"somone" poems
You're hurting. You're hurting bad.
I can see it in your bloodshot eyes
And how you shy away from smiles
Directed at you. Now your once-had
Gleaming spirit dwindles as it tries
To cut its pain with bleak exile.
But blood is pumping through your veins -
Don't change its course with nails or steel.
Our love for you will never fade, though
You ask me what I'd do if somone else took hold your reins
And replaced you, thinking that would make us feel
Happier - without you? Never. No.
I feel anger and frustration because I'm only human,
But nothing on this planet makes me happy like you can.
I love you, you know that. Believe that in yourself.
So stay with me - you'll be with me,
a heart within myself.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Today I told someone I loved them, and I ment it more than I could ever describe in words.
But there was a niggling thought in the back of my head.
"It's too soon," it whispered.
"You should have waited. It's too soon."
People will judge me. They will think I'm foolish.
But who is anyone else to tell me about how I love someone?
And since when does falling in love have a set rules?
Why should I let society decide that my love isn't real, because they don't belive someone can feel this strongly for somone so soon?
It took me eight months to say it to my X.
And I can honestly say that feeling was like a drop in the ocean, compared to how I feel now.
So yes you can say it's too soon.
Frankly I don't give a ****
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
I wouldn't call them scars. Our bodies are ancient calendars marked with times and places. Tonight, you are not real. You are the desperate ocean lapping at the shoreline trying to take back the secrets in the bottles cast off by lovers, and children, letters to the dead sometimes. They are not your secrets, but they came to you first. They are full of feelings you have once felt or will feel. The bottles glisten in the sand mockingly, beautifully, painfully, like window shopping for jewelry you'll never be able to afford. You never expect to want the glass back after it has been pulled out of you. But the stories inside are your stories now too. You cast them off in the same manner hoping somone better than the sea will find them. The story about your cancer, your mother, the love you feel right now, the love returned, the time you thought of the beauty of a flower, the flower you killed to show someone how beautiful it was, the realization of the importance of stillness. All those stories like broken bottles in your skin. Like jewels encrusted on a big brass door leading to a room you live in. But tonight, you are the ocean at high tide, finally getting your bottles back.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
She stands
My eyes follow
She's brighter than the others
The colour so vivid
I've never seen somone so bright
She glows like the sun,the moon, and the stars
She smiles
I feel my heart reel
The colour gets brighter
Almost blinding
She's the one...
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
In my nightmare, I was standing in the dark.
The wind bellowing around me, like somone screaming.
I was told to lift the mountain with my bare hands and not leave until I did so.
My insides lit up like a little sun was there, threatening to burn me up.
Sour claws of nausea rip my innards, as if they were teeth gnawing on my raw flesh, being burnt by the sun within.
Ignore it.
It will pass if I focus on the task.
That was my first mistake.
Still, dug my fingers in the ground and began to lift.
Hands began to burn and scream, sweat turned to smoke and muscle strained.
Teeth gritted, I pushed passed the pain, focused on the mountain and I.
Smoke mixed with the wind and the darkness and the screaming, bellowing through the nightmare.
The Sun burns hotter.
Mustered up every ounce of strength I could.
And I lifted.
Heaved the heavy mountain up to the Heavens.
The pain shook through my body until.
Finally the mountain and earth separated and the void between is quickly filled with air.
The weight pass from my hands to my shoulder.
I had done it.
At last almost Atlas-like.
Standing there, mountain remaining on shoulder.
But now what?
The sun still burned, hotter than ever, that blasted furnace.
And in the moment, my attention did lapsed and my body slacked, prelude to the collapse.
What was I thinking?
The wind screamed around me and I began to shake in the dark.
A fake Atlas, with the weight on his shoulder unbearable.
The pressure was too much, too heavy, and too late to do anything.
And the sun burns on.
I want to run to the nearest pier and jump, to disappear beneath the waves.
Stop the burning, end the atrophy of my muscles.
I’ve done unhappy deeds and now I want the most human of needs.
The end to my pain.
That’s the truth.
I yearn for it.
The sun burns still
I let go of the weight and allow gravity to do its job.
Flattened as the mountain was reunited with the earth.
Thought I could carry the world on my shoulder, but I am no Atlas.
I can't even carry a mountain.
I tried and look where I am now.
I am shattered.
Brittle bones becomes broken and turn to dust.
I have given all I got, thrown in the lot.
Soon my skin will rust and rot away.
Soon there will be nothing left to sustain such a fire but the sole desire for rest.
The sun within continues to burn me.
Until I am nothing but smoke, bellowing in the wind.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 4:44 AM UTC
the pope asked me what i really belived in, behind the lies and masks and the effect of saten.
you know what i told him?
wanna know what i said on that dry summer evenin?
i said that my holy book is read by the perfact way your hair looks messy when you just get out of bed,
when you call me late at night because our songs stuck inside your head.
i worship the way you always say that i know just what you think,
ill pray to the way your voice goes low as hell when you talk about true love.
the way your eyes make stars appear in all that dreary darkness of...all the rhods we take and lines we cross just to hold echother near. and at the end of this congregation i promise ill see you soon my dear.
you give new colors to every flower. evey lemon, every tree. and the colors sparkle only when i hold you close to me,
on the red platos of navajo, honey bees makeing a song so much better than the radio, your voice the lead singer and my spirit feels the flow.
so yeah i know its a little bit melo-dramadic, a bit manic, co dependent on the way you look at me, whatever you see thats just what i wanna be. babe.
and so my soul is saved with every touch from you.
preach in the pew about all the times we had at midnight solitary dances running from our taxes living life and death theres nothin left
but all that holy love we share.
so i told the prest the, minister the bishop and the father and the son and evry single holy ghost who was there, that im in love with this girl and i dont give a **** what you think force me to drink that holy water to set me on that straigh and narrow bath, and i would laugh at all the **** that they belive will work on somone such as me.
and THATS how i got excommunicated
thankyou
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 2:06 PM UTC
We drank and became aware.
After a sneaky shot of whiskey.
The hispanic reminded myself.
The ingnorent Michael of sidharthas plan.
If he came now and toaday.
Could the sidhartha buddha search his own.
There are circumstanses to understand.
Sidhartha sidhartha. I read about the river.
Govinda found your nieve friend.
The man who would be disiple for the world.
Sidhartha would find somone elses journey.
Which in the making was his own creation.
In a epic adventure what's worth the struggle.
Its to easy and simple giving in.
Our sidhartha understood the noble Idea.
Which is make patience before accepting and believing what you have to.
In his unshaken morals he would become the buddha.
A soul every person needs to read about.
If they want fufillment in life.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Perfect?
No.
Not me.
I'm not afraid
To admit it.
I'm not like
The others.
I don't prance around
Telling everyone
I'm better than them.
It's not my place.
It never will be.
I accept
Being surpassed by others.
Who am I
To judge people?
Nobody.
Perfect?
Nope.
Not this girl.
I'm not some
Straight A student.
I'm not some
Proper princess either.
I may not be
Perfect.
But at least
I speak the truth,
Even when my
Voice trembles.
I am who I am.
You don't like it?
Not my problem.
I accept
Not being the popular kid.
I accept
Not being liked by everyone.
I can be
The ripest most juciest
Peach in the basket.
But I know
There will always be somone
Who doesn't like peaches.
I can't stop things
Like that.
I have flaws.
That is the way it is.
I may not be
Perfect.
But I try
The very best I can
To be
Me.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
I am falling
No
I am about to fall
There are instructions in my hand
something about landing safely
Something about floating
Not flying
I do not know who has decided this for me
There are tools in my hands
I am expected to build a kite in the freefall I think
Somone pushes me
If I land safely then she will love me
this is dream truth
I am a kite now
I let my string drag along the surface of the earth
Reel me in as I pass by
Or don't
I don't care
I can't fly
But I can't fall anymore either
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
You were born from stardust
That makes you a star
You are a brilliant light
That shines endlessly
Through the night
You are a wish
Somebody's first oppurtunity
Somone's last chance
You are a guide
To those lost
Down on the Earth's surface
Who just want to go home
You are a star
And stars only have a certain
Amount of time before
The pressure builds up and you
Explode
You are a star
And you are home now
(MTH 1/29/2014 2:40am)
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 2:43 AM UTC
like a piece of paper
printed-stored in a dark file
then -after a while placed inside a shredder
that how useless i felt
when our love went through the wire
it doesnt matter how much i couldve prayed
but i had fallen pray
of this cycle of life that happens day by day
like a piece of paper
i got recycled-re vived again
as to become useful to somone
out there
willing to make me appreciated again
turning me into something different
making me feel useful again
pegz (c)
Jan 19, 2010
Jan 19, 2010 at 1:29 AM UTC
All great stories have a beginning , a middle & a end,
But not necessarily in that order.
I wonder what metaphor you should be,
Like I wonder if our story is just at the beginning or just at the ending.
Or if there is a fairy tale ending.
THE END .
What is on the last page of a book was on
The first chapter of ours titled rejection.
I wonder why I had to laugh to the sound of no
Just to make this easier for you
I wonder is this the false face of a lover,
Simply to care.
I wonder am I allowed to use the word love
When our story together never really began.
I wonder if there is an alternative to the two paths I can take,
Like I wonder do you realise my meaning behind how 'I want to watch you grow',
If the two lesser roles you had offered to me is mine to pick to be stranger or friends
For the lesser plot of our Middle,
Let me explain,
I wanted to be somone special in this story
If you allow me to.
But instead I'm probably going to be
Like a social therapist,
Like a guardian angel,
Like a hero who does not wear capes.
But instead I'm probably going to be
Always listening and never fixing,
Always blessing but never protecting,
Always changing and never rescuing.
I wonder why you can be so certain,
I wonder was it easy for you to edit away at this life's story
I wonder if you Know why you re called a baby chick?
You're like a baby chick who has yet to grow out feathers
Like a chick that does not give out hope,
Cause hope is a thing of feathers.
I wonder if this relationship is at the ending or at the beginning?
P.S. you ****
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
Why do you give me this feeling
The feeling of me wanting you back
Even when you cut my heart open
You showed me you didn't care
That you'll never want anything to do with me
Your cold, cruel hands choked me
But I still stuck around
I didn't care what your crazy mind did to my feelings
I still stuck around
Even when we were no more
I still don't know why
But I did
I loved you
I'm not sure what I feel for you now
All I know is that you'll always have a place in my heart
You where there for me
You hurt me
You loved me
Maybe still do
Not sure
Still not clear to me
You don't tell me much
You were my first in may things
You were my first boyfriend
For a long time
Even though we were young and didn't know what love was
We were together
Love is a passion between two people
Love is being happy with one another
Love is being able to tell them anything you want
Love is bring afraid of losing your partner
I'm afraid
I wanna know you forever
Maybe not be together
Your warm hands come back
They love and carry me
They were always there when I needed them
A hand to hold
A body attached
To cuddle with
To be with
I still have feeling, I know
I'm mostly sure
But I must move on
I have somone now
Who shows and tells his passion for me everyday
But you
I hate you with a passion yet love you till eternity
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
I can see it.
I can see you.
I can see her.
I can see it.
I can see you falling.
I can see her lying.
I can see it.
I can't see how you can trust her,
I know her little game,
What really throws me off is that I think your doing the same,
I've know her much longer than you, she tries to act so cool,
Through my eyes, shes an absoloute fool,
But you smile and nod and think and now you, wonder.. "Am I the actual fool? Is she the one who I really love. Somone so mean and fake? Not only to that girl on the left side of the bus, but...... I think I'm making a mistake."
I hope you finally see the real and perform an act of wisness, because I do not care of you burn in flames because of her.
I can see it right now.
You let her manipulate you, and now you dont even know whats going on. And I bet your wondering, "Do i know?" NO!!
She lies
She manipulates
She pretends
She is unworthy of such a title
Shes a bully
She is a monster.
So wake up from that ******* cloud nine, and tell me Im not to late, and youre still there, some where in there mess up there.
Don't trust
Don't trust you
Don't trust her
DO NOT TRUST
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
No.sun.will
Shine.in.my day today.
The high yellow moon.wont come out to.play
Darkness has covered my light
And turned my day into night
Where is the love to be found.
Wont somone tell me now.
I.. I got to.pick myself.from.off.the ground
In this ya concrete jungle
Where the livin aint easy....man I got to face reality.
No chains around.my.feet but im not free.
I still am.bound here in captivityy
I never know happness
Never know.what sweet rest is
Instead of concrete jungle
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
Some things don't hit you
til you tell somone else.
"She's
never
coming
back."
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
Even the truth pauses if
you ask it for the time; a
woman who is smarter than
you still likes it when you
smile at her; every elevator
stops on more than one floor;
a kiss doesn’t always settle
an argument but it still feels
good; if you take the time to
complain about frivolous
things then you already are
its intended victim; there’s
not a woman alive who can
prepare you for the next one;
you will always be unsatisfied
if you take yourself too
seriously; if you can paint
something that you’ve never
seen then you have an
imagination; if you can paint
something that would unnerve
your mother then you are free;
there is nothing you should
ask of someone if you excuse
yourself from the same rules;
a grown-up desires the same
things but knows too much
about tomorrow; if you think
it is too late to discover your
true gift then you are wrong;
to live life waiting for bad news
is no way to live; to see that
others live the same way is
to know that you are not alone;
there is someone out there
for you but if you keep your
heart to yourself then he
will walk past you like a
stranger on the corner; no
matter how creative you are
someone can do it better; if
your ego exceeds your
capabilities then you will
live a life of delusion; the
best way to become empathetic
is to become obsessed with
describing the feelings of
others; a true artist is always
waiting for the next creation
no matter how great the last
one was; the impatience of
the imagination is unleashed
once you recognize that it
exists; there's always one
more love in your life but you
have to give them the chance
you swore you would never do
again; the day you decide to
justify yourself instead of
challenging your beliefs is
the day you stop learning;
there are three ways to change,
a painful mistake, hearing the
truth from your best friend or
comparing yourself to somone
great but without the desire
to change you will remain as
you were when the truth tells
you that time is no longer its
concern; whatever is lodged
in your mind causes disbelief
in something, but have you
built the wall in the right place?
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Ever had depression so bad you forget who you are
No identity
No self assurance
Who am i
I never knew who i was
Always played the chameleon from the time i was 10
Ever had anxiety so bad you're petrified with fear
Somone left my sight and i thought they'd die
Someone would'nt respond and i thought i was hated
I leave my house the worse will happen
Always questioning everying
Always left wondering
Always asking what if
Always looking over my shoulder
Always expecting a blow that might not even come
Always looking for escape routes
Always moving
Always changing
Always tired
Someone tell me a story
So I can forget
Someone tell me a story
So i can be free
Someone tell me a story
So i can escape
Someone tell me a story
So i can get away
Someone tell me a story
So i can get a happy ending
Someone tell me a story
Someone tell me a story
Someone tell me a story
Someone please set me free
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 8:01 PM UTC
I stand on the rocky ground between heaven and hell.
My mother once told me that you can't have it all,
but she never met you with your sweet lips and soft eyes.
I loved you deeply,
fully,
wholly.
I loved you more than I loved my own consciousness.
Somone once told me that falling in love
felt a lot being set on fire.
Watching as you disappeared in front of your own eyes,
dwindling down to ashes,
love felt a lot like being ablaze.
You were my inferno.
You were reckless and you burned bright enough to blind me,
but you also warmed me from the inside out.
Looking back,
I can't tell where you stopped warming me,
and began burning me.
I never noticed my fingertips turning to ash
and my heart hardening from your touch.
But I needed you.
I needed warmth, even if I knew from the beginning
that you'd be my demise.
I would always choose the most lethal weapon.
You were no exception.
Your love was fire,
it left me with scattered fragments of my former self.
And it's tragic that I'll always need someone to piece me back together
so that I can feel whole again.
When I loved you,
I watched everything fade around me,
until you were the only one left in my universe.
So when you left,
I felt this desolation that swallowed me from the inside.
Love is a paper boat that sinks,
and I am a sailor that never learnt how to swim.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Higher than a kite
Like that Elton John song you like
**** you
Now that that's out of the way
I feel so happy for once
I could get used to it
I need to find a replacement
Somone
Or something
To make me care
Whatever you are
Thank you
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 2:25 AM UTC
I try to keep it together
I try not to show it.
But I'm falling apart inside.
The pain is becoming harder to ignore
The tears are getting harder to push back.
But I keep pushing it away
I wont let it out.
There are people out there
Who are more important than me.
But its still there
just below the surface.
it keeps building and building.
and I fall back onto my old ways of coping
Cutting
puking
denying myself sleep.
Why does this keep happening to me?
But I know why.
Because I keep it bottled up
I wont let it free
because there are other people out there
who are much more imprtant than me
They need somone to be there for them
I'll be fine
I'll be ok
because I dont matter.
I'm not worth it.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
Each poem I write about my true feelings,
I slowly chip away at the mask that I wear
For you to see who I genuinely am, and it
Takes a lot of time, but it will be worth it.
We have slowly chipped away
The masks that we wear every day
With each poem that I write
And with each poem that you read.
Through my poetry we see cracks
Of light that is our true person that
We want to world to see but we are
Afraid of how to show it to the world.
I hide behind my poetry because I don’t
Know how to tell the you and the world
How I genuinely feel about anything
And through my poetry I can do so
Without being afraid of directly saying
To every single person my true feelings
But after sharing my world with you
I am no longer afraid to tell you how
I genuinely feel because I have confidence
In myself because with each poem I write
You see cracks in my mask and light breaking
Through the cracks and my true self coming out.
I am no longer shy when I am around you
And I am my genuine self when we talk.
Everything that I have told you through my
Poetry is genuinely true and now what I will tell
You in person is my genuine self because there
Is no point in hiding who wer are anymore.
We have opened up to each other and there
Is no point in closing our book or ripping out pages.
Our books will remain open with blank pages to be
Filled as our genuine identity breaks through the
Masks that we wear every day and every night.
After you read this poem, you will have chipped
The last chip off my mask and my genine self will
Be exposed to you and to everyone in the world.
I will no longer afraid or shy to talk to you about
Anything and everything from my past that shaped
Me into who I am today no matter how bad my past
May have been because with every second I spend
With you my shyness and my mask melt away
And the person I wanted you to meet will still be there.
After you read this poem, I will be a new person
Whom I’ve never ever been before in my life.
After you read this poem, I will be somone better.
With this poem, I will be the genuine person that I am.
I will be who I really am with this poem.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
I speak to my body
and tell my very skin to hold on
for the places that I will be letting my
ease drip is no ocean of euphoria
yet it will provide the joy in delivery
in the very understanding of the depth
beneath our feet, in the fleeting
air of real human like feelings
breathing around us
pitiful skeletons enveloped like ghosts
my back is stabbed and I am wounded
bleeding on the years under me
floating in gray air
I see every small detail
every dull and alien like brittle particle
oh I see everything
my legs are open and ready to take in
all the life
just life
only for me, and nothing else
I want none
fullfilled with my own generosity
I choose not to let somone invade my
warmth at the time,
I am selfish with myself
I want only myself
I want only my love
and I want only my pain
until I find you who understands that
I lay stagnant a tear
upon my blushed cheek
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 5:07 AM UTC
Someone asked me what being a poet is like.
And I blushed.
Not because I was called a poet
(Which I'm not)
Not because my poems embarrass me
(Sometimes they do)
But because being a poet
Is like that dream.
You know that dream,
where you're naked in front of a class?
Being a poet, painter, and musician
Is like being naked.
You're exposed to the world,
The most private parts of you exposed.
Ready to be judged, lauged at, criticized,
And loved.
It's like the world is looking at you.
The ugly scar on your chest,
Stretch marks from being spread too thin,
Fat pockets from when you weren't strong.
Someone told me I have a comma problem,
It hurt, like somone telling me I was ugly.
I know I'm beautiful though.
I love my imperfections.
My writing is my own, unique.
No critisizm can stop me from being me.
I lay my words uncovered, unaltered
On the page. They wait, breathlessly.
Sometimes being a poet is hard and brave,
Other times it's fun and easy.
Someone asked me what being a poet is like
I said it was great, and then I started to
Write.
(Undress)
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
Moving left to right,
Hips sway slowly,
Hair brushing one shoulder to the next,
Eyes closed and lips miming the words
She hears in her head.
We all wish those words were ours,
That our creativity made her move that way.
But they're not ours,
She's dancing to someone else's song
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC