LoveloveLove7 years ago in Other More Like This
Someone asked me what is love
is it good, is it bad
is it awesome, is it terrible
I honestly didnt know how to answer them.
I finally desided love is the most complicated of all emotions
Love is kind
love is harsh
love is wonderful
love is terrible
love is a cure
love is a sickness
love is LOVE
love is hate
love is meaningful
love is pointless
love shows the best in people
love shows the worse in people
love makes us speak truth
love makes us lie
love understands everything
love confuses everyone
love builds your life
love tears your heart down
love makes you smile
love makes you cry
love makes us cuddle
love makes us hit
love makes the world go round
love makes the world go crashing down
love makes things simple
love makes things impossible
love is always worth it
love is never worth it
love makes us smarter
love makes us stupid
love is enlightening!
love is BLIND
make love not war
make war out of love
love is peaceful
love creates fights
love is sooth
SuicideSuicide... they call it sinSuicide11 years ago in Other More Like This
They say it is a death in which no-one wins...
They encourage you not to do it, they say it is wrong...
But who is there to encourage you when you can't be strong.
You feel like you have no-one, not even a friend.
No shoulder to cry on, just one last letter to send.
tragedies - collab.you deserve all the cobweb dreams,tragedies - collab.6 years ago in Other More Like This
fairytale hopes, and explosive love
in the world, but i know that i
will never be the one
to give them to you.
you need notes that end with
'ps - you're brighter than
twenty-seven silver stars'.
i can't bring myself
to write them, though.
it's not like you'd read them,
i cut out paper hearts and
dreams and gave them to you, but
you only ripped them up and said
'these aren't good enough.'
when i painted you a picture
of golden skies and sunshine smiles,
you handed it back and told me
'next time, paint realistically.'
so i wrote you a story
filled of starless nights and
hopeless dreams. you said 'no,
i don't need this. you're
tragedy enough for me.'
by the time i was humming you
melancholy lullabies through the receiver,
you had already surrendered
to the sweet grasps of sleep.
'i'd rather nightmares than you,'
you said, hanging up the phone.
i kept singing anyway, hoping
that you would stop running
long enough for me to catch up.
but i forgot -
the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,the speed addict12 years ago in Other More Like This
he will die. so when inertia takes hold
his heart falters and his head slams against
a future, lit by the dashboard. he hears
his veins stuttering like gears grinding out
a staccato refrain, while the wheel spins and
goes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,
rasps a hol
heart song.this is the songheart song.6 years ago in Other More Like This
to your heart.
why are you locked inside
a bathroom stall? no one
to hold you, tell you sweet
lies and say you are
beautiful, say you are
perfect? it's not the end of
the world, not yet. if it was,
wouldn't there be
your heart is not yet
dead; please do not
say it is. if it was dead,
it wouldn't hurt this
your heart is only sleeping.
when the only melody in your head
is a break up song, and the only thing
your heart seems capable of doing
is twisting itself into knots, and the only
thing you want to do is hide and escape
we are talking about finding
eternity in the things people
throw away. we are talking about
listening to the moments of silence
in between heart beats. we are talking
about distances shortening and
people realizing they can
we are talking about
one of the greatest tragedies
in life is that
DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.Dementia6 years ago in Other More Like This
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.
Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.
Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.
Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.
This PainTears roll down my face,This Pain11 years ago in Other More Like This
As I cut myself,
To release the pain.
It hurts so much,
But feels so good.
The pain is draining from me,
In drops of blood.
As I watch my pain leave from me,
"How can this be,
That I have so much pain
When I'm only merely 16?".
Then I remember the past that I've had,
Memories of yelling,
all the awful scars.
I've cried too much,
I've hated so many,
That I don't think people will ever get me.
I come back from my world of thoughts
And realize that I've bled too much,
It's all over the counter,
It's becoming messy,
But I don't care.
I just want this pain out of me.
I'm starting to think that I can't go on,
That maybe I should cut deeper
Till there is no more pain or blood,
But then I remember,
That I may have a future.
I'll just have to wait out this pain
And let the blood dry up.
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earthyou can't feel through fabric6 years ago in Other More Like This
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
im not all there in the head
youre not all there in the head, my mother says
im not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes im there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well thats where loves gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken with rain i watched fall (like stars)
am i poetic enough yet, yet?
leaving rain-prints on the carpet but mother wont mind
mind you she never minds anything if its mine
but then it stops a quick shut-eye stop
(i wonder) is it dew now that it sits like jewels upon the grass?
the wind is lovely in my ear, voice like rushing water
Depressing PoemsSorry --Depressing Poems7 years ago in Other More Like This
What if she died?
And at the funeral her parents told you,
"You could have saved her from herself."
How would that make you feel?
And that night you went home
Sat in your room alone
And killed yourself
Just to be with her again and tell her
Why do people try to help me?
Do they care?
I guess they do
But all I do is hurt them
She keeps trying to help me
But all I do is push her away
She's my best friend
Why can't I just let her help?
What if I died right now?
How would you fell?
Sad, depressed, torn apart?
Or would you feel nothing,
But an empty place that can never be filled again?
Let's Hate Age 11Let's Hate6 years ago in Other More Like This
We met in a room full of crowded people
who knew my name
they knew my face
and they knew things I didn't
Most people there knew his parents
and that was about it; the knowledg
Sunday in the Kitchendear mother,Sunday in the Kitchen6 years ago in Other More Like This
i ask you how far we are from heaven.
hunched over the sunday paper like a patient gargoyle.
your eyes blinking too often, and tongue snaking
around in your mouth, as if the answer is hidden between your teeth.
you hum holy bars in the kitchenette.
say "hallelujah means praise yahweh, praise the lord"
say "angels must rest on the tongue of that word"
say "angels, oh angels hallelujah, hallelujah, rest in me"
but you haven't slept in weeks.
i hear you sob sigh into the night like a prayer.
like your table lamp is the closest thing to heaven-gates.
sometimes i still wish i could pray with you.
pluck off our sorrow feathers and
watch the angels carry them through the ceiling.
hold your hand like a steady branch
and breathe free.
but i know i'd either start laughing, or crying.
and both are told to be inappropriate during prayer.
what rests upon your tongue, but the paste of morning?
the old words, of dead men. the wet remains of one thou
Feeling Adventurous?Oh God...Feeling Adventurous?7 years ago in Other More Like This
He's about to pass me,
about to brush me,
about to touch me,
I'm about to die.
He's about to move,
about to look,
about to smile,
I'm about to die.
He's a God.
he's a fever,
he's an ache,
he's a healing,
he's a break,
all I want,
are those lips,
all the time,
come to me,
and let me be,
just a little...
But only if you're feeling it,
the way I feel it too,
all I want is you,
come to me,
let me be,
just a litle crazy.
Put my hands in your hair,
put your hands on my waist,
hold me close,
pull me near,
then I'll know,
that you're sincere,
it hurts me,
not to have you,
can you feel my heart beat?
It beats for you,
all the time,
Your laugh is my music,
your smile my light,
your touch is my daytime,
your absence my night,
you stare through my shelters,
you break down my walls,
and I'll beg until you feel this,
when i look in the mirror.one.when i look in the mirror.6 years ago in Other More Like This
things you touch turn silent.
hearts can be blacked, burnt, ashy - but you take the ashes and burn, burn, burn them until there's only a memory left, a memory that's all edges and icicles.
you leave me cold, empty and
i don't want to breathe anymore.
'darling, you would do well to remember-
you can't have a light at the end of the tunnel
if you have no tunnel.
darling, you would do well to remember -
you are not empty. you are not empty.
[it's still hurting, after all. it's still hurting
and you don't want to live,
but you're not empty.]
darling, you would do well to remember-
they love you. they love you,
they love you.
even if you're not sure why.'
you wish gravity would hurry up and take you.
maybe then you'd finally crash, instead of falling all the time.
maybe then it'd be over.
there is a war in your eyes, a fight for survival, a will to breathe, live, smile again.
you miss the laughter and the light you used to have. you miss making people smile.
A Pretty Girls SuicideA Pretty Girls Suicide12 years ago in Other More Like This
A Pretty Girl's Suicide
All the voices say
She has such a pretty smile
One that lasts for days
Like it was plastered on her face
All the voices say
She wears such pretty clothes
The colors that just stand out in a crowd
Like she was a butterfly
All the voices say
She has such pretty eyes
A mixture of green and blue
Like where the ocean meats the sky
All the voices say
She has such pretty hair
It would shimmer in the breeze
Like dew on grass
All the voices say
She was such a pretty girl
A girl who would make boys mouths water
Like a freshly baked apple pie
But pretty is as pretty does
Every time she glimpsed a mirror
It would tell her those voices are saying lies
She couldn't take it, all the lies
So she committed suicide
She had a pretty smile
She had worn a pretty dress
She had left open her pretty eyes
She had been strangled/hung by her pretty hair
The world is full of pretty things
It has its pretty people
Lots of pretty words
Many pretty places
But when will pretty stop
ocean burning.one.ocean burning.6 years ago in Other More Like This
before she met you, she would reach for the sun while standing on the branches of trees, arms stretched towards the sunlight, reaching and waiting.
now, happiness is like a summer memory in the dead of winter - still there, but fading too fast to hold onto. now, she sits on rooftops with you at night, and the two of you watch as the city lights go out one by one.
sometimes, when you laughed, she was reminded of the wind rushing through trees in winter - melodic and beautiful, but still cold, unforgiving.
the two of you watched the waves of the ocean take away the beach, piece by piece.
you were the waves.
she was the sand.
you'd stay up late and watch re-runs of old movies on tv, all the while wishing you had a road map to hope, because
maybe then you wouldn't feel so lost. you looked at the stars and saw happiness and wondered why you couldn't be up there, and all the time
you were missing the present.
she wished she was a volcano, and maybe then she'd explode a
my dictionary definitionhow not to be disappointed:my dictionary definition5 years ago in Other More Like This
never expect greatness from me;
stamp it from my thoughts
the moment it crosses my mind;
read me my own words, saying
i would like to be
good at everything but ex-
cellent at nothing;
know that haiku is irrefutable
evidence to my sorry head.
how to make me see sense:
slap me in the face
until my eyes are crooked
but my mind, spine, and morals
how to understand my inferiority complex:
i don't know what else i could ever give you-
you, the ever-saturnine stunner;
me, the never-beautiful slattern-
a placeholder at best from the start;
i will know this and never dream of leaving until
you tell me, "go."
how to touch me:
use heavy hands on my face
and gauze on my hips;
kiss my shoulder but know
that i will pay tomorrow for this;
look me in the eye
until i cry so loudly that the
neighbours call the police.
how to hurt me:
show me your heart;
prove that it beats;
tell me i am not enough
and i will tell you
you are right;
tell me the truth.
how to know me:
The Breath of GodI.The Breath of God8 years ago in Other More Like This
My bones have been like cabinets;
the hinges all dust, wood punctured.
Breathe, hope, stamina (the grains wheat enough to take on
absence, sweat, and nausea) were misplaced.
Their dearth rearranged my skeleton in certain places,
and I stuck out heresunk in there.
The nonexistence was pushy
bored with the fractures,
ignorant of setting the bone.
I was ignorant of setting the bone, too.
Mirrors were poor reflections,
wasted glass, unable to diagnose.
I was intact. It appeared
that way. The angles spoke of it
they expressed the wholeness of body. Sure they did.
It spoke of other images, too, the one image, mine
like silverware sticking out of me obnoxiously,
unkempt and gray and sharp, with no regard for
But I was still fleshstill, I had
eleven ribs, eight fingers, two kneecaps.
And my marrow
had air pockets.
InsanityINSANITYInsanity8 years ago in Other More Like This
Some one is
to me-I swear-
All the walls
I watch you
up the phone-
"Too late," I
blowing bubbles.last night weblowing bubbles.6 years ago in Other More Like This
watched the clouds
and you said:
you are beautiful.
and i am afraid
that i might one day
actually believe you
sometimes i feel like
i'm just this big bundle
of problems and i have
been searching and
i can't find the answers.
you told me that the answers
are in blowing bubbles and
tying shoe laces and chasing
dreams, but honestly i just
understand. i have tried
to chase my dreams but
they only run away.
you told me that you can't
stand how i sound when i
give up and the hope
is knocked out of me and
you can't stand me when
i am busy counting
the empty spaces in the
walls and in my heart
and you said you
can't stand me anymore,
love is not a game.
but then, how
did i end up
...Maybe I'm naive because there are certain things I don't understand...7 years ago in Other More Like This
Like why we care about people who don't know us
Or why we love people who don't want us
Or why we get angry over things that don't concern us
Maybe I'm cold and bitter because there are certain places I can't go
Or people I can't see
Or songs I can't listen to anymore because they remind me of things I hate
And as much as I try to understand them, I can't
Maybe we're all different brands of crazy
Certain brands like hurting the body
Certain brands go for the mind
Me, I go for the heart because I'm a different brand than everybody else
Or maybe I've just lost it
Because I hate seeing liars
And people who use people
Get everything they want
While the rest of us sit back and remember what we've lost
falling.he told me:falling.6 years ago in Other More Like This
when i think of falling,
i think of comets and
insomnia and midnight
rushes of emotions and
breaking down just to feel
again. he told me
when i think of falling,
i think of you.
but this is okay, because
falling things cannot be
you have always been the most
beautiful in a quiet way, like how
the moon outshines the sun, and you
have dreams like uncut glass,
waiting to be shaped or dropped or
maybe both and
you promise you won't let me
but i think, i think that maybe
i already have and you can't
undo the past and there's no point
in trying and
you are the kind of dream
i never want
to wake up from.
How to kill a writerInk on a blank sheet, suck dry a bodyHow to kill a writer5 years ago in Other More Like This
through the pen sitting between a finger
and an open vein, he won't last longer
than the emptiness written about she.
Words to enlighten the path leading your
spark to the edge of the world, it's futile
when you're already falling, it's obscure.
we're losing him.
Paper to walk on like a white tile
ready to be broken by many she.
It's too late.
Used to live but forgot when he
It's too late,
II collect herbs on the Hansel and Gretel path to make a potion to drink and find the Baba Yaga within.I7 years ago in Other More Like This
I jeep a million miles a week to celebrate one secret from one child that hints at the power they carry blithely.
I paint abstract road signs with the three colors plus dawn and twilight to find the night spot to dance the kundalini cha-cha.
I sit on a throne of thorns and watch through the dispelling inner fog as my body torques into imitations of a rose blooming.
I pour a river of skin into the ocean of his morning and feel the tsunami swell through a worldwide heartbeat.
I suck the colors and light and darkness from my inner psychedelic mirror out through the lens of the seeing camera.
I listen from somewhere beyond pulses to the purring and screeching that spills from your full heart to my cavernous soul.