OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here

For a friend:

Why can you not be yourself?

It makes me very sad.

Its not my place to tell someone,

But, you should always be yourself.

It doesnt matter what anyone else says.

What are you so scared of?

Being rejected?

You already have many wonderful friends,

So dont be afraid.

Its no ones place to judge you.

Its no ones place to tell you what,

You should like.

Whatever speaks to you,

Speak back to it.

Dont listen.

Dont think.

Follow your heart,

And one day, maybe,

You can be whoever you want,

And not be ashamed of what you like.

Please be who you truly are.

Ill be waiting...to see you blossom into an extraordinary flower.

@PotatoSurvivor, You say this poem is "For a friend." After reading it, I found myself thinking, God I'd give a lot to have a friend like this poet.

You're gifted in many, many ways!

​ ​

***WARNING, A TRIGGERING POEM ABOUT SELF HARM***

She is painting,
Carving her masterpiece.
It's full of emotion.
That canvas,
Solving her solutions.
The paint,
Red as blood.
The carves,
Deep as the ocean.
It's a masterpiece.
And once she's done with it,
It will stay there...
Longer than wanted.
But she hides it,
Covers the artwork.
So exquisite,
Yet so misunderstood.
The artwork,
On her ankles.
Don't dare look there,
For the artwork...
Beholds her pain,
Her emotion,
Her true thoughts.
It shows everything,
Yet no one glances at the truth...
No one glances at that artwork,
For it is concealed

@Mizpah, this is eloquent. Very sad but very eloquent.

White Walls.

Look there's a wall
Oh, there's one too.
There's a total of 4,
I'm in a room.
What a surprise,
Never seen that before.
But have you ever seen,
The child on the floor?
The one crippled with pain,
Amidst their mind.
Who has no escape,
No escape they can find.
You notice the walls,
The floor and the bed,
But have you ever tried to look,
In the child's head?
No, of course not,
That child is fine.
They've plastered a smile,
They don't even whine.
You take in the room,
You see merely the surface,
But see not what's inside it.
Somehow you miss this,
The suffering dear.
But what's that? They're gone!
Not a trace anywhere.
Look over the blood, go past the corpse.
You can't miss the child,
You never saw at all.
You never saw their thoughts run wild,
But you will forever,
Miss that smile.
What caused the death? No one ever knew.
Yet after a while,
Blood cleansed from the walls,
The mystery faded,
The child is simply a memory.
Merely a flicker of a thought, eternally jaded.

@ScreamingForSanity

What a skillfully written poem, it really brought a tear to my eye. Every life is precious, and if you ever find yourself contemplating its worth, never hesitate to tell someone. No one can possibly know your pain if you don't tell them, don't force yourself to endure it alone. If you ever need support feel free to send me a message.

https://www.7cups.com/@MidniteAngel

While people are

still alive,

you never say

Hello.

But when theyre

a hundred feet underground,

you wished you couldve said,

Dont go.

Beautiful! c:

@pandamars08, I like this poem very much. It appears short and simple, but after one finishes reading it, there is a long pause. Real depth here.

I see that you signed up for the book club! Next Monday, the group is discussion a poem by Emily Dickinson. The info is here: LINK

I have to be at work, so I can't attend, but I ASSURE you, there will be a warm welcome!

Deep down in your heart,
There's an empty chasm
It's where your part,
Where the loud roar of anthems
Are played, when your dreams are laid
To rest.

@Mikal1880, this poem is lovely. And haunting . . . .

Where are you Lord? Today I wonder where you are

I feel so alone, as if I am the only one in this world

I just don't fit in, an outcast

Alone again,wondering when will this pain end

Will it be today,tomorrow, a year from now

Or will it be when I am gone.

Where are you? a thousand miles away

No! I feel you are unreachable

I do not know who,what or where you are

I hear you will never give us more then we can handle

You believe I am strong, yet , I feel so weak

Sometimes I fight, sometimes I am a little child

I reach out yet I feel I am reaching to an empty hand.

I heard a song 'This Warrior is a child"

I do not let people see the real me

Nobody sees the tears behind closed doors

I smile and say I am fine.

You are the only one who sees the tears,the fears

I cry so many times Lord where are you?

I feel so all alone.

Nobody really knows the little child in me still believes

people can not be trusted, that they are not there for me.

I've learned to look nice on the outside

Yet live in fear in the inside

I do not tell the secrets of who I really am

I try to be strong, let nobody carry the load

I get judged yet nobody has walked my journey

My (Failed) attempt at being deep

-----------------------------------------------------

Dont tell me that you can see the stars in my eyes

because the stars you speak of

are millions of miles away

way up in the sky

Unreachable, but unforgettable.

But my eyes are here

only feet away

staring into yours

and already youve forgotten.

I do not see any form of failure in this poem! o: I love it omg <3<3

zizy you goof <3

So I do a lot of writing. It allows me to express how I'm feeling without being a burden on others. I don't often share my stuff because well, it's not right good. But I thought I'd share this one because it has a special place in my heart for some reason.

-

These are the days, these are the weeks
These are the people, these are the lives,
But surely life shouldnt feel so meek?
To be running at a standstill, sitting at the dives.

Within us all is the affirming flame,
Within us all is the beacon of light and hope.
Surely life is about the giving, not the game
We just need to stop pretending to cope

We might force upon us a smile,
We might force a laugh.
But surely if we were to pretend for a while,
Wed stop being points on a graph.

Wed stop being a statistic to be looked at,
Wed stop being one more in the blues.
Surely if we tried to forget all that,
People would stop trying to accuse.

They say theyre here, they say theyre there
They claim that theyre gonna care...
But surely they dont dare,
And wed stop having someone to care.

The little white lies we tell ourselves,
The little white lies we tell our closest.
Surely theyd understand if it was about themselves
Theyd understand, theyre our closest.

I wonder what its like in another mind,
I wonder what its like to delve down.
But surely it would be nicer, much more kind
Rather than to be stuck here, ready to drown.

The feeling of drowning consumes
The feeling of being consumed confuses,
Surely theyll need to presume
the feeling of never ending bruises.

I suppose this heres my confession
I suppose its my escape.
But surely to write to the ambiguous aggression,
Ill finally be able to able to reshape.

@AndrewPayn, I like this poem a lot. I espectially like this line: "Surely life is about the giving, not the game." And I love the image of "dots on a graph." Original!

Who did Lazarus think of when awakened from the dead?

When second birth and breath of life was drawn.

When with every passing step from tomb of death he tread.

What did Lazarus think of when awakened from the dead?

I imagine it would be as such of what I think of each dawn.

From restless sleep into the world of pain am drawn

Perhaps he asked why he must return from paradise.

I think I know what Lazarus thought when he rose from the dead.

But on Earth we each have paradise we find in other things

So what would Lazarus long for after back from death he came.

Did he rush to Jesus, who brought back life to him?

Or did he run from Jesus, who brought back pain to him?

Did he go to sisters, who pleaded for his life?

Or did he run from them as well? Who brought back pain and strife.

I can not know what Lazarus thought when he woke from his death.

But know I what I would think if awakened from the dead?

I would think of you my love, the one I long for most.

And I would pass by God himself, who rose me from the dead.

And I would go to you my love, past all who brought me back.

I would walk to you, preferred from paradise instead.

I know what I would do if I woke from my death.

And I think I know what Lazarus thought when awakened from the dead.

@Fenton115, This is an amazing poem. I love the idea of exploring what Lazarus thought when he rose from the dead.

The poet Alfred Tennyson liked to do something similar--he'd focus on a moment in the life of a famous mythical character and explore what the person was thinking.

You might like to read his poem about Ulysses, after his adventures had ended and he'd returned to Penelope and Telemachus, and was growing older as king. LINK

Cannibals:

We are all cannibals.
Say what you want,
Call me insane,
But think about how what we all do is make pain.
We eat out eachothers soul,
Followed by their heart,
We cut up their skin,
And eat them alive.
We cook them up,
Creating hurt,
Then finish the job by being served.
Most tend to dine on,
Souls,
Hearts,
Blood,
And brain.
None of us are truly sane.
We are all cannibals.

@ScreamingForSanity,

I love the clever intelligence of this poem! I admire the skill and general truths expressed, although personally I would take issue with the "all" and "none." (I've been fortunate to know some amazingly generous, kind people.)

Really frustrated tonight and giving myself a bit of a hard time...

You did this
You signed on for this
This is what you wanted
This is why you left your life
This is what you deserve you stupid ------
Suck it up and deal
YOU don't matter apparently
Get it through your thick head you dumb -----
There is no "us"
There is no planning for us
There is no thoughts of us
There is only self satisfaction
Do not care
Do not care
Do not care
There is only hurt and pain when you do.
Get it through your head you ------ naive ----- .

[Redactions were made by forum mentor Annie.]

'Forget-me-nots'

but darling the flowers whither and fade.

My heart is full of aches.

My tear stained cheeks

gleam in the moonlight.

As my love like flowers

whither and fade.

May these memories die

so I may tell myself a lie.

There is no place like home

but abroad in a land so strange,

I may bloom again.

This poem is beautiful! I really love this: "My tear stained cheeks

gleam in the moonlight."

Sorry, I forgot the tag!

@kokoroganakuDusk7249

Low self esteem is thinking only your family will love you.
Low self esteem is pretending that's enough.
Pretending you're okay.
It's every
Don't worry about me
I'm fine mom
Yeah I remembered to have breakfast.
It's having trouble believing even God could care about you.
It's knowing you're not worth the trouble.
Knowing that you will always sacrifice yourself
That you will tear out your spine and give it to someone else
Not because of any goodness in your heart but because of the emptiness in it.

This this is part of a slam poem I'm working on . . .

You haunt my dreams.
Every dream turns dark and evil with a glimpse of you.
When will I be at peace?
I know when death knocks on your door, I will still be haunted.
Your presence will linger around me like fog.
Scared, so scared I feel you're behind me.
Waiting for me to turn around and see you.
Darkness is what I see.
Everytime I close my eyes,
I'm alone.
I don't want to be alone.
It reminds me how alone I felt when you betrayed me.
You sicken me!
The sight of you paralyzes me.
I'm cold and unable to move.
How dare you!
How dare you make me think I'm nothing!
Believe I'm nothing!
You hurt me,
Yet you say you love me?
No that's not love.
You never loved me,
And that's fine.
I don't want your love.
Afraid, so afraid.
When will I be at peace?

Its a cliché.

I know.

to be helplessly

hopelessy in love.

it's not secure

but I'll never be sure

'cause your love doesn't satiate me

it leaves me feeling alone

it may be a cliché

to want

to need

something, someone

who will tear you apart

piece

by

piece.

This made my bad day better

i wish i can upvote this over and over and over again.

@weepingartist @KnigTerrAin THANKS GUYS!! THAT MEANS SO MUCH :)

I love this.

A Tiny Step

An open fire raging a few feet away,

Come and fall into my arms it says.

My feet start steering, my brain says you're insane.

Staggering, I walk forward as if I've got no other option.

The fire beckons, extending its arms,

Come here darling and fall.

I close my eyes and feel the warmth,

The comforting mellowness in the cold night.

A sigh of pleasure finds a way to escape from within,

My foot takes a step, a stride ahead,

A desperate search for the homely cosiness.

But then I, as I snapped back into reality, realised it is too late,

I inevitably fall,

And fell into the abyss.

@proactivedime3437, I really like this poem -- the idea of the lure of the fire's warmth but the danger of approaching too close.

(I admit I was hoping for a different ending!)

Thank you so much @Annie
I wrote this when I was going through a dark time so I think that is to blame the bland and predictable ending.

@proactivedime3437, Oh, no, I wasn't criticizing the writing! It's not bland or predictable!

It's just that I'm a Pollyanna, always craving the happy ending. I was hoping for the person to pull back, to resist the lure. The poem has a dark ending when I wished for a bright one, and there's nothing wrong with the poet's truth here!!

@Annie oh no. I didn't mean it that way. The phase I was going through when I wrote it was completely different. So whenever I re-read it, I myself feel that the ending it so predictable. I even wanted to change it into a positive note many a times. But that would've spoiled the very existence of the poem and why I wrote it. If I would've set to write the same now, I'm sure the ending would've been completely different.

I guess that's the beauty of a poem.

@ProactiveDime3437, Whew! I am so relieved. :)

You are…

full of ****.
It makes me wonder why I even trust you
Promising things to my
S E N S I T I V E

heart

taking

A D V A N T A G E

of my growth

as a way to treat me like

* * * * ..

that you even lost

the common

C O U R T E S Y

to let me know how you are.

Im tired of your lousy games.

I dont think

S I C K N E S S

is an excuse to be an *******

because you yourself

D E M A N D E D

me to find a way

to get better from my

D E P R E S S I O N

which is just as bad, as any illness.

I am not stupid

and I will not tolerate

this excuse because of neglect.

What kind of person forgets respect

so easily anyway?

What kind of man forgets

their lover so easily..anyway?

What kind of **** is this
anyway?

POISON
Im toxic to you
Well **** you
Youre toxic to me too

Twisting things
Turning words
Spinning tables

Weave me words
That go smooth
as your silky tongue

Full of ******* lies
And empty feelings
That really mean nothing to you

The difference between us
Is that I am grasping
While you are letting go

Releasing
Forgetting
Thriving, growing.

While I
have to start all over again
because of me (right?)

Im so sorry:
That you break your promise
That I believed in you.

Youre so sorry
That you found me
That youre forced to stay with a ****** up lady.

You and I
both know
that you really dont have to stay.

You and I both
know that you
dont even want to stay anymore.

You and I both know
that you are so
tired and sick of me.

That youre ready to forget me
Hiding it in reasonable excuses.
Covering it up with empty promises.

Id rather come clean
Than play this game
So give yourself

The time of your life
and have a rest
That youll never soon forget.