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irregularheartbeat

irregularheartbeat

Memento Mori
Joined
Aug 25, 2019
Messages
66
I know for myself poetry is a huge coping skill, and sharing it with like minded others can be helpful to ourselves and others. Feel free to share your poetry, short stories, any branch of writing you choose to cope with! Or just support others

I worry, I fear the coming tides that bring a truth to all of these smiles. Behind each curved lip lays the true nature of each individual, we, humans are not made to be happy. Happy is not survival. That's why we're so inclined to self sabotage, or destroy the lives of those around us. And so, I'm waiting. Because I can see already that I only exist in their minds when they're around me, once I walk away Im a distant thought, that nagging memory. I am useful, I am bright. But I am not a star, I'm just a satelite. Waiting for your signal to serve my purpose, to give you guidance and steer your life to truth. Intentions are never true, I hold onto the self I feel inside if you, but I think people only hold onto me for the use they see inside. The joy I bring before their very eyes, I, am not loved for my true self, I, am loved for the way I make you feel when you're laying in your bed late at night.
I accept this to be my fate, my life not truly my own, if I wasn't already dead perhaps this wouldn't be my purpose but until I start breathing I must survive this hell by healing.
 
Sensei

Sensei

剣道家
Joined
Nov 4, 2019
Messages
6,372
The woman I wrote this poem for found it "exquisite", but I believe she didn't really get it. I think most members of this forum do, though.


O the dancing

So innocent, so fun

Then twilight

The long shadows

And that cold grin

”Hello, old chap!”

A diamond hug

“We meet again!”

Again and again

--------------------------
 
Thereisnothing

Thereisnothing

Enlightened
Joined
Jan 4, 2020
Messages
1,606
I'm very much a writer and bonkers about books, but my grief is so bad that unable to pick up a book at the moment or concentrate. Be lovely to see poems on here as words evoke so much and very therapeutic to read them and also write.
 
irregularheartbeat

irregularheartbeat

Memento Mori
Joined
Aug 25, 2019
Messages
66
Thereisnothing said:
I'm very much a writer and bonkers about books, but my grief is so bad that unable to pick up a book at the moment or concentrate. Be lovely to see poems on here as words evoke so much and very therapeutic to read them and also write.
Im sorry to hear youre struggling to enjoy toue hobbies, I hope youre able to have a breakthrough soon that will allow you to read, or that this thread can bring you some peace
 
M

Morphinekiss

Enlightened
Joined
Jun 8, 2019
Messages
1,210
Most of my stuff has sexual undertones and/or is more prose than poetry. Not sure this is the place for that. Maybe I’ll get brave one day, but this will work for now.

There is an aching in my bones and I wander around with my teeth chattering against each other. At any given moment I am convinced that it is my last moment and I will soon unravel. A shatter of glass, miles and miles of sinews and fibers, a puddle of dreams and hopes gone stale. Floor boards groan underneath my feet and the well worn path beckons me one step more and then another. I will fight until I die, I will live until I fly.
 
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vesttigeel

vesttigeel

Member
Joined
Jan 19, 2020
Messages
24
Some poems I wrote recently... the first is a list poem, the other free verse - I've been more into the ominous style of these poems lately. Fully believe the poetry thread should take off by the way.
Tunneling

Haze.
Constant urges.
Distraction.
Wrinkles in skin,
And in sheets.
Unsaid.
Unthinkable.
Daring.
Would I? Dare.
One step closer.
Deeper.
Tunnels.
Branches.
Static, constantly.
Quiet is loud.
I just want to help.
Going backwards.
The future constantly changes.
It swirls around in a mist of uncertainty.
Rescinding - my thoughts,
Words.
Burrowing into the soil of my mind.

Animal Instinct


Through the glass, your body stills.
What life was there - isn't.

Drained,
Unfair.

You can't see me, but I can see you.
Meat.

The pain in my temples kills.
Dead eyes,
Cloudy.

Wake up, wake up.

I think I'm going deaf.
Waves wash over skin,
Turning it grey and speckled.

Imposter,
Red and sharp.

I can't pin this feeling down.
 
Wren

Wren

BIRDS AREN'T REAL
Joined
Jan 7, 2020
Messages
54
I sometimes produce some pretentious nonsense. English isn't my native language so I'm always insecure when displaying some of my work, but judge for yourselves:

Don’t let them foul the air we breathe
With words from toothless mouths
Where rotten tongues like serpents coil.

Seeds of deceit sprout fast in fertile soil,
Bear bitter fruit, and bloom in pallid grey
The ashen shade of mold and mildew.

The bastard children with no name.
Their lips are laced with poison,
Hark not the word they say.

They’re dead to us and to the world,
Yet still to broken promises we hold.

How quaint to finally lay to rest,
I feel no pain nor earthly ails.
From gaping wounds in broken chest
Two bullet wounds draw crimson trails.

They rise above and sway in wave
As I descend down deeper still
To lightless, cold, saltwater grave,
Halfway asleep, I do not feel.

I slowly sink into abyss
And touch the sand without a sound.
Weeds brush my cheek like siren’s kiss,
I lay prostrate, breathless and drowned.

Enmeshed in rags of tattered sails
With pockets full of coffin nails.

Cut off the tongues
Of snakes whose words weave woes
In hearts of righteous men, and those
Who hold them to their breast in hopes
Of absolution.

Rip out the hearts
From hollow chests of living dead
Succumbed to apathy and dread,
Whose wayward paths have never lead
To resolution.

In exile not of her accord,
No longer cared for nor adored,
The empress clad in ashen gown
Resides in palace all alone.

There’s neither joy nor heartful sorrow
in halls of marble cold and hollow.
She roams the halls of polished stone
and reigns atop the lonely throne.

The thoughts she weaves made dull and slow
By gilded crown above her brow.
Her faults of past can’t be undone,
She feels no thing and cares for none.

Empty-hearted, dead inside,
Bereft of vanity and pride,
The reason whispers faint and low:
“You only reap what you have sown.”

There's more on my blog.
 
E

Epsilon0

Enlightened
Joined
Dec 28, 2019
Messages
1,876
Sensei said:
The woman I wrote this poem for found it "exquisite", but I believe she didn't really get it. I think most members of this forum do, though.


O the dancing

So innocent, so fun

Then twilight

The long shadows

And that cold grin

”Hello, old chap!”

A diamond hug

“We meet again!”

Again and again

--------------------------

I’m struck with wonder by the imagery here. Death could undo you in an instant, as it pulls you against its diamond chest. Yet, it calmly disdains to do so. Oh, the last line is chilling - ”again and again”... a promise of eternal torment.

Exquisite is the word @Sensei !
 
Sensei

Sensei

剣道家
Joined
Nov 4, 2019
Messages
6,372
Epsilon0 said:
I’m struck with wonder by the imagery here. Death could undo you in an instant, as it pulls you against its diamond chest. Yet, it calmly disdains to do so. Oh, the last line is chilling - ”again and again”... a promise of eternal torment.

Exquisite is the word @Sensei !

That's very kind of you. :) I love your interpretation. Not far from my own.
 
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E

Epsilon0

Enlightened
Joined
Dec 28, 2019
Messages
1,876
Sensei said:
That's very kind of you. :) I love your interpretation. Not far from my own.

Is your more along the lines: happy - sad - repeat ad infinitum? You are caught in the dance of bipolar disorder?
 
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Sensei

Sensei

剣道家
Joined
Nov 4, 2019
Messages
6,372
Epsilon0 said:
Is your more along the lines: happy - sad - repeat ad infinitum? You are caught in the dance of bipolar disorder?

Something like that, yes. That's what my life is like nowadays.
 
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mooncake

mooncake

Student
Joined
Aug 7, 2020
Messages
117
I'm not a writer! Poetry hasn't really been a format that I express myself in, but I've had these reoccurring thoughts and images, that I just had to get out somehow. Since I can't really talk to anyone lately, I decided to wirte them down, the way I see them in my head. Not sure if this can be considered poetry. Also, English is not my native language.

Am I still real?
Because I feel like a ghost trapped in the walls an old building. Watching the new inhabitants live the world of living. I, just exisisting in separateness. Not able to return. Not able to leave entirely either. Losing traction. Lifting off. Lost the anker.
The chain must have been cut.

Am I still here?
Because so often, I feel like I'm lost in space.
Floating completely alone. Like I am severed from all live connections. Nothing to respond to. Nothing but pre-recorded broadcast. Time being my new adversary. Strangling me, but never hard enough to free me.
How far out does the void go?

Am I still me?
Because I don't remember Me.
 
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S

SadGuyWannaDie

-
Joined
Aug 27, 2020
Messages
99
I wrote this for my little girl who passed away recently..

"In the morning I wake from an awful dream.
It's enough to make me withdraw and scream.
I try to picture you above me with angel wings.
Tryin' to stop me from mixing pills with liqour and doing dangerous things.
Words can't even describe how much pain this brings.
I think back to fall with the changing trees.
When I would put you in your wheelchair to hang with me.
Now the sun and the birds ain't the same to me.
I can't remember the recipe to let me be.
Or to salvage what's left of the rest of me.
I know it's your destiny to rest in peace.
But it's a necessity that you bless me please.
All I think of is you and the rest deceased.
Sometimes it hard to eat and feel like I haven't slept in weeks.
I've spent the whole last month at depression's peak and I whisper your name with every breath I speak.
The present day is hell so is the rest of the week and the future without you looks just as bleak.
I miss you, I love you, I'm drowning and scared.
Lately my mental health is a family affair,
it bothers me there are people who never bothered a care when you were still there and their visits were rare.
Theyd swear they didn't have a moment to spare then suddenly they come out of thin air.
I take no solace in the words that they share.
They try to relate with their grief but it doesn't compare.
There's no comfort in it for me it's just empty and bare.
There's no meaning anymore and I'm very aware that life just isn't fair.
I'm dying to stare and just play with your hair.
Because you left when I wasn't prepared."
 
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ManWithNoName

ManWithNoName

Enlightened
Joined
Feb 2, 2019
Messages
1,014

Poetry can indeed be uplifting. The above is "If—" by Rudyard Kipling, recited by actor Dennis Hopper.
 

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