Today,
I ventured into a dark, empty
Classroom.
I sat on the rough government-owned
Carpet, opened a drawer, and began
Shuffling through the forgotten manila folders.
I hadn’t even been reading the tabs.
I forgot what I was looking for.
I began to cry.
The warm tears landed on my
Criss-crossed legs, and
I began to cry harder.
“Why am I here?”
I asked myself.
Why, of all places, was
I choosing to go into the
Sad depths of my insecurities?
I feel as if I’ve fallen in and
Cannot get back out. In fact, it is so,
For I have seen the footprints on my soul
From all of the failed attempts at escape.
It’s just as bad
—if not worse—
Than trying to undo something
That’s already been seen.
Already been thought.
You wouldn’t expect that of me,
Would you?
All I want is out.
Out of this tear-filled room.
The art of letting go
Is not an easy one,
Yet we all wish it were.
I put a chipped glass to
My blue lips,
And I drink the black
Slime of the world.
I cannot swallow.
I begin to choke,
And I feel my brain
Getting blurry.
Sharp, electric colors
Flood the inside of my
Eyelids, and up comes
My vomit as the
Small memories
Of yesterday’s nonsense
Break my nerves and
Almost seem to start
Ripping at my black,
Slimy flesh.
I try to squeeze the
Colors out of my eyes
And swallow my vomit.
I shake my head
And shudder.
The colors fade, and
The bile disappears,
If only for a while.
Sitting in what now
Feels like an empty body,
I try to think of ways
To put the cup down,
To throw it at the
Wall and watch the
Emptiness
Cry itself all the way
Down to the floor.
I began to grow angry (crazy),
For I know yesterday’s
Nonsense
Is nothing more than a
Slap on the hand.
In my crazed state of anger,
I almost laugh at myself.
I look into a mirror,
And I see a black smile
Paired with a pointing finger.
The discolored teeth
Disappear and in their
Place, I hear one sentence:
“Look at what you do to yourself.”
But right now, In the state I’m in,
I’ve given up on finding someone who
Won’t make me cry.
Even after it all, after giving myself away,
There still is a reason for tears to be shed.
I almost expected the opposite, but it
Was more like I wanted to prove everyone wrong,
Because
I am strong;
But at the end of the day,
I am not strong, I never was.
Even after it all, after giving myself away,
There still is a reason for tears to be shed.
The reasons are transparent, they’re only
There because I create them.
I am the creator of havoc and chaos,
Or havoc itself.
I force my body to rot in your hands,
My hair falls out by no grace other than
My own.
My sickly, yellow eyes just stare endlessly.
They are looking beyond all of the messes that
I have created within my soiled carcass,
Searching for the reason that my mind
will choose to believe, the reason that
Will cease the chaos, choke out the havoc,
And put a smile upon my lips once again.
The worst kind of sadness is the one
You bring upon yourself, but it’s one
That you know is just about as absurd
As the notion of a flying pig.
Why is it so hard to rid one’s self of?
I used to stride care-free,
But now,
Every step is a cold, wet mark
Where my shoes,
Soaked ever so deeply with worry,
Once trod.
What happens to one’s heart
When they see the
Fault
Within their own thoughts?
What is one to do?
One feels a frustration,
Like being trapped within walls
That one yearns to break free from.
The worst part
Though,
is that they were built tall
By one’s self…
Myself.
I make my own shoes wet,
I dampen my own eyes.
And what’s worse yet,
Is that I break my own heart.
I meant to break the walls.
My feet are so cold.
Someday, I will look back and think about how
Worthless
All the pain, crying, and worrying I’ve done was.
I’m going to laugh and thank God that I’m
No longer unhappy, and I’m going to chuckle
At the remembrance of my absurd thoughts.
I will say to myself,
“Wow, I was such a child”
Although I was a child, I was old and decaying on the inside,
And I can see that when I look back as my future self
Onto my present self.
I will recall all the sleepless nights and morbid thoughts,
All the sharp words that never quite made it past my quiet lips.
If only you knew..
I will laugh at all the times I thought that I would never be happy,
Because in my future I will be happy.
Or at least that’s what I hope for.
Sometimes, I wonder what
Life would be like if I didn’t
Live in fear.
What would it feel like
To not cringe at the
Mere thought of losing myself?
I dream of
Confidence being copious
And my thoughts to be logical.
Why must I burn my mind
With the hot iron of jealousy
And envy?
I have all that I want,
I’m just so afraid to lose it.
Yet even if I do lose the very being within myself,
I really haven’t lost anything.
I see that with my eyes,
But my heart is oh so blind.
I carry on, pretending that
My thoughts are not real,
But the gnaw and they gnaw,
And pretty soon, I will be hollowed
Enough that even the faintest
Of breezes will pick me up
And carry me far away.
Perhaps that place will be where
I grow in myself again, and maybe, just maybe,
I will become too heavy to get caught up in a wind and end up back home.
Try a different plan and never look back.
In the blink of an eye,
A small bit of light is hidden
From even the swiftest of eagles.
There is always going to be
The dirt that’s swept out of the house
Rather than under the rug.
A mirror reflects a closed eye,
Seeing through the pale skin
Shadowing the hidden light.
When I look in the mirror,
I, like the eagle, cannot see
The light, for I am not the
Beholder of the eye,
I am the beholder of the beholder.
When you look, I look;
When you see, I don’t.
All of the yellow in the sky
Made me see that we
Are just running in circles.
That can’t be so bad, can it?
I felt the bite of a snake
On my ankle. Soon, I was
Kneeling on the ground,
Watching your being soar on
Green wings.
I’ve been here before,
And I suppose I’ll just have to
Keep getting back up.
Just to inform you, dear reader,
There are a certain collection of
Poems, as you call them,
That I do not post,
That your pretty little eyes do not
(And will never)
Lay witness to,
For they are mine,
And to write them alone
Is a recipe for murder.
So thank me in silence,
Because I just saved your worthless life.
In order to get by,
There are things I must forget.
In order to move on,
There are things I must deny.
In order to be happy,
There are things I must destroy,
Things within myself:
Thoughts..
Dreams..
Wants..
Pain..
In order to not cry,
I must only look forward.
In order to forget,
I must blur the delicate lines of your face,
Smudge out the black on your shoulders,
And ball up the pain in my chest.
When I cease to look forward,
When I turn around in an attempt
To get a small glimpse of a past that has be
So good, all I feel
Is pain.
When I dwell upon my
Thoughts..
Dreams..
Wants..
Pain..
I cannot help but fail to look
Forward once again.
My view becomes clouded by a dark,
Omniscient entity;
One that wraps around my lungs
and squeezes them dry,
Hollowing out my already
empty chest.
Alas,
There are things that I cannot deny,
There are lines in your face that are not so delicate,
And there are dark, dark presences inside me that cannot
Be rid.
Alas, it was just a feather;
Who am I to question you?
Don’t you worry, young thing,
I understand your troubles.
I’m sorry for what I’ve
Caused you, I had no idea.
It was nice to talk about what you
Need, as a growing bird.
Sometimes I wonder what goes
On in little bird brains.
Have you any clue?
There’s one thing that must be understood, though:
A tree cannot stop growing in hopes of
Helping the shrub grow with it;
Can’t you see? Neither the
Tree nor the shrub will ever be
A tree, they were both short-handed
And will forever be stunted.
Why should a tree ever do that to itself?
