Why can’t I move? Being enclosed by your infidelity no air for me to breathe. Why won’t you just let me live!
Genre: Hurt, Pain, Relationship
The Resistance by Tierra Martin
Why can’t I move? Being enclosed by your infidelity no air for me to breathe. Why won’t you just let me live!
Being caught in your wrongs isn’t what I pictured our relationship to be. Not being able to be set free me falling damn on my knees in a searing plead. You took quit advantage of my kindness.
Therefore, me pushing away from all this hurt in the end would help me mend things on my own two feet. While my heart is beating defeating your indecisive mindset I’ll also be set free to fly away too a place where I can finally love me for me..
she was the kind of girl people wrote poetry about. wild heart , wild soul , wild hair. she couldn’t be tamed. she shifted the universe. the sun followed her smile and the moon was slave to her pain. she wanted to be nothing but free , leaving her mark on everything and everyone she touched. she commanded attention wherever she went , a vibrant rose with more thorns than she should have. she had the intensity of a waterfall , flowing with rage and demanding to be heard.
Genre: Inspiration, Light, Art
C by Natalie Henderson
she was the kind of girl people wrote poetry about. wild heart , wild soul , wild hair. she couldn’t be tamed. she shifted the universe. the sun followed her smile and the moon was slave to her pain. she wanted to be nothing but free , leaving her mark on everything and everyone she touched. she commanded attention wherever she went , a vibrant rose with more thorns than she should have. she had the intensity of a waterfall , flowing with rage and demanding to be heard.
she was the kind of girl people wrote poetry about. soft heart , soft love , soft soul. she radiated every beautiful color in the spectrum. blues , pinks , greens , and indigos. her bones had flowers growing from them , planting seeds in the ground with every step. she was the manifestation of everything she found beautiful. her love lived infinitely in the stars.
she was the kind of girl that people wrote poetry about. so destructively damaged and so beautifully broken. she could make the brightest of days dark , and the darkest of days light. she lived in the moment. breaking herself on purpose to remember how to appreciate the sun when it came back. you couldn’t hold on to her. you couldn’t contain her. she is poetry.
i hope that, whoever you are – you love me as much as i hope i love you
and i hope that you hate snow, but you’ll appreciate that i love it
you’ll let me shovel alone because you know i don’t mind being alone
you’ll just have coffee ready for me when i come inside
Genre: sad, romantic, hopeful, love
To my future significant other by Morgan Fasanelli
if we ever actually end up finding each other
i hope that, whoever you are – you love me as much as i hope i love you
and i hope that you hate snow, but you’ll appreciate that i love it
you’ll let me shovel alone because you know i don’t mind being alone
you’ll just have coffee ready for me when i come inside
and i hope you know that when i get sad, which i will, it probably won’t be you
and i hope you’ll let me spew out my dramatic thoughts and feelings and i hope you’ll be okay with the fact that i don’t need you to tell me it’s okay, i just need you to let me tell you what’s on my mind
I hope that you have these idiosyncrasies about yourself because let me tell you, i notice everything
and i will notice if you pull the cuffs of your sleeves when you’re uncomfortable because it’s a natural reflex from grade school when someone would say something about what used to be a touchy subject for you, even though the scars are almost fully faded
And i hope that you’ll understand that i’m sorry for everything all the time, and that i’m really trying not to be
And i hope that you have lots of little stories that you remember from your past that you’re comfortable sharing with me
but most of all i hope you don’t fit every detail i just said
because that is to say that i saw you coming, and i saw us coming
and i don’t want to see this coming
i want to be so completely blindsided by your love that it knocks the air right out of my lungs
and i hope that, whoever you are – you love me as much as i hope i love you
emotions have always meant the most to me
I mean, really
do you think there’s anything in life
not worth feeling?
words slither through our skin
and enter our bodies
like my brain emits T.H.C. ;
Genre: depression, addiction, sad, suicidal, dark, drugs, confused, empty, bitter
Misery’s Dispensary
by Nick Meridionale
emotions have always meant the most to me
I mean, really
do you think there’s anything in life
not worth feeling?
words slither through our skin
and enter our bodies
like my brain emits T.H.C. ;
T.
H.
C.
this
head
can’t
take
hell’s
campaign;
the
hanging
chord,
the
hop
from the chair
this. head. can’t. take! hell’s campaign!
the hanging chord, the hop from the chair…
the hanging corpse!
common symptoms include:
blotched eyes and dry sweat
depending on what high you’re aiming for;
joy or sadness
I cough and I choke,
trying to fill my lungs
up the most,
but my throat becomes a waterfall
layered out in smoke
and I ponder if my mother will witness
my ghost
after she lowers my body into an eternal and
earthy comatose.
I think the most miserable types of people
are one’s whose bodies have become
empty and dried up rivers
where even dead fish can’t deliver
satisfaction to the bellies of vultures
our hearts can’t get
accepted by society’s norms or cultures
we are different types of people
who feel much deeper than others
we hear words heavily,
and we listen with keen ears
so I had my first high
and suddenly
my empathy was at an all time high,
I was able to see my
own desires and dreams
physically by my side
and I could smell the future’s meadow
but after a few hours
I returned to my past’s shadow
now that I’ve had my last hit
it’s hard for me to feel it;
the emotion.
the passion.
I’ve fallen in love with the fashion
that withdrawal dresses me in
instead of clothes I wear my skeletons!
“save that hit for
a rainy day.
and if your head
feels like a hurricane
then take as many as you may.
if your vice keeps you dreaming
at least it mutes the sounds
of your demons screaming.”
lately I’ve been stuck in my creative ocean
I used to row a boat and feel the motion
of the waves;
typing words down on a cracked phone screen
just to feel solace
under the hot summer sun
but I’ve lost a paddle,
I’ve broken a few wings
so when these sharks circle me
and they start to sing
I fear that I may die.
I feel death in my tiny stone soul
consuming my heart
and continuing to grow;
so when the sun screams at me
and my skin starts to crow
I long for the colder climates
of the coffins down below
I love feelings
I love feeling sad, even miserable
I love feeling happy and joyous
jubilance is a fruitfulness that I rarely emit
and morbidity has scrutiny when it fishes
for the bigger catches inside of me
once the sun dries me up, and
depression devours all that I have to give,
my river will become the trench
that murderers bury the victims
they deemed unworthy to live
my soil can’t decay, it actually
grows wealthy at the taste of lifeless skin
I kiss the corpses of young women and children
to feel a sustenance
that beautiful women
and children’s eyes
once poured into my soul,
I once held an abundance of substance
now I’m a bag of blood,
abusing myself by using substances.
I’m a bag of bones
amusing others, swearing I know what substance is…
but as the days go on,
and the sun’s volumes become more and more immense
I will decay and feast on whatever
the devil can dispense
this sobriety is painfully subsiding,
it’s fastening the blade to my wrists
how many cadavers does a dying man have to kiss,
to confirm he has a pulse,
and swear he’s not one of them?
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