time.
The stress you feel
Just means your alive.
That shortness of breath
Helps you survive.
So you move through the world
Blind to it’s beauty,
For you’ve learned things are worthless
Unless they are moving.
Apr 13, 2010
Apr 13, 2010 at 7:29 PM UTC
Along an unknown path
Distant from the place you call home
Voices summon you in the distance
Edging you to claim your destiny
New legends unfold and lessons learned while
Traveling to new lands
Under the strings of fate
Reach out to that light within and
Escape through your dreams to release your inner self
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
The night under the mirror
went through a revolving door.
~~~~
Eventually I did put a face
to your loving cues your emails
It had been so long since your destiny had asked you my King
to marry her
that hunting jealous day that began much earlier under a 1975 degree celcious and did burn us to a crisp
Nothing would have given me more assurance more pleasure such a gracious challenge to a mysterious
proposition to dig my heart
for the final blow
one queen for his other
prior queen bee me
Karijinbba
and a winner I would have been
all night with my King
under the mirror!
to obliterate her wedding band
from his hand
how loving of you cupid of mine
always digging at my heart
for my heart of gold
then came cause and effect of karma blowing up our plans
another King Brad appeared with roses and diamond ring
in hand he had no mask just an hidden agenda
he took my children to his Mom
to make his other queenjealous and I took the bate
for just one hour both my King and Brad
had chosen he same photo E-mailed among several
to both single men seeking bride at Kiss com.
my lovely picture was the same summer dress I wore with the king I loved
as someone something from above and beyond
mirrored the scene in my life a kind of cause and effect
it showed my
old beloved a simple approach to a woman's heart
and me that the woman he married giving her a diamond ring taking her and son to his Mom was more to make
me jealous too fight for his love
an invisible revolving door had opened up
both to win my lover back
or to lose both Knights
fate life karma G**
had bid the greatest game
of love and twin souls
remained split bleeding
both men found a way to another
woman playing their game
I was sent to worship my Lord Jesus Christ mocking me
beware of Karma
or THINK and get rich and happy
to catch a true king FOCUS
don't take bates, don't settle for new when the heart is taken
by a true love not followed.
My king was found by his mate
and I returned Brads diamond
lesson played leasson learned
Then came the clock ticking
tax collector King Mr Time
he took my hand
paper INK and pen
to script a new
poem
its Winter he said,
HOW DO YOU
WANT ME TO KISS YOU?
and a new revolving door
appeared here at H.P.
~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
Copy Rights
ASG/BBA -revised 6/2020.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart—
empowered to rise above its circumstances,
unweighted, unburdened, unbound,
tied only to that which would lift it higher,
untethered from anything which would
pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it.
It's the free heart, quiet and at rest
yet jubilant and uncontained,
the celebrating heart, the praising heart,
the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage,
bent on adventure, journey and romance.
All the while it's a waiting heart
because it's a yielded, led heart—
a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD
but willingly, quickly to the LORD—
a heart that though eagerly anticipating each
twisting turn, next horizon and changing path
keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery
but forever on the Shepherd
because it's a heart persuaded
that He alone is the Great Reward
for which it has always been looking.
True joy is only ours when we find an endless
source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One!
The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else.
The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him,
desperate for Him to the expense of all else,
willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied.
Joy and idols, I have learned,
do not easily reside together in the same heart.
So if I find that joy is chased away
the most likely culprits are my own desires.
What am I wanting more than Jesus?
For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life
then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy.
There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss
to expose all of the hidden idols within me.
It's surely those who have suffered the greatest
and most frequent losses for Christ who are also
most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy.
For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else
that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based
not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances
but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself.
Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand,
but for any with eyes truly opened to see
the most precious of times may be those
when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand.
Rivers of sadness can open up
into wide gulfs of endless delight and
are often the very courses needed to carry us there.
When all is lost, we find to our amazement
that, even so, we still have ALL
and no one can rob us of it.
When He takes everything from us
He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
I Don't Average Out
I remember crying during lunch my senior year —
my math teacher's eyebrows colliding,
one plane folding into a fractal.
He had sat there, nearly four years,
watching me struggle through an unreal number of numbers —
literally and figuratively —
while again and again the test scores whispered:
You
are less
than average.
But behind the eyes of a determined man
my insecurities never won.
He refused to believe the numbers.
He was searching for some unspoken meaning —
and so was I.
I almost found it the day of graduation.
I almost found it between his eyebrows,
creased like a point of pride —
because I was the first of my family
to hold something as light as a diploma
instead of a heavy head,
nodding under the weight of ******
The first to feel like a feather
instead of a six-pack,
a bad back,
the slow grind of manual labor.
I was flying.
Then college tried to land me.
Again I let an institution measure me.
Test scores trying to tell me what I was worth —
intelligence reduced to something
too narrow to understand its own diversity.
Less than average, they said.
But I wasn't below the line —
I was just outside it.
An individual
above their point of comparison.
I could read a room like a text.
I could build connection out of nothing.
I could debate, move, make people feel something.
Gold doesn't average out either.
So I learned —
it wasn't the diploma I should have chased.
Not the thing I'd wave at my little brothers and sisters
to show them how to live better,
burn brighter,
burn longer.
Here I am.
Red-faced and unafraid.
Spoken word was always there —
hiding between the creases of my teacher's brow,
folded into the question I didn't know I was asking.
The answer was never in his book.
It was in his look.
In his refusal to quit on me.
I could have found it sooner
if I'd known what I was searching for.
I
am
not
stupid.
I haven't failed by choosing something
the institution doesn't recognize.
I am not defined by a score,
a line,
a rule,
a rhyme.
I don't average out —
and that is not a weakness.
Power isn't in a piece of paper.
Power is in your words.
In your chosen behavior.
In the silence you finally break.
The answer was never in his textbook —
it was in his persistence.
In the way he looked at me
like the numbers were wrong.
He just didn't have the words to say it.
But I do.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
I keep my feelings on a leash,
locked in a cage like the perpetrators of crime.
Sometimes I take them out for walks
to test out their rarely used legs on the ground.
Only too reel them back in,
too scared to let them wander,
wander towards those who let theirs loose freely,
not caring where they step.
For I have learned that this only leads to hurt.
Stubbed toes on the curbsides called love.
Failed attempts at crossing the crosswalk,
into the depths of someones shallow, unforgiving arms.
Not paying attention to the Stop sign right next to them.
Over and over, I wish I would've noticed that sign sooner..
Before all the heartbreaks and fallen tears.
And that is why
the footwork of my heart, kept captive in the dark,
is sleeping in silence for perhaps eternity
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 1:04 AM UTC
recently
I got a little older,
learned a lesson or two,
like how loving someone
could never be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
like how nothing
would ever be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
how can I accept
that the miracle of love
isn’t really a miracle at all?
how can I wrap myself
in someone’s arms
when I know
that there isn’t any sort
of poetic loving involved?
how do I unlearn
the romantic thoughts
that taught me
about the fireworks,
the butterflies,
and the fluttering fingers
in the dark.
and accept that
maybe kissing
won’t be as spiritual as I thought.
maybe it’s really just a mouth on mine.
how do I unlearn my innocent heart
who lulled me into a false sense of hope
for a lover who would call
the way my body moves
art.
a lover who would feel
the poetry
in every word
I spoke in the dark.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 7:37 PM UTC
Polite
Typical
Smiley
Daughter
Pointlessly
Trusting
School
District
Professor
Turns-blind-eye
Struggling
Drastically
Packets
Turn-to
Stacks
Deficient
Panic Attacks
Turn-to
Self
Destruction
Pulling
Teeth
Sick
Design
Plans
To
Stop
Discussing
Peace
To-her
Silence
Disturbs
People
Talked
She
Distracted
Passed
The
Snacks-to
Dinners
Pulled
The
Same
Dimensions
Pre-K
Then
Smaller
Didn't
Pause
Third-Grade
So
Dead
Parents
Though
She
Drowned
Piled
Thoughts
Suffocated-her
Dexterity
Patient
There
Suffering
Depression
Problems
To-many-to
Score
Dispute
Progress
That
Shockingly
Developed
Potentially
Taken-away-the
Suffering
Dramatically
Poor
Tiny
Sweet
Doll
Part
Traumatized
Sleep
Deprived
Phobic
though
Sixth grade
Doesn't
Play
Though
Six-Years-of
Death
Until... The little girl, learned she had,
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
and, school treating her badly is only one of her three traumatizing events.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
He's in too deep.
He can't seem to think.
Just how low
do you think he will he sink?
Caught in the undertow
of the current flow.
He treads
Slow
It can make or break what you knew
if you ride the rapids threw.
Will they take Scuba Steve too!?
He wont swim for the shore.
to avoid once more
the beauty in store
Only to find...
That he always wants more.
he learned from the past
but his oxygen can't last
and his air
Is depleting fast
high in the speed
and the passing sea ****
I heard Scuba Steve plead
I'm in too deep
and I can't seem to think
Just how low
Do you think
I will sink?
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
I used to think I set a fire in your eyes,
but I've learned that was just the reflection
of the one you set in mine.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
Somedays my thoughts shriek so loud that
they congest the rest of my mind
other days they chant lullaby's as if nothing
traumatic has ever happened
one moment i'm up
the next im crumbling to my knees
one or the other its consistent drowning with
no one to rescue me
I'm keen on telling myself its all in my head
at times, but
doctors tell me its all me
but for gods sake do they realize what horrid
phrases the voices scream?
death would be so heavenly
I long for the passing of sides
im awaiting to go home where its all
white and peaceful
i have days where im so narcissistic; I swear
I can commence the world as if every millisecond is
a luxury of sighs and sounds
at moments my dispute comes out so rapid
all i get is crooked looks and mumbles
some days, I love him
other times I swear he's the devil in disguise
during my manic episodes you spoke soft as if I
was a fallen angle that was overflowing with life.
You had mentioned a world that disculded me was a
world you cannot exist in
You said I influenced your heart to skip beats, that I
saved you, I was your fresh air
Once he witnessed myself during a dreadful episode
you declared loving me was exhausting and space
is what you desired for
hell could i control this?
he was the one isolated concept I could ever make
my ******* mind up about
I loved him;
I love him
he said that his devotion to me was similar to
staring into a black hole but seeing the reflection of the delicate sunset
it never made sense to him
BUT HELL DID IT MAKE SENSE TO ME?
when he stranded me, i couldn't help but dissolve in tears
i was nowhere adjacent to happy
but that's all I've ever comprehended
my doctor says they've observed a change
maybe its the sleepless weeks and collection of mood stabilizers
consuming pills in hopes to not feel so ******* empty
anticipating on my next manic episode
waiting for the door to open to go home
If I have learned anything from living with BPD
it is im constantly dilapidated upon everything
one day soon I hope to recover from this disorder
that replicates a loud room without recognizing how loud it was
and all I hear is the ringing in my ears that doesn't seem to have an end
some day this will be over
some day my lover will stay
I pray to fall in love with another angel again
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
the Silence became
like an old lesson learned
a broken heart intones
a voiceless song
resonating a refrain of Silent echoes
in a voice that never heard a word
yet spoke so clearly ... lingering
in realms of subtle ambiance
soundless remnants
stacked neatly as
building blocks;
another brick in a wall,
already too tall to see beyond—
growing like a bunker
without a sense of safe harbor
as the Silence became
time and space,
a stillness beset the melancholy air
as if a world without song
foreboding an unpredictable storm
beget vestiges of broken windfall,
reticent leftovers hushed after a gale
s i l e n t l y
an acorn fallen — became a mighty Oak
a wind-broke twig — became a weeping willow
a neglected child — became mother nature's son
the Silence became
a blind prophet —
in its voice held forth
smatterings of truth
and undertones of an unrequited
fool’s hope
the Silence became
a strong, abrupt rush of wind
uttering voiceless exhalations of breath;
a hovering dawn mist
befallen after a summer storm—
surrounding all in all
bedewed in a feigned peace
... the unabated sounds of silence
become
Jesse Stillwater ... July 20th, 2018
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC