OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here

Poem about my first crisis.

I feel like the starving tiger that feels sympathy for its fellow creature

That sinks its teeth - and its heart does the same - to spill blood that it fears is not its own

As a cub, it had not known what its mother meant when she said "To live is to die, and therefore live alone"

And to die is to kill, it realized when it was forced to do what was not in its nature.

As life is sapped, strength is gained

But two souls are lost, and while one is free, the other mourns

It goes to drink, but at its image, fear is all it can consume, and as it looks around, it smells a trail of scorn

It gathers the bones of its native beast and runs to change how the fearful tyger is framed.

Til I Cease to Exist

Looking out my window,

Staring at the street below,

I sit here and cry,

As I helplessly watch my life pass by,

I feel so cold and hollow inside,

I check for my pulse,

But there is no sign of life.

Demons surround me,

Clawing & gnawing,

Ripping me apart.

It's all so confusing,

I'm losing,

My grip on reality.

Falling, I'm falling, God help me!

I'm falling! Falling from Grace!

Darkness consumes my every thought.

Screaming, they're screaming,

Words so hateful and clear.

Sacrificed, I must be sacrificed.

Drowning, I'm drowning,

In an ocean of pain and tears.

The darkness continues to fall,

As I grow numb to the world around me.

Hollow and dead inside,

I begin to fade.

Fade away.

Into the abyss,

Til I cease to exist.

September 2, 2017

whispers near sunset
words Ill one day hear

but life—
life has stopped.
for the day,
in a moment,
all
lost
a flicker in continuum.

the pine trees
dance
as lost souls
run
through the forest

when one day becomes today and today becomes yesterday and yesterday is only tomorrow on repeat
doldrum is a funny word.

In a dream
we feel
nothing
but live everything
a blanket of bleariness
covering our realities
revealing our deepest sins

I wake up and
the trees are
still dancing
the lost
still running
nothing has changed.

but I wish it to.
such beauty comes
in new things.

I will never forget you,

I say this not as a cliché but with sincerity,

I will never forget how your anger can fill up a room,

I will never stop flinching when I hear a door open,

I will never forget the ever mad scramble when your voice pierces the air,

I will never forget you,

I wrote this one a while ago, and thought I would share it with you guys. I write quite a lot of poetry, but it's mostly dark and I wondered how you'd feel about me sharing some of that here. Thanks for reading :)

I am happy - I am sad - I am both

I am happy.

No you don't understand.

I am actually happy.

Right now in this moment, it's like someone switched me on.

I am awake. I am alive.

And for however long,

Happy.

I am Happy.

This is rare.

I am actually happy.

Right now all thre dark, it seems so far away,

I am here. I am present.

And I want to be,

Happy.

I am sad.

No you don't understand.

I am sad now.

I knew it was coming, from the moment I was happy.

And for longer than happy,

Sad.

I am sad.

This is normal.

I am comfortable with sad.

Right now it is dark, no light can break though,

I am alost. I am alone.

What is it to be,

Happy.

I am both.

Do you understand.

I am both, together.

In a constant struggle, between two conflicting emotions.

I am sad, I am happy.

Unril the wave of one or the other hits.

Both.

I am both.

All the time.

I am both, together.

One never live without the other, one stimply stands behind.

I am pain. I am pleasure.

Fighting for a winner, but neither winning long.

Both.

I hate myself

I hate myself.

People ask me why, when, what happened?

That is of course if they are lucky enough to see the fact I hate myself.

I think at least perhaps to the people that know me and the people that don't.

I have mastered the art of hiding the fact

I hate myself.

It's the people stuck in the middle, the ones I sort of know, who run the risk of learning the truth.

The ones who know just enough, but I do not care about enough, to know that It would break them, if they ever learned how, broken I am.

They are the ones I almost tell, that

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

People ask me why, when, what happened?

And if you catch me in that kind of mood. I'll tell you "I was born".

But that is of course a lie.

Because I was happy. I was brought up well. By a family who care for me and made sure, intentionally or not, that I did not see the things I could not do.

It was normal, for dad to dress me on the kitchen table, when I was seven.

It was normal, to be carried by my mother, while my siblings ran bellow.

It was normal, my chair was normal. She was, she is, safe.

And now,

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

What happened?

That's the question I struggle with, because something must of happened. I was not born hating. No one is born hating. I was not born in pain, that developed, and I coped.

And the me now, might not believe that, for the comforting embrace of pain, feels like my mothers hug. When I was seven.

Because you see I am to big for her to hug me.

I mean she hugs me still, of course. But not in the way she did when I was seven.

And sometimes, it's so clear, that that's my fault, for growing.

But something happened, clearly.

So what? Why do

I hate myself?

I hate myself.

Is it because, I saw the way life should have been,

And could of been had my brain not been starved at such a pivotal moment of my creation, of the vital source of life, of existence, that it now, so easily takes for granted.

Is it because, I saw the way he kissed her,

Or maybe she kissed him. Pressed together so tightly against that hidden wall, smokers corner, where the teachers know exactly what is going on, and yet life was in the thrill of the hidden secret, that was not so hidden.

A secret I was never part of, a world I could only watch. No one wants to welcome the girl, with the teacher, obligated to stay. And by the time she could leave, friendships were cemented, and my confidence was shot.

And then, alone. With only the people that did not fit into the mould of the playground, locked together, to momentarily ignore the pain of their existence, to then be thrown back into it. To be alone, again, when the bell rings.

To once again hate myself.

I hate myself.

Because I hate myself. I hate myself more. I shouldn't hate myself. Because I chose not to go into those friendship groups. Didn't I? Did I? I don't........

My parents are together still, no one hit me. I was fed. I am fed and clothed.

And looking back, only now, I see how hard that must have been and is. And still

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

But why?

What is there to hate? I have a family, and friends, or at least people who I think are friends, I am warm, and clothed and fed, and educated, and free, to write, to read, to write, oh to write.

And yet underneath it all, the happy, the people, the words, the infinite worlds, unlocked by words, written on a page, that take me to people who deserve to hate. And the things. The things that my parents, never even considered could exist, or that were distant hopes of a possible future, they never thought they'd be a part of.

I have it all. And still,

I hate myself.

Ah, the sea

To see the sea

In all its glory

Wild and free

It has no master

No command

The sea shall be bested

By no man

But in its moments

Of softest slumber

The sea is like

Ones favorite lover

I just wrote one centred around how I'm feeling for the most part. It's short, it's crappy, but it's here. It's also some feeble attempt to start writing anything again for the past few months so here it is.

Walls of Iron

Unending shields of grey

Nothing in, nothing out

From cold heart do they weigh

Walls of iron mark the redoubt

Buried deep within

Intense and burning flame

The walls of iron then begin

To hold back things without name

No soul shall see inside

Nor shall inside be revealed

The danger it cannot abide

So in and out must be sealed

But on the walls, one sign of hope

Roses, pink and white, form a shield

Courage and wisdom to go on and cope

But these walls of iron never yield

i posted this to my feed so it may be a bit redundant by here is one by me

support-

to you housing a conflicted heart and minds that reel

I write to encourage you to grasp anothers' hand if any

and lasso your soul to theirs with hoops of steel

I once heard not to dull thy hands with palms of many

I write to encourage you to grasp anothers' hand if any

depression sips the marrow of those arms laying empty

I once heard not to dull thy hands with palms of many

it is better than shackled trepidation that tempt me

Depression sips marrow of those arms laying empty

to vent however, may bring exquisite air so refreshing

it is better than shackled trepidation that tempt me

if you speak, like van gogh, i'll lend an ear worth accessing

to vent however, may bring exquisite air so refreshing

and lasso your soul to theirs with hoops of steel

if you speak, like van gogh, ill lend an ear worth accessing

to you housing a conflicted heart and minds that reel

THE SHADES OF LIFE

...

I smelled you out of the blue

You looked weird and pale

Listened to your woes

That sounded so dark

I barely touched you

Today I feel you in black and white

You had taste life

Like a pot of gold

But your hands

Has let you down

It became bloody as red

The only thing

Left in your heart

Is to find your silver lining

And it costs you

The shades of life

—

30 January 2018