"writed" poems
I remember when I was a child I disliked reading books , mostly all of them . They all had a specific ending it could be happy or sad and sometimes something in between. Somehow I knew that I could never read the words writen in my heart by someone elses pen so unknowingly I started writing. I started writing as what a normal child would have to, when he starts to dream and imagine about all the things that one wants and desires and everything one knows he could be. I started writing in the blank page of life . I wrote my desires my ideals my character my adventures and everything else I thought I needed my life to be about. Pages full of happines, memories , mistakes and terrible regrets. All my darkest desires ,darkest secrets my best and worst qualities. Since I was a child the only thing I didn't give importance was time , time was passing fast right before my eyes into the words I was writing on that blank page . I never stood still to realise that until now . My life was turning into my worst nightmare filled only with paranoia and fears. I never realised that getting so hooked into what you want life to be and what it actually is would turn my reality upside down and realised I was living in a lie that I was writing . As I was stading alone in the dark yesterday I woke up . The page I started to write since I was a child run out of all empty spaces , I dont know how old I was back than but now I'm 21 and the worst thing is that I realised that I'm one of those humans helplessly stupid and I've wasted so much time rewriting and correcting on that blank page everything that I thought was wrong and now my blank page looked like the messy adventurous confusion I wanted my life to be. Today I woke up and I had a new page to write on and I've only writed four sentences the only four sentences I decided to keep as a treasure from my life
as far as today.
To desire is to dream
To dream is to want
to want is to do
And to do is to live.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
like a walking
smash novel
waiting to happen;
this isn't perks,
there's no ****
and no falcon,
and certainly
no flower grow(ing)
on the wall.
like a british
teen drama
or ******** of
equal magnitude.
this isn't skins,
well it is, just
less exciting,
less meaningful,
less expressive--
basically,
less british
like a discography
from thepiratebay,
or a microsecond
clip of sound waves,
this isn't a teen
anthem, or some
ridiculous ballad
written by puppeteers
who don't know
any better for
children far too
young to even
comprehend
the concept of
loss.
this isn't about
the strain on their
parents or the baby
in her belly, or even
about the ****** up
liver of a walking,
deceased villain,
no.
it's about the
universal and
ubiquitous:
hollowness.
longing.
strife.
the record's straight,
no thanks to me,
we'll all sleep
easier tonight,
won't we?
who am i kidding.
i writed (clever)
a wrong made so
many times before
it doesn't even matter.
it's forgotten,
no longer verbatim,
content to just be;
people describe it
by saying,
"it just is, man."
and that,
ladies and gentlemen,
is a reason to cry.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 3:34 AM UTC
under me tunnel all mine energy
a bridge above
turn me around a
corner
bring me home
writed mine obituary
say he , was unknown
plant a flower
in a tunnel
and I will see.
Home
eventually.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
Hurted myself one day ,
not for bad ,
but just to write one word
on my skin ,
who goings to heal with me ,
and hurt me ,
with a gentle kiss from my sharpen blade ,
I just writed
that unique word who means a lot
for me , Live .
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
The time
The Days
And that clock in the wall
my laughts my gigles , my tears my joys and my desspointed, and all that memories .
***
I'm a treanger but I'm still a young child
that jumped in the stan
, her hair were flying all over her neck
her eyes are full of painful Imprisoned emations ,
yet with a lot of happiness .
The time
The Days
And that clock in the wall .
my laughts my gigles , my tears my joys and my desspointed, and all that memories .
I'll run and run , until I get tired
and laugh and laugh until I feel pain in my stomach
I'll hug the wind
and fil to eat the clouds
I'll allways
live
as a child
and
feel
as a child ..
writed on 25/06/2014
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
You were standing at the top of that building
You were holding that knife against your wrist
You were sitting in a corner of your room
You were going to talk to her
What holds you back, pitiful brat?
"I'm scared, I'm scared! I'm not prepared!"
What holds you back, where's your faith at?
"I'm scared, I'm scared! I do not dare!"
You hopelessly started crying
You really wanted to talk to her
You pushed harder against your wrist
You walked further through the edge
What holds you back, pitiful brat?
"I'm scared, I'm scared! I'm not prepared!"
What holds you back, where's your faith at?
"I'm scared, I'm scared! I do not dare!"
You didn't talk to her
But you writed your last note
But your wrist started to bleed
But you jumped off the edge
Ha... Weren't you scared? I thought you didn't dare
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:33 PM UTC
Once i have seen a book
that was so well writed
that i did not read it
everytime i have seen
that book i was getting sick
you know why?
It was perfect.
It was a book that i could never write.
It was marvelous, miraculous.
nothing
i will never read
will be as wonderful and unique as that book
but i do not regret it
because that book was too perfect for me.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC