The Dark Abyss Was Enticing Me, It Was Calling And It Took Everything To Not Go Meet Her Mid-way; Let

Ghost Children

There are moments

Bad and hard to comprehend, mismatched;

I do not know how to 

String together an entire good life

Or a person

Out of so many broken things.

What I mean is 

The Cat gets pissed

And he yells

He’ll smash the Dog’s skull

And there is so much rage in his body.

I do not know

How to tell the men 

This fury is not something to be proud of,

To carry or pass on.

There are children who have shrunk themselves 

And swallowed their own being

To fit into houses filled with so much rage:

Children who are too loud or too dumb,

Children who will never be enough,

There is no time;

Children who would rather 

Sleep on the streets

Than be here.

Children who cut out parts of themselves,

Make themselves smaller, be appropriate,

To belong here.

Children who rebel,

Grow tired of waiting, grow weary;

Grow up

And then cry for their mothers,

Gulp their own tears.

Children sitting on floors

Of good houses

And full families

And have never been more alone,

More annoyed at themselves

For not seeing all the good,

For noticing the wreckage,

For not smiling through their own slaughter.

Children who move out 

And do things they weren’t sure 

They wanted in the first place.

The Cat screams and scratches everyone

Trying to help him,

The Hamster yells of how her life was ruined;

The Parrot bites me, claws at the Cat and 

Keeps breaking things, so many things,

Screams of his entrapment.

I am small:

A rat in a big world,

    I have never been alone.

I never realised how small people could really be.

Are you scared to death to live

Or are you scared to live

Because you know you will die?

If there was no one to observe the universe

Would it cease to exist as we know it?

If a tree falls in a forest but

No one is around to hear it scream,

It still thuds and the ground still rumbles,

It's just that no one feels it.

So perhaps you are so obsessed with

Letting people know you are here

Because you know you could die

And no one would see the stars of your life collapse,

Feel the rumble of your loss of life.

It is possible to go away, quietly,

Unnoticed, leave things unchanged-

No one to mourn your loss

or to question higher powers

Over the lack of your presence

Or to tell your stories.

How terrifying it is to think

The universe in my mind could go away with me.

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sometimes i still think about not being here, see all the futures in which i have ceased to exist. then my brain goes into survival mode and tries to find me all the things i will definitely miss, things i will not be able to do if i am not here. and i find it really dumb. all the things i will not be able to do if i am not here? bitch try everything! if you are not here, you have ceased to exist, as in, the real world no longer contains you as a person who is real and living and breathing. you're just burnt ash or like on your way to become fossil fuel for the generations to come. but does that faze you, not being here at all? sometimes the answer is no. but then i find myself overtired, fresh out of a long shower standing in front of the mirror in my fluffy bathrobe midst a daydream, dancing shittily to silence while brushing my teeth thinking of not being here and then losing that train of thought to all of the ridiculous things i could do if whatever i am doing does not work out and i am kind of content.

Burning

Occam’s Razor:

Suggests that the simplest explanation,

Is the most plausible one.

Which means, to put it simply, I love you.

But how do I contain the multitude of all that I feel

Within so little?

How do I tell you,

I see the stars in you;

All my poems from here on until eternity

Will be about you;

“I love you” doesn’t do justice to the fact that

I swear I was a Universe unlike any other,

But I found you and we were always whole;

But somehow, with you next to me, we feel complete.

In my next life time, I swear I will find Occam; tell him

That there are some entities which need to be multiplied;

Not out of necessity,

But out of love.

by Anika

Wars end when wars do

Wars end when death settles

The graveyard was ready to receive me

I had so much to do still

I do not think I want to be here anymore

Here, I have found

Here is relative

Here in this life I feel small

To not want to be here is to acknowledge

There are things holding you back

There are things you do not want knowing your name

The battle cry was futile

No one wants to wait 

To experience the glory of all that bloodied violence

I am here

Living past things I was sure would kill me

Here

I am here.

I have so much life left to live still

- A.G.

(you can also read the poem from bottom to the top)