Where I’m from pain has always been my middle name
I would close my eyes to see only a man raising his fist in vain
All I ever seemed to know was pain
Everyday I seemed to drowning in rain
Pain..
Tears drain from my bloodshot eyes
running 24/7
chasing something worse than I was originally running from
forever finding myself dwindling into the arms of heartless guys just as broken as I
Where I’m from
I was a failure before I was even born
Day by day forced to look into the eyes of a live devil in disguise and be told I was ugly, worthless, unwanted
Told I would never amount to anything
Where I’m from it’s nothing like most expect
It’s a night sky abandoned
where the stars are transformed into shards of shattered glass
In this place, all that we see is blood and tears, people crawling on their hands and knees because they can no longer handle the pain on their feet
We all seem to have fallen weak
We are here but we can hardly breathe
seeming to always be at a loss of words
Pain, is the only language we speak
So just when you thought black couldn’t get any blacker
and your darkest night couldn’t get any darker
I could easily open up my heart, reveal it’s secrets, and simly prove you wrong
If only you could see, this hell that I call home
Where I’m from

Writing someone a poem
Isn’t just telling them how you feel
Writing them a poem
Is giving them your feelings
To inspect and admire
To comprehend what’s going on
In your head when you look at them
Your not simly sharing
What’s on your mind
Your sharing the things
Your heart sees and
The things your brain is trying to process
Writing a poem for someone
Isn’t just a little thing
It’s a big thing
Because it’s taking the time
To decipher the messages your
Heart beat sends out
And put it into words
Sometime this isn’t always possible
Sometimes there are no words that
Describe your feelings
That is beautiful
Don’t get frustrated
Writing a poem for someone
Really special is hard
Your not only giving them the keys
To all the doors you keep
But your trusting they will value
What they find when they open
Your doors
So when I write you a poem
It’s not something from the bottom
Of my heart
It’s something that tingles
In my finger tips
Something that dances in my belly
And makes it hard to breathe
Poetry is not always accepted
But it’s always a beautiful language
That comes from the things that make you
Tick
The desire to confess the things within
That explain the things you do
Is a beauty that can never be stolen
From you