Unguarded
I'm sorry I let you see me unguarded.
Let you see my darkness, left you forever haunted.
I'm sorry I killed you with my insecurities.
The atrocity, your ghost is keeping me company.
I'm sorry If I ever dared to make you cry.
For even the skies could fade at the blue of your eyes.
I'm sorry I could never quite be adequate.
You deserve everything and I'm so horribly limited.
I'm sorry I dreamt of us, peaceful under the moon.
A fever dream for someone who only knows how to ruin.
I'm sorry I blamed everything on the distance.
I can't get you to love me without this deafening silence.
I'm sorry I ever thought that we were binary stars.
Always said "I understand" even with a shattered heart.
I'm sorry I didn't listen to my obscene thoughts.
When they precisely said that misery was all I brought.
I'm sorry my hatred wasn't loud enough to hide yours.
A wreckage cannot be loved. I should've hidden my scars.
I'm sorry I ever let you see the real me.
I'll stay constrained just so you won't leave.
I'll hide myself a little to help you breathe.
I want to kill myself just enough for you to visit. Atleast then I'll get to see you somewhere that's not just my dreams.
What am I?
A strange thing to wonder
I'm the anger of my father,
And the silent cries of my mother.
I'm the broken pieces of childhood,
Of a once happy daughter.
I wish I was religious so atleast I could pray to something.
But I talk to god and the sky is empty.
For nothing can restore my faith,
This is not the world I wish to live in.
I wish I was what my parents wanted me to be.
But I look in the mirror and I am empty.
Nothing can restore my self,
This is not the body I wish to be in.
I scream and cry and yell at you to have given me this life.
Birthed me ugly,broken,tarnished and useless.
Ruined me and made me hate myself.
But what right do I have to blame you or anyone else?
For no one has been as cruel to me,
As I have been to myself.
You didn't ruin me; I just hate myself.
What can life offer anyway
That I can't have with you in death?
What feels more like home anyway
Than it does besides your grave?
The worst thing you ever did was to make me believe I could be loved
Dear universe
At 13 I thought that the universe hates me. For it made me tainted and it made me unlovable. Perhaps it was true; or perhaps I was just 13. Now I finally see that there are things that actually love me.
The darkness holds me still and grief kisses my hand. The demons in my head tell me it'll be fine. And hunger kind of always stays along with this unbearable ache. Longing lingers like a lonely child and sinister thoughts eat me up inside. Years of misery and wishing to be dead. Screams of terror and weeps of fate. But dear universe I wont complain. For dear universe I still am loved.
he called me neurotic
but what i think he really meant
was that the roots of my anxiety
are growing deep within my head
-
sometimes my thoughts run far
away, escape all rhyme and reason
the seeds of logic overthrown
by the fruits of anxious seasons
-
i just take my time to breathe
and think up a solution
i take a minute and i trawl
through the depths of this pollution
-
poison planted in my mind
by words and dirty looks i catch
in a net of pure self hate
in which fearful thoughts hatch
-
he called me neurotic
and sure, ill take it on the nose
my garden of fear and self hate
truly needed that last rose.
-
(photo via)
I fell for you gently as leaves do on a dreary autumn evening.
You continued to bloom delicately as you were the sweetest child of spring.
Unnoticed for years, my world has been touched by you.
In running away from home, I found a home in you.
I fell for you, like hades fell for persephone
And I am falling, like moon falls around the earth still.
I write this with my love, hoping that you might see this too.
I share this with the world, but really it only ever was for you.
Spring is awaking from its slumber 🤍💐🌾
Him
He was butterflies.
He was anxiety.
He was silent cries.
He was that feeling of empty.
He was reliance.
He was trouble.
He was treacherous.
He was loyal.
He was steady.
He was unstable.
He was needy.
He was unpredictable.
He was my almost lover.
He was a goddamn nightmare.
He was a million little emotions.
Mixed into a disconsolate one.
The poem as prey, as blood luscious, elusive. The poem as the locked room.
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