"unlively" poems
I'm certainly not
exquisite in how I word
out my true feelings.
I can't paint a Van
Gogh of my emotions for
you, nor would I try.
I don't even know
why I feel the way I feel,
it simply spews out.
It's as though there's just
one little string holding me
back that I can't find.
If only I could
figure out what it is I
want out of this life.
Maybe then I could
stop writing poems I don't
like and start living.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Pines littered my unlively heart, once a rooted place; with branches of family, sprouts nothing more than unwanted pain.
Trees filtered the rain and hale, marching upon my veins; leaves wither now, roaming a terrain of deserts and unanswered lies.
Tumbleweeds, each one of a kind, bellow in the wind that dried my brain, refraining the saplings from hope, holes built in my body for no other process than causing emptiness, a sense of memory that was once before.
Not anymore, I feel nothing.
I do nothing.
I am nothing.
I'm inhumane, unwillingly walking to the past; lurking from the windows, one broken and one stained, I know now that my hurt was never tamed.
It just laid, pulsing through my feet; hiding as I am now, you hear a sound from outside, a purposeful blow from the wind.
There goes my brain.
There goes my pain.
Goodbye-
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
I feel nothing.
Like a blank page.
Locked inside of a cage.
I can't figure out my life's destination.
I'm losing all concentration
My dreams are green of envy.
My thoughts aren't pure.
My rage is heavy.
I have no clear path.
No pavement before me.
I am standing here feelings God's wrath.
Singled out in a clearing.
Whispering curses that only the trees are hearing.
Scared to take a step.
Always fearing when God will strike next.
He laughs at my pain.
Pinning me to the ground in this chain.
I hate being locked in this cage.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
So far and yet so close we seem
to be from the things that make us happy.
At times, our game-winning shot misses.
At times, our lovers leave us to just wishes.
Hurt, pain, and sorrow lays in our end
to a life without love or friend.
These feelings strangle and smother
our peace like the wrath of none other.
Repetition. From repeated reaches to resurgence,
to taking tyrannical triumph, to taking rejoice,
I repeatedly have nothing. Words of
“try again” and “get over it” reverberate in
my mind, rocking my resolve to sleep.
Rupturing results rips, tears through tiers of
my resilience, turning me to tears. They creep
into my dreams, upon my thrills, onto my choices,
inside my hopes, like ants in tents. With cruel intent,
every failure rends me so intense.
But how to respond?
If I show a lack of care by a loss,
“Maybe it wasn’t too serious”.
But if I reply with hurt and sadness,
“maybe you’re just overreacting”.
But only for so long can I just
“make the best out of a bad situation”.
How many times do I need to fail,
in order to succeed?
If I didn’t care so much, then
I wouldn’t hurt so much.
But what is a life lived so unlively?
Why am I wrong to make the most
of what I’m given? To wish, to hope
is seen as good ambition when it’s
a success, but when I fail then I overdid it?
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 12:36 PM UTC