this is not a suicide notewhat would change if i left?
would you wear your sadness
like a bullet-- raw and fresh and
slung, chafing, into solemn chambers;
or would you swallow it down
to poison your lungs,
steal your breath & dissolve
the remnants of me?
would you smoke yourself out,
a pyre of anger in one fist
smouldering with resentment--
unfueled but hot and bright and
burning our love to ashes;
or would you hang it,
trailing, coiled around your neck
where it will catch, untenanted,
on shards of me and tighten
to choke you?
would you throw in the towel
and jump, too, unfettered
without my soul;
or would you just breathe butterflies,
an exultation of relief and gratitude?
this won't end up as a suicide notethere aren’t enough momentsthis won't end up as a suicide note1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
to love you, or words
in the English language to call you
beautiful. there aren’t enough
heartbeats in me to dedicate you
something you might deserve.
you can no longer lie.
a vengeful earthquake births itself inside
your unkind frame-- bones and skin and
muscle knotted together as an attempt
at something durable; but when you scream,
you don’t wake up. your world
collapses in mounting seconds. words
are a currency and you are
finally rich. you have lived
in the mouths of ghosts for so long
that you can walk through walls;
you aren’t here, you’re choking
on other planets from a lack of oxygen
and understanding. but I will love you,
I will love you; dear wallflower,
your petals are not wilted. dear
anonymous, I could give you a name.
dear hopeless, there are not enough words
in the English language for how beautiful
you really are.
Please?PleasePlease?1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Will you talk to me,
And let me know I'm not invisible?
Will you hold my hand
And let me know I have a friend?
Will you hold me close
And let me know I'm wanted?
Will you kiss me
And let me know I'm loved?
Will you do these things
And let me feel alive?
on unlearning how to diethe space between intention andon unlearning how to die1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
inaction has been redefined. they say
the first step to sadness is
to be happy. the second step
is learning loss. they tell us
depression is an abundance of emotions
but everyone here is a balloon
deflated with time, a sun
dimming as years eat away years
and everything changes but
nothing's really different at all.
we drowned before we even saw
the sea, dreaming of that cemetery
a million miles deep; and still,
I cry for the people worth forgetting:
the girl who couldn't take enough
sleeping pills to live her dreams,
the boy so doped out on an inability
to live that he told us about his trips
to Jupiter and back, and
expected us to believe him. the girl
with a ghost smile named after the prayer
she was born to forget, the boy
who slept like an angel and cried like
a fallen, and me, me
choking on gravity and the ever-growing
weight of my own fucking inadequacy
tied tightly around my neck like a noose
not quite designed properly, right,
because I survived.
PainNothing seems realPain1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
In this sea of static
Horrors keep pounding on
My vacuum of expectation
Signals of monstrosity
Untouched and undiscovered
My essence of impurity
I'll split my veins apart
To make myself feel anything
I'll shred the world to bits
In search for the unreal
Innocence and violence
Mix together boiling
Droplets of blood cry
In their silent resistance
Against darkness around
Against threats unseen
In this world of madness
And deadly inevitability
In this sterile reality
I float unaffected
I need pain to acknowledge
My elusive existence
Growing Upit seems that by now I’ve been diagnosedGrowing Up1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
with a mild case of weightlessness, mindless
drifting past empty homes and the emptier people
that purchased them. I remember conversations
with you about existentialism
and the almost intricate fabric of my mind and
everything in between, and you-- the way you
paused before making a point as
the words defined themselves in your head:
I remember the day I told you I was God.
Creator of all things unimportant, trapped
in the body of a girl with nothing left to give, you
it must be a beautiful place
inside your head, with a world
that revolves around hope and expectations
the way it was supposed to; all
storybook-perfect like the
wars promise we’ll one day
[I’d like to think that every great leader
once cried themselves to sleep wondering
if they’d ever mean anything and
did things to stand out like smoking
or drinking or pretending to be someone
they’re not and every morning they’d tilt
War and MeI hate you because you were born different.War and Me1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I shun you because you disagree.
I fear you because I do not know you.
I hurt you because I know nothing else.
.you said november was a.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
kick in the teeth
and life goes on
get over it
and i thought god
now i know how the birds feel
lying dead on my kitchen floor
suicide riski.suicide risk1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are six shades of sadness
on a too cold, too big seat,
a shrunken apostrophe and
paroxysmal, the balls of your feet
strumming the hours gone
("i want to go home,
please, please, i just
want to go home").
it is your relief and your regret
that she knows you so well.
It is she who brings forth a doctor
then, when you are past talking-down, done,
wrung out and horse-footed in your need
("let me go home, please,
please, i just
need to go home")
softly accented words spoken off to the side:
"Yes. Let's keep her voluntary now,
it will be quicker: but if her wings sprout
and itchy feet sample corridors,
we'll make it an order."
("if you go home,
the police will return you,
please stay a little longer")
you are seven hours of waiting,
free to leave until you try and
another doctor says
"I can't get a read
on her lethality and
there are no beds".
("let's go, please, i want
to go home, and they
don't want me here")
she is concern coated in fury,
a righteous expletive
Curing Depression in Seven Easy Steps1. apologize profusely toCuring Depression in Seven Easy Steps1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the ones you were honest with,
the ones who believe in you,
the ones who never cared,
the boy who thought you were
worth it, the girl who stayed up
all night to hear you breakdown,
the doctors, the nurses, the stars,
your scars, your little brother
who told you he hoped your sad
would go away, yourself
2. fall in love with someone
who doesn’t understand you.
write poems about his eyes being
a lighthouse, and his hands
being sirens. tell him he is
your happiness, he makes you
better. tell him his scars are
beautiful, he is so breathtakingly
beautiful that it’s reasonable
you should cry; love him
infinitely, love him like they say
you need to love yourself
3. eat away emotions
you didn’t realize you had. eat
when you’re sad, eat when
you’re bored, eat when he forgets
to call. eat when you think
you’re the only person alive
in a dead universe, eat when
you don’t remember when you
were last happy; pretend
the emptiness is
MirrorI look in the mirror,Mirror1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and what do I see?
a disgusting reflection
staring back at me.
Perfection and beauty,
I'm simply not the person
whom I want to be.
Flawed and broken,
inside and out;
the truth is that I'm someone
the world can go on without.
on self-assessmentThis is a poem for all the people who stillon self-assessment1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
have something to see in me. I could
cut myself on the sharp edge of my thoughts,
bleed out a saturated river of
something sweet; I could be like a million
other gifts from mother nature to preserve
in glass cases and scientific journals and
buzz words, to picket and fight over and
eventually forget. I could
write a million stories about the universe
in my stomach, and my lack of
a gag reflex and the irony in that.
I could write about the blooming storms
in my head and about how I’m addicted
to bad weather, and how I can’t hear myself
over the static waves rocking me to sleep.
My best friend is the most beautiful hurricane
I’ve ever seen, slow motion wreckage who says things like
what does it even mean, where are
we going, maddie, what am I even here for;
My first love wasn’t special. It was
ignorant and narcissistic and orbited around me
like some neglected planet, like I
was finally the center of a universe
People.People come and go, as sad as that is to believe––People.1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
one day you have them near you, the next they may decide to leave.
People are not who you think they are, or what them seem to be––
they omit parts of themselves to you, and show you what they want you to see.
People say a lot of things, but rarely have actions to match––
as time goes on, you carry on, unwillingly becoming attached.
People use you like a pawn, they take you by surprise––
they make you feel like it is all about you, when it is nothing at all; but lies.
People care about themselves, more then they do for you––
some even drag you along for the ride, once they are done, dusted and through.
People tend to pretend, that everything is okay––
when really deep inside, they have a thousand things to say.
People hide beneath their strengths, and cover up their flaws––
scared to be themselves, to get hurt, or to be a bore.
People are stronger then
Writing mental illness (a short guide)When incorporating mental illness into a piece of literature, the most important tool you need to use is research. This is true whether you want the mental illness to play a large part OR a small one, and it is true whether you know someone with mental illness or not. In fact, it's even true if you have the illness yourself, because no two people are the same, and your character may display different facets to you due to contributing factors like experience and personality.Writing mental illness (a short guide)1 year ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
That said, research is not the first thing you should do, because before you get stuck into that research, you need to look at WHY you want to include mental illness in your literature. If you think it would be cool or fun, you might want to rethink it unless you're prepared to put in a lot of work because living with mental illness is not either of those things (generally) and what you're doing for a bit of fun has the potential to negatively impact someone else's life in a big way because stigma & misrepresentatio
Losing Focusthis pain rages across me.Losing Focus1 year ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
i cant breath.
i cant see.
falling out the world.
back to nine.
for a deadly sin.
ride along with a devilish grin.
no one wins.
so begins the killing spree.
left to bleed.
left to suffer.
left to greed.
laid to sleep
AloneA dark feeling waves over me.Alone1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Right now it's all that I can see.
I look around, but no one's here.
Being alone is my deepest fear.
I try to get out and see what's around.
But not a single friend to be found.
They smile politely, but it's not real.
They don't understand how I feel.
If nothing else at least there's some away.
But when we talk there's nothing to say.
I try to speak, but nobody's there.
I just want someone to show that they care.
My old friendships just seem to die.
I wonder if I should even try.
When I do, I feel so much worse.
This empty feeling is such a curse.
Maybe I should just stop trying.
Maybe that can stop me from crying.
tiny vesselsgod cried for us that afternoontiny vessels5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
on the rocks, if I could be so
selfish; you had your hands
grasping at my empty vapors before
I’d had the chance to whisper
to you. I see you
shaking. I know you’re
hungry and I know
the temperature of your
eyes when you lie. you
said you were lonely.
half-truths are the essence
of symbiotic relationships, your
fingers trailing along my hips,
glacier blue eyes holding me
still. the rapids churned. god
cried for me that afternoon.
he was selfish, too.
fidelic whore-- this is appropriationfidelic whore1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
my sweet synchronicity ,
i have downed your appetite
in a bed of front teeth
(it is morning in perth
midnight in dublin, and the noon
sun has been lost behind
a dress of mothy curtains)
do i taste of
of love making;
do i reek of
the weeds that
the posture of your spine?
you bend over
my lap a curve of guilt
and weep all night.
i collect each knob of your body
like a gift. press it to my mouth.
in which I become beautifulI drown my conscience inin which I become beautiful1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
the holy water of my wrists,
I carve hearts from empty
paper for my galaxyboy
with stars written in his skin,
and I swallow moths to
muffle the emptiness and
help me fly away.
CastleCome with me, little girlCastle1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let's watch the rose pedals fall
Let's bury your castle
And put up a brick wall
Lets rip off your butterfly wings
And place them in your grave
The demons have come to get you
You better start to behave
Come with me, little girl
For you can only have the gown for an hour
Do they love you, or love you not,
Ripping pedals off a flower
Come with me, little girl
Let's open your scars
And bury your castle,
In the girl you no longer are...
existentialism and shoddy metaphorsI was violet-cheeked andexistentialism and shoddy metaphors2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
diamond-hearted; a work
of art in reverse,
tearing between my ribs
and calling it beautiful,
and I wonder now why they
never taught me this in school;
the sepia-saturated glow life
gives out some point after
you’ve realized wishes are
for those who’ve not yet
woken more alone than when
they went to sleep,
they never taught me all
the reasons why or that
sin tastes sweet. I met
my maker once in a backalley
bar, stormy eyes and peppermint
breath, charming off a hangover;
he sighed, “I know how many
days it’ll take you to give up
completely. I know how many
dreams you’ve sold away and
how many lies you need to
swallow before you can fall asleep.
I know that you’ve never quite
grown up and I know that
you’re afraid of me” he
smiled silent and downed
another drink, losing himself
in the ramblings of a solipsistic
existence where “I” am finally all
that matters (and sometimes
I believe I was built hollow
beauty is a state of mindforgiveness is thebeauty is a state of mind6 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
scent the violet leaves
on the foot that stomped it;
I am beautiful in remembrance:
I am beautiful
in a body two sizes too
large, in eyes dilated
with questions (eyes
you cannot name; gray
like the ocean, blue
like the heart, green like
the fever dream I cannot
wake from) I am the
hair of a lion, a wild
thing, ignition upon
tempted glance. I am the skin
you cannot name, always fleeting;
you always see
but never truly take in.
and I know a boy
carved of ivory silence,
God Fell SilentCold days fade to colder nightsGod Fell Silent1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Our prayers for warmth and shelter blew in the wind around us
Searching for cover
We kissed under the blackened sky that covered the stars on which we relied
The empty air swallowed us whole
The freezing rain washed away our cries for mercy
Time stopped like the halt of perpetual motion
Slamming face first into the icy banks that surrounded us
We could hear the wolves calling to each other
In a moment of weakness I asked for forgiveness
And as the final gust of frozen wind blew me to the edge
The wolves attacked and god fell silent