"litterature" poems
Do you write poetry to get it all out
Or to hide it?
Do you write because you want to scream
And shout, or because you cant hide it?
I write when im lonely
When the demons inside me get roudy
When the drugs come a'howlin
And my familys looking over me,
Frowning
I write when the slits on my wrists look like the telephone lines i should be calling
But instead of screaming i just end up scrawling
All my pathetic overstated woes
Right here
So facilitate me, you strangers
Love this post. Even though i hate it
Youve no idea the dangers im in
Trying to stay away from that whole bottle of gin
In the corner
Facilitate my anxieties
Show me your all just sheep
Flocking to litterature like the bowls of soup attract the meak
Im not a person here.
None of you really care
Are you even self aware
Do you know That even though its poetry
Theres a person there?
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
i want; consumption
i want to be industrial
i want to be industry
i want to be work
i want to be revolution
i want to be motion
i want to be litterature
i want to be words
i want to be desire
i want to be lust
i want to be love
i want to be beauty
i want to see beauty
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 2:00 PM UTC
In the middle of the night
I share this poem with you
What do you know
what do you see of me?
A few patches of black
carved in the white of a screen
a few sad words trying to soothe
what is left of me
I live secluded in an apartment
downtown of a half a million souls' city
founded by the Atlantic ocean
I live a cosy and quiet life
sometimes going out to feed myself
and breathe the lousy air of town
Me and my few friends gather once every week
to share a drink
to exchange meaningless thoughts
and useless ideas
around the fate of man
the hopeless prospect of our destiny
We are bachelors around forty
We were born wild and hard
offshoots of the oddest
long gone sycamores
rooted in the most infertile soils
We used to read powerful litterature
Nietzsche, Kafka, Broch,
Joyce, Balzac, Beckett,
Shakespeare, Goethe and Bernhard
to name a few
But none of them has ever helped us out
to find a heart to love
and a pristine soul to care for
All the books we read
have tormented us
with many questions and relentless issues
Now we sit still in our chairs
and watch the clouds go by
hoping for the next blue sky
hoping for the next feeling to come
And never do we ask when...
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
I find it hard to be hopeful
in the moments of transition,
But I globalize the feelings to understand the movement.
Perception is limited,
And hard to see underneath dark cloth where I hide the scars.
Days just accumulate different vessels,
And infiltrate behind walls.
Where I am weak,
Useless,
And small.
It took me years to learn how to love myself.
But even now I am lost in between the pages of litterature,
Trying to find the words for you to understand my pain.
Through each day
the little steps I take,
Seem to bring some hope for me,
But never enough to keep my smiling.
The sun may shine the brightest,
And the moments may divide us.
But i try my best to stay strong.
I try to hold on,
As if I just have one more day
left.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
I was always so engaged,
curious to see what my fingertips could create,
what litterature my mind thought of.
I sat, brooding over the words to come.
He addressed me with a grin
and told me I needed to hide from the world
to explore my imagination.
Handing me his sweater,
I held it over my head,
writing my heart out
as my imagination soared.
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 11:59 AM UTC