OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here

Overthinking

Who am I fighting when I'm thinking too much?

Who do I hate when I scream?

"This is not me" I keep telling myself.

but who else could it be...

I have to keep fighting these thoughts in my mind

these feelings of hate towards me.

I will not let these bad thoughts defeat who I am

Who will win this war if not me?

blame

We're do I stand?

I'm confused

I am to blame

For walking around

For breathing

no were to go

A Thankyou to @roadie for pointing me in the right direction to were I should post my poems

All the world is in need of a loving embrace.
A compassionate and understanding presence
To lift it from its dis-ease and its sorrow
And allow all the Being, the Isness of it all, the colors and sounds
To flow freely within this phantasmagorical dream
That God is having, and in which we all play but a part.

A short one I thought sounded good. Hope you like it.

Sometimes we are alone,

with no place to call home.

Sometimes we are alone,

and feel like behind bars.

Trapped in our own minds,

can't go forward, can't go back.

And sometimes we hold the key,

and can't decide where we'd rather be.

You paint yourself gold, Taint your very soul With emotions and wars.. Of things that left behind scars. But You're only as damaged as you let yourself be. Shunned your soul for acceptance but yet too blind to see. With every vein, every blood that courses through, Embrace your every shadows and demons within you. A candescent being lurks behind, Lit with passion and magnificence is what you ought to find, Behind that painted and dusted soul Also lies a shattered heart of Gold. Yours Truly The Birdy Called Duff

Her Father

What do I tell her?

How was he like?

How do I begin?

Long ago lived a great king!

Or a man who was calm, Noble and plain?

Or a Quiet Saint?

Or he left us to save the country?

Is he alive?

He is for the world, but not without us.

Or not for you and me.

Did he love us?

He loved you and me, very dearly

So much that he left us quite hurrily.

Why did he leave?

I have told you so many times.

Alas, I don't know how to lie

To that little soul who cries.

Day and night for her beloved Father

Maybe it's time

Sorry my doll, he wasn't any of the above.

He was a foolish coward infact.

Did not know

To raise you was not a punishment,

but a challenge to accept.

With pride and prestige

And love and care

What can I say?

Your father left us today or yesterday?

Or exactly 6 years back when you were born.

You are a girl, maybe it's your fault?

Oh my poor doll, you will always have Mom.

One day, he come to me,

Whispering his deceitful words and lurking between my heart,

Catch every breath that i inhale and posessing it,

Try to control my move, my mind to follow his desire

To drag me in doom..

What should i do?

What should i say?

Who can i ask for help?

I struggle to get loose from his clutch...

I can't see any light that could save me..

My ego is burned down,

My bravery fading

My strenght seem to b loose,

Even my faith vanishing..

What should i do?

He laugh out loud,

His laugh stab my heart deeply until i cant breath..

He torturing me with his whisper...

I can't b strong anymore..

Yes he win...

He win this fight..

When i'm about to defeat..

And fall into the abyss of doom

Somebody suddenly hold my hand..

I say let me go! Let me fall!

The arms owner say

I wont let u fall..i'll save you

I dont have anything anymore..i said

But u still have me..i will returned all what he takes from u...he uttered..

He pull me up and save my life..

He's a hero, a knight, a prince charming..

He return all d faith, d strength, the brave

He is d light of hope who defeat the deceitful despair..

He fight with d despair in me n let me out from the clutch of Mr Despair

He is Mr light of hope

Who had conquer my heart with lots of light and shine...

I'm sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service.

Every time I

Hear my mum's voice over

the crackle of a shitty

cellphone carrier in --,

I wonder

if she's only calling to

make sure I haven't

vanished into

a flaccid corpse,

held up by only

a starved, rugged

rope.

She will ask me

if I'm doing okay,

and I will reply

that I'm fine,

Regardless of the

demons that rage in

my head at night,

cursing and spitting

at all the world.

At me.

My father will call

at the most inconvenient

of times. 10

o'clock in the

one evening where I

finally decide to--

He calls. He

asks if I'm okay, and

I'm suddenly crying,

despite not having felt

anything for months.

When Anxiety calls, it's

3AM.

I can never force myself

to hang up, to leave it

so that Anxiety can listen

to the dial tone that's

so-often heard by me.

Anxiety whispers the

truest words into my

ears, tinny and metal,

harsh and unforgiving.

It leaves me behind,

wilted with its colleague,

Depression, who tugs in

my lifeblood, whose

pumping fills me with

a lifetime of dissatisfaction.

When Depression calls,

it's 4 o'clock in the afternoon (morning?)

It starts with contentment.

I am calm.

I will work.

But I find that I cannot;

that I'm too exhausted by the--

(by nothing)

to touch the

work I have,

the family I have,

myself.

My throat is parched,

my lips cracked,

but I cannot take

a single sip of the icy water

that lays beside me.

Instead, I let it fall,

spilling onto the sheets, hoping

that it will take me

with it.

When my brother calls,

my life is a little brighter,

if only for a second.
He's hasn't got

any idea that I

am drowning in my own

incompetence. That I,

his little sister,

cannot take a sip of the water he

brings to my lips.

He is struggling to drink, too, and

we know that we both have

dry throats and cracked lips, but

when we are together,

we forget them, for even a second.

My brother is a

miracle, the laughter ringing

in my ears. The one

whose steps make me want to

run, to catch up, to

touch him just to make sure he's real,

and listen to the gentle

sounds of his flute as he

plays a requiem for

the pair who do not know to leave me alone.

These demons in my head

I cant stand them sometimes

I know it will get better eventually

But when will that be?

Roses are red,
Mornings are hard,
I suck at poetry,
Coffee.