Summer Poem...Fuck it's hot-The End
All Her Little ThingsStop hating her for the littlest things.The things she can't prevent,The things she can't save herself from..Stop demanding her to do things,Things she can't accomplish,Things she can't imagine being done...Stop lying to her,Telling her you love her,Want her, need her...When all you've ever done is make her want toDie.Stop hating her for the littlest things.The things she can't prevent,The things she can't save herself from...Because,When those little things you've doneTake her down...The little things won't matter anymore.
Selfish Suicide"People who kill themselves are selfish."Well, darling, let me tell you a story,A story all too true.A daughter who became a wife, a wife who became a mother.A mother of three girls...One just above the age of a toddler,One at the age of twelve,And one entering the life of a married adult.Now, the youngest girl was watching television,And the oldest at the neighbor's home.The twelve year old daughter sat at a computer with her closest friend,When something terrifying happened.Her mother was in the kitchen, coughing.The daughter, although unable to see her mother, only could imagine the situation.The mother walked calmly past the daughter with tears rushing down her face,And up the stairs she went,Into her bedroom...Locking the door behind her.The daughter, hearing the door lock, didn't bother to check on her mother.She decided to expect and hope for the best.Five, maybe ten minutes passed, the daughter still sitting at the computer,When the mother stumbled down the
how to become a writer.don't.stay away frompencils and pens.don't lookat keyboardsor at blank pagesof notebook paper.don't submitto the emerald sigh ofvellichor,the shredded sheetsof everything,everything you've workedyour whole life to run away from.don't live in the moment.let love and fear float by,just a skimming whisper,because a whisperis better than nothing.a whisper is betterthan the brittle falling-apartof kairosclerosis.suffer from catoptric tristesse,but don't think about it(for too long, anyways.)look at the mirrorbut never look yourselfin the eye,because who knows what you've become?don't write what you're feeling.you don't even know what you're feeling.leave the pencil alone,because the pencil will not submitto the slow,careful splinteringof your life.
JealousyI know I shouldn’t be jealousBut how can I help it?She is always so perfect,So beautiful,So outgoing,So happy,So… everything I’m notI can’t help but feelLike I am on the sidelinesNext to her.Like I will never amountUp to her.That I am insufficientCompared to her.I see the way you look at herAnd I can’t help but wonder,Do you look at me like you do her?Hug me like you do her?Laugh and smile with meLike you doHer?I am sure she is a good person,A very nice person in fact.It isn’t hard to tell she loves you,That she cares very much about you,I am sure she is a wonderful friendTo have around….I know I shouldn’t be jealous…But how can I help it?I want a bond with youLike she has….
Don't pick a fight with an ArtistDon't pick a fight with an artistWanna fight pussy?Give me yar best shot Or will you throw a paintbrush at me?I'm so scared- notExcuse me? What did you say?What is a punch you ask?Of course let me tell you: A blow with the fist- it's quite a simple taskAre y' gonna cwyyy?I dunno what you just saidWhy don't you let me show you?I'll f****** punch you and then- boom- you're dead!?Pardon? What did you ask?You need a clearer definition?Of course, let me show youI'll demonstrate- with out your permissionOuch! Hey no fairDude you are so gayYou write poetryI'll make you f****** pay!Discúlpeme? What did you mutter?I'm gay? Is that what you said?Perhaps you need some assistance, let me helpI'll be gentle I promise- I did need new ink! In the colour red<
That one girlShe's that one girl you see with the pencil wovenbetween her skinny fingers She's the one who sits in the cornerinstead of the middle of the room The one who's always last to speakThe one who's words are kept secret to everyonebut herself Always the one who bitesher own tongue She's the girl who's beautifulbut doesn't think the same way She's the one who can't be convincedof the talents she holdsThe flare that ignites the lives of the people around herbut she can't feel the heat for herself She is weighed down by the insecurities she slingsover her shoulders She's unconvinced of her own styleher own special self She's the girl who paintsShe's the girl who drawsShe's the girl who writesBut second guesses every stroke of her brushto every letter she prints Shes that one girl whose eyes display a worldall her ownBut she sees a somber worldstaring back at her She sees
DarknessI want it.I know I need it.But I tell myself no.If I get it,It will be for the better.If I don't...Who knows?I want it.I should.But I don't think I can.Not because I'm afraid of judgement.Not because I'm afraid of what will happen.Because I'm afraid of myself.I've been so brokenAll these years.And I've mended myself as best I could,With very little help,None mostly actually.The day it began,Part of me died.The day it began,A new part was born.The dead partAnd current partCome and go.When the dead part revives,I miss the current part.I grow frustratedand I can't get past anything.I feel normal.When the current part returns,I miss the dead part.I cry and scream.I
ConfessionIt hurts.It physically hurts.Emotional pain isn't supposed to do that!I'm slowly giving up.I thought I was strong.I thought had healed.They say time heals all wounds.It doesn't though.It only strengthens the pain of long ago.I look down on those who openly cry,Who voice their sadness,Who receive the help they so desperately need.I just want to do the same.All I can do is sit and smile,Laugh at them.Because it's just another broken person like me.Not even.They're not decaying like me.I've been decaying since a young age.Age eight.That's when it began.Can't we go back?Go back to before things got fucked up?Before they split.Before you tainted my mind.Before...Before I became who I am today.
Your life is not a British television showPeople on social media sitestend to glorify things that hurt.They brag about thingsthat people struggle with.Mental illness is not a label.It is not a badge nor a privilegeor something you have to earn.People suffer,they battle voices in their headsthat they do not even recognize.People struggle to tametheir inner demonsand keep up an imagethat the world expects them to uphold.Mental illness is not cute,being so anxious you cannot speak is not a quirk.Relying on people to take care of you is not romantic.News flash!Your life is not an episode of SkinsThe idea of Effy and Freddie is fictional,no one is going to save you.We go home and muffle our crieswhile dragging razors across our wristschasing pills with bottles of vodka.Our thoughts turn on usLike a loaded gun,and we are stuck foreverin a game of Russian roulette.We wear long sleeves,and try to drown out voices with headphones.We tremble at the thought of giving up the chemicalswe have become dependent
Dream CriterionIf you can't fly on your dreams anymore,I'm sorry, but don't worry,you have simply grown up.If you can't build a little empire on your dreams,I'm totally sorry,you are a dead man walking.
.a spider weaveshis silver lies on myfront door, and iwalk right in;the flies laugh
.throw my boneson the fire justto warm up yourownthen sitthere and wonderwhy you're alwaysalone
Take ThisTake this kiss upon your hand,For the ones who starved themselves,Because "ugly" was written all over their mirrors,Because "fat" was the only thing in their way.Take this hug around your shoulders,For the ones who cried themselves to sleep,Because, unlike everyone else,Their pillows kept their secrets.Take this wish for your success,For the ones with wounds blanketing their wrists,Because physical pain gave feeling,And feeling was so hard to find.Take this whisper in your ear,For the ones who live through pain,Through sorrow, through regret,Through loneliness in crowded rooms,Through nightmares and judgement and hatred...Take these words, darling,These words I say to you.Stay strong. Never give up. Keep breathing.Continue inspiring.Let's keep going,For the ones who starved themselves,For the ones who cried themselves to sleep,For the ones with wounds blanketing their wrists,For the ones who live through pain,For the ones forced to survive...And for the on
the shit i learned in high school1. help clean up the morning after the party.(even if it wasn't youwho smashed tater tots into the carpetor left crushed beer cans in the flowerbox.it might as well have been, andif you're luckynext time, it will be.)2. when your phone rings after midnight,it's never the person you want it to be.answer it anyway.and when it's a boy who wants to read poetry and watch meteor showers,understand that that's probably not all he wants,and then hang up.or don't hang up.trade poems and stars and kisses,and let it mean nothing or everything.3. skipping class is never a good ideaunless you're with a friend you loveand you sneak along the railroad tracks to sit and smoke and watch trains passor unless you're alone,and you need to walk and think and drink steaming coffee in the rainor unless-okay, fuck it, skipping class at least once is probably a good idea.4. don't apologize for asking questions.5. don't be afraid to disagree.6. don't get caught.7. everyone is lonelyan
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
I AmI am single,but I am loved.I am not a genius,but I am intelligent.I am not breathtaking,but I have beauty.I am not a saint,but I am kind.To the world,I am not perfect.But for someone,I am.
.you break freefrom the grip ofthe oceanjust to die inthe arms of the shorefrom exhaustion
.you brokea heart,convincedthat there wassomething goodinside
Winter Poem...Fuck it's cold-The End
Such words. Many talent