poetry

Vulnerable

She’s strong

Unbreakable

Clenched fists, straight back,

Looking into the eye of oblivion,

Facing the deepest depths of the undiscovered.

But she feels vulnerable.

You can take all you want from her,

But loosing someone she loves,

She could not deal with.

How many stories she’s read,

How often she sees it happen,

Her friends they fall in love,

But then their love breaks away,

And they move on.

But she wouldn’t be able to.

She loves this boy, and he loves her too.

But they are young, their whole life is ahead of them,

And statistics against them.

Most people end up taking separate paths,

Especially when they’re this young.

And she’s so afraid, that she and him, will be the next one.

He tells her all will be okay, and she agrees, and she looks strong,

But she feels vulnerable.

You see, anyone can tell you they’ll never leave,

But she’s learned, that her vision is blurred.

There is a chance that one day, he just will.

And what was it all for?

She would never get over it.

A love so strong,

Shed rather be alone for eternity.

Her heart would break,

So bad,

That shed be numb,

Just like she used to be.

She opened up to him,

More than she ever did to anyone else,

But what if this would ruin her completely.

She feels vulnerable,

Because she used to wish,

For someone she really loved to break her heart,

She couldn’t feel,

And she wanted for someone to hurt her,

To finally feel, what it would be like, with a love so real,

To loose it.

But now she found him,

And she couldn’t imagine loosing him.

A piece of her would die.

And she seems strong,

But she’s not.

She’s vulnerable.

Standard
poetry

Nothing you could do

Lately he’s been back to haunt my dreams.

I never would’ve thought that just one moment,
Could fuck me up forever.
And it’s hard for them to understand
That even just the smallest thing,
Can trigger an immense turmoil within me.
And if they dare mention it,
My nightmare for that day is inescapable,
Inevitable.
I want to protect anyone from going through this as I did,
But they don’t understand.
They think I’m just being overprotective.
But it’s not until you’ve had someone hold you down agaubst the cold ground,
Punching you repeatedly until numbness,
And then using you for their own good,
That you’ll understand what it does to you; and it’s not pretty.
I wish my nightmares would stop but they don’t.
Every night I’m scared to go to sleep in horror or reliving every moment and worse.
I’m trapped, and i don’t know how to escape.
I want to talk about it, but something within me won’t let me,
It hurts and I want to scream and cry,
Be left alone in a corner to slowly decay away in guilt and shame and die.
Even then,
There is nothing you could do, nothing. 

Standard
poetry

tough girl.

People think of me as a cold hearted, tough girl.

I used to think so too;

Used to think I showed no feelings because I was strong,

I didn’t want tears to be seen by you.

But today I realize its all nonsense.

The reality is that I feel everything very deeply,

I just don’t know how to handle it all.

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poetry

Selectively Social

People always ask me why it is that I have such a small number of friends.

To be brutal and quite frank I am selectively social

Because I hate to waste my time on predictable people

Or things that might produce unnecessary drama.

Does that mean I hate everyone? No! Of course not.

I don’t see myself as being better than anyone either,

I respect everyone.

But personally, I find it hard to get any sort of meaning from spending time with people that

Don’t really care for you, or that you know cant be happy for you, or help you in times of need.

I just simply don’t want to waste my time and energy on people that don’t matter,

And use it selectively on people who do;

People who have visions and inspire,

Creative people who can intellectually challenge me.

To me, that is much more worth time spending,

Than just some person who is obviously faking everything,

And who you know for sure won’t be there for you in times of need.

Standard
poetry

What is real?

I’ve never been satisfied with myself,

Always wished I’d be a more exciting book on the shelf.

But I’m not.

Sometimes I’d laugh louder than anyone else,

And smile brighter than the brightest  of stars in the darkest of nights;

But it all meant nothing.

I felt an immense emptiness.

And as time progressed, the worse it became;

I started telling lies without guilt or shame.

Even worse, it drove me…

Mad.

Today I can’t decipher between the lies or truth

That my stories might have had.

Today I don’t know what is real and what isn’t.

I try to make sense of my mental mess but how do I expect them to understand,

When even I cant?

Standard
poetry

Strange and Grotesque

I have always found a feeling of comfort from the strange and grotesque,

-Death and madness-

-Disease and sadness-

Its all something I very much enjoy to watch and decipher;

Take apart and look at under microscopes.

I like to pretend what it might be like,

To walk in shoes that no-one would wish upon their worst enemy.

I don’t know how to feel,

I don’t know how to decipher what isn’t, and what is real.

So I go to great extremes to scrape together any sort of feeling I may find,

Making me wonder, what it is, thats so horribly wrong with my mind.

Standard
poetry

My Madness

It forces itself into my mind like a deranged thief,

Everyday

Taking all that’s important to me,

Adding new, dangerous ideas.

I can’t sleep at night;

Out of my blankets inky folds extend a thousand withered hands,

All reaching for my neck.

Slowly scratching my skin as they crawl up like a million little knifes.

At night my dreams trap me in oblivion,

Whilst during the day, strange thoughts sink me into new realities with graceful ease;

Never leaving a trace or clue that they have taken hold.

Florid daydreams are lived in first person,

Im a delusion of grandeur.

I don’t mind it, Ive always found it better than the mundane real life.

And after years of madness, I have found its the only safe place I know,

Where I can disappear without getting hurt,

And feel safe without having to act different, or put on a show.

I happily welcome its forceful invasion,

I don’t need it to provide some form of persuasion.

I walk with it hand in hand,

Its a big part of me, and it makes me who I am.

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