Say life has no meaning but we are born are first feeling is love without seeing where we come from
Race and religion are a toxic condition that they teach to us when we are born
Wars have the falling the victors are calling
They give out there medals for scares
But the inside the a soldiers crying for all the death that he caused
Two Minutes to Midnight
The night you died
I joked that it would happen.
Your breathing was so heavy
So labored
So slow
We were playing games
And the rhythm of it changed
Grew more sparse
Gasping
Painful
Mom climbed into the hospital bed
And cradled you
Whispering comfort
Tearfully
Lovingly
A pardon and a parting.
I don't know if you heard her.
I watched a while as you gasped
Each breath a battle
Each battle barely won
And it was not peaceful.
I let myself stop watching.
Sat back a moment
Felt my breath
The ease and lack of pain.
And
You must have felt it too.
You turned me into a monster.
Then blamed me
for being born that way.
But I wasn’t born a monster.
You made me one.
You took a child
and tore him apart,
piece by piece,
over,
and over,
and over,
until there was barely anything
left to tear.
You looked at me
and didn’t see a child.
You saw something
that could be broken.
Something you could
rip apart
and rebuild
however you wanted.
You told me
I was nothing.
Worthless.
Never enough.
Never meant to be.
And I believed you.
I carried your words
inside my head
until they stopped
sounding like yours.
They became mine.
Now sometimes
I hear them again.
That voice telling me
I’m worthless.
That voice telling me
I’ll never change.
That voice telling me
that no matter how hard
I try,
I’ll always be
what you made me.
I want to rip those words
out of my mind.
I want to claw them
from my thoughts,
tear them from
every corner
of my memory,
and leave them
somewhere in the past
where they belong.
But I can’t erase you.
You’re my mother.
No matter how far
I run from what happened,
you are still a part
of my history.
A name written
into the pages
of my childhood.
And I hate that.
I hate that someone
who hurt me so deeply
will always be connected
to the person I became.
But maybe
I don’t have to erase you.
Maybe I just have to
stop letting you
write the rest of my story.
So I tell myself:
I am someone.
I am worth something.
I was meant to be here.
I deserve to exist.
I deserve to be loved.
I deserve to be more
than the things
you called me.
And God,
it’s hard.
It’s hard to look
into the mirror
and not see
the person you created.
Hard to look at my body
and hear your voice
telling me it isn’t enough.
Hard to try to change,
to work,
to become healthier,
while that old voice
whispers that I’ll never
be different.
But I’m trying.
I keep trying.
Because maybe healing
isn’t erasing the scars.
Maybe it’s learning
to look at them
and understand
they aren’t proof
that you were right.
They’re proof
that I survived
what you did.
The scars may take years
to fade.
Some may never disappear
completely.
But they’re mine now.
Not yours.
And slowly,
day by day,
I’m taking back
the pieces of myself
you convinced me
didn’t deserve to exist.
The anger.
The fear.
The child.
The body.
The voice.
The life.
All of it.
You may have had
a hand in creating
the monster I became,
but you don’t get
to decide
what comes next.
Because I’m learning
something you never taught me:
I am not what happened to me.
I am not what you called me.
I am not the monster
you made.
I am the person
who survived you.
And now,
I’m learning
how to become
someone you never imagined
I could be.
I wanted to build a house with you.
We worked tirelessly, bound like glue.
I tried not to break every brick,
but something in my design made me sick.
I dismantled the house one mistake at a time.
The walls stood waiting.
Somewhere, the doorbell chimed.
I tore up the floorboards of your heart
like shame scraping the back of my throat,
led by a darkness I mistook for my own.
I loved that house,
but I was too selfish.
On the front porch,
my heart gave out.
I couldn’t afford the repairs.
I didn’t know what was broken,
and I lacked the courage
to put it up for sale.
I only hoped
you knew I still cared.
Sunlight fell
where the kitchen table used to stand.
Black water seeped
from the ruined sink.
Laughter lingered
inside the rotting frame.
Dust and cobwebs gathered
like the weight of what remained.
Mold climbed the bare wall
where our crooked pictures once hung.
The stairs creaked
like a conversation neither of us finished.
The television sat sun-bleached,
still waiting for a hand
that would never find the remote.
The coat rack clung
to a single nail.
The glue had dried and split.
It couldn’t hold a thing.
I wished I could rebuild
what died inside those walls.
I pressed six numbers
into the deadbolt,
missing the heavy ring
of brass keys.
The latch answered
with a mechanical click.
Inside,
the walls had never been marked.
A vault without an echo.
I dropped my coat
over a folding chair.
I warmed a single meal
with the only fork I owned.
Its polished steel reflected
three days of shadow
across my jaw.
I chewed without tasting,
swallowing
the silence between bites.
Fresh white paint
still burned my throat.
On the stairs,
no timber answered my steps—
only
the heavy thud
of a single boot.
I feel lost
in the space between myself and everyone.
Their sadness seeps into me,
a tide I never learned to swim.
I want to be buried
where no one can see,
where no one will know my name.
Despair consumes me;
nostalgia lingers like a ghost.
The faces fade and blur—
I can no longer see them
and they no longer see me.
I always want to die sometimes,
wishing for a silence deep enough
to drown out the noise of being awake.
I want to feel the soil that surrounds us,
cool and heavy, six feet under,
to lie where nothing more is asked of me,
and finally rest.
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vqx73p/your_blurry_twin/
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vqwlzb/queens_gambit/
I'm done...
Not like I'm done or dying,
But like I'm no longer fine.
As I have nowhere left
Which can be called mine,
Because owning something
Always costs me a fine.
A fine of my happiness,
The happiness I can barely reach,
Even though it was something
Always preached.
I'm done.
I'm tired.
I want the home
Which I desire,
Not big,
Just a small place I admire.
A quiet little place
I can call mine,
Where happiness
Doesn't come with a fine.
A place where I can laugh
And weep,
Without someone calling me
A coward or weak.
Not fame,
Not something to get named.
Just a place which is mine,
And a happiness
With no fine.
Comment 1 https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Kk6n4Al1d3
Comment 2
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/VPwl6q6EuY
I have an instagram account @stillbloomingink an poetry page
Pls check out
My presence is so loud I don't have to be seen for others to judge me.
Their hateful lines get passed through the grapevine.
Even when I'm not there my feelings aren't spared.
I changed my beliefs just to find some relief.
Convinced myself the person in the reflection was evil as a form of protection.
I accepted the stings and digs as I quietly shrunk myself to help them feel big.
And what did that get me? Nothing. No sympathy, not even pity.
I sold my soul in hopes that someone would love me.
If my body is a temple why did god give it to me cracked
How am I supposed to care for something that was given to me broken
The cracks bury pain into my body until my temple withers to sand
I thought god turned water into wine
He has so many souls
Why is he destroying mine
People always say god makes you in his image
But that can’t be true
What kind of sick creator would build something so broken
Playing operation with my body before it could even form
Only to condition me to beg for my culprits comfort
Is that why he created pain? fear?
To put me through hell until I’m weak on my knees
My inferior flesh left shivering under the lords might
Not
Pleading for mercy
If this is gods plan I want nothing to do with the divine
My only sin was wanting to be healthy
Wishing my body wasn’t more painful than my mind
If god made me this way he knew what he was making
A miserable crippled sinner
Soul primed for taking
This isn't the god I was promised
Every prayer that leaves my lips is a lie
Meant to comfort the child within me that still wanted to believe god loves me
God cares for me
God will fix me
But if god built me broken then
Why would he fix me now?
Dear….
So the ghost still knows the address, Even though it’s not a frequent visitor; a passing glance through old terrain, then back into forgetfulness to be forgotten. There was a time the shadow came often, now it barely leaves a trace
just enough to make it obvious
some memories keep their place.
Only a figure in the distance
searching what remains unseen.
And strangely, there is sweetness
in how quiet it became
two lives moving separately,
with memory doing the same.
—
KK
The martyr, the devil, the god,
You’re gold,
All the shimmery things they talk about, and all the bloody, bloodless wounds I’ve endured,
If I could have, I’d have flown across the sky for you to hold,
I need you to hold,
I was born half, heartbroken,
Half of me is you,
But you’re born cursed too, like a god you walk on streets of gold,
And like a beggar I’m afraid to depart too soon.
​
Minutes stretch into hours
as thoughts turn distress.
No sound arrests my gaze.
No pixels on my screen...
Images drone against the wall.
No understanding, none at all.
Screaming for attention.
"Are you still watching?"
Are you even alive?
Check!
Check?
Check again.
Wait..
Repeat...
Gusts of air escape me.
I touch my jaw,
my face, my lip..
searching for the pain inside.
Remind!
Remind?
And remind once more.
Until those words knock my door.
Yes. Yes.. I am,
a stupid, dirty, UGLY.. little fucking whore.
Tired of wasting heart felt words
that always fall upon deaf ears,
Tired of begging a few minutes
of those I find worth years.
Tired of the judgement
because I have a heart to care,
Tired of the convalescence
my state can’t mentally repair.
Tired of this life I live,
like I’m always locked in struggle,
Tired of the blame you give
pass the buck on all your troubles.
Tired of being the bad guy,
like my heart don't fuckin matter.
Tired of the sleepless nights
the way I crave your laughter.
Tired of the sadness felt
seems I never make the mark,
Tired of the recklessness
the way you bleed my heart.
Tired of this darkness,
finally sick of endless fights,
Tired of wishing I was stronger
need strength to end this life.
Tired of writing down this story,
finally broken to my core
Tired of asking for a shot at us
guess I’ll just barricade that door.
I finally got a hold of you!
sit down stop squirming and dont give me no attitude- im mad at you
why do you always try to run? why do you keep trying to "flee" like youre attached to a pup-
I said shut up.- I am the one speaking here.
ill give you time to talk but when that tape is ear to ear -listen up.
you owe me this, I can explain it too
I aint talking about banks when I say that I've been "chase"-ing you
would you believe me if i said that im obsessed
one wish willow truth
and everytime i go to bed you're in my head you're my John Wilkes booth
i crave you.
I need you.
you give yourself to other people -why not me?
am i scary do i scare you?
am i hairy? disrespectful?
angry: very and resentful
you make me jealous and I tremble
body shaking I resemble someone crazy!
but I promise that im not!
you made me this way. you did this for the plot.
you dont care about me or anything that I've got.
I really fucking hate you and everything that youre not ! -and are! oh god I'm fucking losing it.
I told myself i wouldn't go this far and now look i got power tools again!
already interrogated Anger for staying around to long.
wouldn't leave me alone and now angers gone- hes off in a better place so happiness i recommend you speak up or you and anger gonna have a shitty day!-
oh happy I'm so sorry! i hate to see you like this,
here's a tissue... and a kiss... on your tiny little forehead. do you remember the abyss that I was?
a shallow empty human who got lost in the drugs, but when i popped a pill or drank and spilled and smoked for real you were there!
ever since that I got clean....you saw me for me .....thats when you leave?!?!
you're just like everybody else.
gone when im needing help.
stop trying to yell i will not hit you. I dont hit women. my tools on the other hand- those are misogynistic. I will give you one final chance to save your life dont you fucking miss it.
now happiness,
darling,
tell me- why dont you visit?
Performing my piece at an open mic soon wish me luck!
Can you give back
what you took from me?
I know you can’t but I just…
but I just wanted to see
what you would say.
How could you even
look at me in the face?
When you took the only thing
I wasn’t willing to give.
How dare you
make me feel this way.
You said you’d be there
when things got hard.
Now that they are
you are nowhere to be found.
The joke’s on me for believing
anything that you told me.