AddictionThe body is tired,Caffeine and nicotineFlowing through it's veins.Muscles and bonesSlow and in pain.Hands and feetCold as stone,Stomach growling.Yet the mind still races,Not stopping for a second,Ignoring the pain,Remembering past,Imagining the future...
DreamsSleeping or livingThe difference is faintBecause my life ain't that differentFrom a lucid dreamMy dreams are realMy life is an illusionI am my dreamsAnd they are my lifeScenarios are playingConstantly inside my headLike a broken recordDriving me insaneLike a prisonMade of freedomWhere anything is possibleYet it's not real
lotus.wake meor don'tit doesn't mattereither wayto you or me or him or her or themor the flowers dyingbeneath my windowi'll dream or not,just rest within the darknessbehind my eyelidslet the spiders crawl across my skinand cast their webs in the cavesof my collarbonespool water into my lungsand build a pond for koi fishthat slither through my throat like serpentswhen i try to talkin my sleepbut mummer only incoherent wisps of dandelionfeathersthat evaporate in the rainthrashing outside the doorleave me like a ship washed up onshore;graves within my souland souls within my veinsghosts pumping through my heartput a rose in my hands and let the thorns prick my thumbi'll bleed until my skin is violetand the bags beneath my eyes are graythe walls will hug me years from nowwhen this room has fallen inand all my books have flown awayto nest in sparrow bedsthey'll save themselvesand the batteries in the clockhave died.
read this when you're so angry you shakelittle drops of oil make rainbows on wet concreteand i don’t know how beautiful you find that,but sometimes you gotta learn thatthe littlest things are the prettiest,like the shape of your fingernails and the crinklesyou get at the corner of your eyes when you laugh andwhen you grow old and i know i said “grow old”like it’s a temporary thing, but that’s because it is.you can think it’s forever but it’s reallya split second because you don’t matter, not whenthe universe is still growing and speeding through a nothingnesswe can’t even fathom, not when color doesn’t exist in spacebut nebulas still explode in shades of gold and green,not when there are stars who diebefore their light ever touches our faces. you don’t matter,not to anyone but the people who have fallen in lovewith the way you walk and the way you breatheand the way you keep doing both.i don’t care that the universe is spinning and grow
This is not a poem (the world is broken)This is not a poem because thisis for the hollow-eyed teensstubbed out and stamped onby society like the cigarettesthey hold in pale fingers as theytry to laugh the pain away butnever entirely succeed.This is not a poem because thisIs the silent cry of the rapist’s victimAs they look into the mirror and aThousand ugly words and screamsAnd pleadings echo back from theDark alleyway and all they think is‘worthless.'This is not a poem because thisIs for the boy told he cannot cry, becauseIt’s a weakness to ‘act like a girl’And this is for the short-hairedGirl told it’s not her placeTo ‘act like a boy,’ becauseEven though it’s 2015 weHaven’t moved past destructiveGender roles yet.And this is not a poem becauseThere isn’t a pretty way to talkAbout children in abusive homes,Partners attacked by theirBeloved other half and this is forFor the families going through divorce,For the families missing a p
Depression is an OptionDepression is a choice, my dear,And happiness the sameYou choose this illness, don’t you?What a tragic little game.Depression is an option, loveJust get up out of bedTake your tears and worriesAnd just smile now instead.Depression is a choice, you see,And so is suicide.Just sit back, kick your feet up, dearEnjoy this perfect ride.Get over your own standardsOf what everyone should be.Just smile for once, and maybeYou’ll be living perfectly....But...Depression is an illnessThat we feel so deep within.Why would anybody chooseTo write poetry on their skin?Unless there lies a reason, dear,I would not choose to die.If depression was an option...Well...I’d choose to say goodbye.
an open letter to my twelve year old selfone day you will cut all your hair off,and hang up a map of the world in yourroom and you will look at it on daysyou think your life is going nowhere.i hate to tell you this, but this isn’tyour worst year. it also isn’t yourbest.one day you will cut all your hair offand realize that some poems need to be readout loud, to an audience, so you’ll take a hammerand some nails and build yourself oneout of a girl whose veins look fragile butwhose bones are strong, a boy who isn’t as tall ashe thinks he is, but whose lifelines are the deepestyou’ve ever seen, and a girl whose eyes remind you of theeast coast shore.one day you will cut all your hair off,and learn that you can like pinkjust as much as you like blueand the world will not fall apartalong its fault lines. there are other flagsyou can wave with pride thataren’t American.one day you will cut all your hair offand figure out how to forgive yourself,figure out how to sta
a list of things colleges don't want to know1. i have a cactus named atticus that i boughton the day i thought i was going to die,and i never forget to water it, noteven when i forget how it feelsto breathe without my lungs rebellingagainst my brain.2. sometimes talking feels like walking on gravelin a Georgian summer heat.i try to keep talking anyway,and hope that eventuallymy voice will lose its softness and grow calluses.3. once, a man whistled at meoutside of a grocery store fromthe safety of his car.four years later, i still haven’t stopped lookingover my shoulder.4. i drive too fast and i take turns too sharplyand i never put enough sugarin my tea and i could probably surviveon watermelon alone. i’m left handedand once taught myself to write only in capitalletters to piss off my seventh grade english teacher.5. i have never felt closer to my fatherthan when we stayedoutside till two a.m. in november and watcheda meteor shower.6. there are some thingsi don’t think i’ll ever
InsomniaLonesome nightCold as snowLasts for eternityGoes by in a momentA time of thoughtOf emotion and reflectionJust my mind and IIn a cold, lonesome night