OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here

Your Story

I'd much rather cry for you
'Cause my story is too painful to share
I'd much rather smile for you
'Cause my story is too painful to bare

So come here and I'll wrap my arms around you
Come here and I'll let your story shine
But after you share your story
Please don't ask me about mine

If only I could play the violin
I'd share my past through sorrowful chords
Vibrato on strings would be my voice
Fighting my demons with imaginary swords

Although I'm limited to words on paper
And the words aren't sung by a beautiful voice
These words make my story into a song
And this song confronts you with a choice

You can close your eyes
And pretend this is a fairytale
Pretend it's a meaningless story
That was never once true

Or you can open your eyes
And realise deep down
That the story isn't just about me
That you're the main character too

If you don't want to tell your story
As it is, spoken word to word
Turn your art into your voice
And you will always be heard

A picture speaks a thousand words
And music helps you through
If these words come to help me cope
Then they can help you too

FixedPlease,Please stop,Look at me,Look at us,What have we done,With our lives?Look around,What do you see?You see the world that used to be.Its all gone,Every smile,Every tear,Feelings, wiped away.Hey, look at me.What do you see?An empty soul,Living as a prisoner in my own skin,Is that normal?Is it normal to kill?To destroy?To enjoy someone's misery?Look, look at youWho are you exactlyWhen your not who they want you to be?Its our mistake.Our grief.But it can be fixed.Don't live in disbelief.If you try,And the person next to you,We can make it better.Believe me when i say,You can be fixed to.

Fixed its a poem about helping the world and the people and the problems that are the reason we need help.

Fixed

Please,

Please stop,

Look at me,

Look at us,

What have we done,

With our lives?

Look around,

What do you see?

You see the world that used to be.

Its all gone,

Every smile,

Every tear,

Feelings, wiped away.

Hey, look at me.

What do you see?

An empty soul,

Living as a prisoner in my own skin,

Is that normal?

Is it normal to kill?

To destroy?

To enjoy someones misery?

Look, look at you

Who are you exatly

When your not who they want you to be?

Its our mistake.

Our grief.

But it can be fixed.

Dont live in disbelief.

If you try,

And the person next to you,

We can make it better.

Belive me when i say,

You can be fixed to.

It takes a huge effort,

To do the smallest things,

And trust me it doesn't make it any better,

When you force me to answer the door when it rings,

All this, ain't an act, I don't want attention,

I'm just tired of all people who expect perfection,

But I'm just a little girl, who's broken,

With a lot of words I left unspoken.

Hello x3 When I saw the title of this thread I had to click on it because poetry is yes and I'm the president of the poetry slam club at my high school and this thread reminded me of that and the happy memories of the clubOuO Anyway sorry enough about me I just got excited and reminded of that :"D Carry on and keep writing poetry in your lives if you do so x3

Happy? Scribbling, writing phrases I wish I could give you a bouquet of sweet adjectives complementing your sweet smile and gentle hands. But Im no one. Just a troll underneath this bridge scaring all who pass by waiting, just waiting for you to visit. You found your happiness. I wait under this bridge. Under the rain of my own tears under the thunder of my own anger I wish I could be happy, for you, but Im not that good of a person.

Lately I've been having trouble sleeping and my parents think that I'm ill but the only disease I possess is the sickening thought of you and the symptoms aren't at what you think. If I have a sore throat it's only from screaming your name in the dead of night and if I have a piercing headache it's only of tearing my hair out in hopes of seeing you attached to the ends and if I have a runny nose it's only due to the tears I've shed into the sink at school because I saw you in the hall. But when I'm thinking of you, I'm consumed in emotions that don't just crawl through my blood vessels or sit upon my bones and tendons, but that bounce off of my nerves and lodge themselves into my every cell until every sensation I feel and every tiny piece that makes up my body is overcome by you and that half smile you wear around like your favorite shirt and laugh that hits people like a kid with a pita and your breath in folds of my ear, and it isn't just that I can't sleep, it's that my cells can't function and my body can't rest until the memory of you meets the physical you and you float from my brain to my heart, through my arteries into my fingertips, and escape back from my skin into yours and you take back every sleepless night and every bag that hides behind its artificial skin but god that's the thing, i don't want you gone I want you here. I want you in every corner of my life and every fraction of every atom in my body. I want you in the Air I breath and words I speak. I want you running circles in my irises until your all I see when i close my eyes. I WANT YOU,YOU I JUST WANT YOU HERE AND YOUR NOT AND ITS ALL MY FAULT AND IM SORRY ..

This is so great that 7 Cups of Tea has this forum! I'm gonnashare some stuff on it.

The Asexual?s Twilight Zone

By: Sam Rosen

If cuddling is a compulsion to comfort?s obsession,

I must be the motor powering disorder loops.

I wasn?t asking commitment or status,

just to know, hold and be held

by coconut smell sticking clothes

like aftershave necks. Now your scent

is all I smell as I sleep in my own bed

hugging a comforter pretending it?s your hips.

I slick thick hair back with grease

just to feel your tropical neck against my forehead.

Now, the oils saturate my pores enough to cry coconut leaves.

Your Twilight Zone television screen scares me

enough to constantly pat your stomach

before your body vanishes beneath my head.

Dread wrings out my lungs as I leave your room.

Lungs forming black holes for cigarettes I avoid smoking

by flooring car?s gas past each BP.

I?ve smoked my last Newport lover down to his filter,

and refuse to flick the butt from my fingers.

I keep sleepwalking to your room:

down pit stairs through summit door,

bungee cords suffocating waist. Elastic snaps me

back to bedside reality constant crickets twisting legs

outside my bedroom window; a reminder:

The moon sleeps alone too.

She just never complains about it.

She walks through this maze called life--one with walls of lust--paths to nowhere--walls of disgust--through which she tears--for she's a fighter--or so she dreams...--in the battle--of life and death--she's all over that ring--no stopping her now--ding ding--to her death she awakes--she's a fighter--not a quitter--but that's not all it takes--she's quits so she can fight--in dying to herself, humility she creates--she'll find the light--the light that shall guide her to her happiest state--from this place she may come and go--but with this light the path home she'll always know--time to quit --time to fight--to the ring she goes--of her hope may she never lose sight