Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sophie Jun 6
The walls of stone staggered,
as those innocent looking eyes
sought an entry
into my inner world.
If a brick was dislodged,
the whole fence fell.
If a spring flower blossomed
out of an icy condition.
“Pluck it out, stomp on it.”
The manner in which he spoke,
its softness, its kindness a ruse.
Walls of stone crumbled.
Ice dissipated into mist.

Closed my eyes, my ears,
and shut out all my senses.
He reached out,
brought me a bouquet of spring flowers,
and a rhythm of the seasons.
A man like that was worth a chance.
Kalliope Jun 6
To breathe but not explode,
A feeling a time bomb will never know.
Exposed without safety,
Of course I'm ******* crazy.
The panic is attacking,
A safe space I am lacking.
That's just her behavior,
Way too stubborn to accept a savior.
After the scene is said and done, there's no one left around- I'm the only one.
I write to be real
In life I'm just convenient
Kalliope Jun 6
I went to bed early
I got eight hours of sleep
But I still don't understand why I don't mean to people,
what people mean to me
I sacrifice anything for the ones
I hold close
They don't care what I lose,
and I'm not often chose
I know they don't ask me to but
I like to show that I care,
I can't help feeling unloved when I'm down and nobody's there
I've thrown away people, and money, and time just to make sure my
people are perfectly fine
But if I speak my mind when
I've been insulted
then I'm disrespectful and
need to ******* then
Killing myself slowly just to keep control,
Grief remains the only one who never leaves
Giyanna L Jun 6
Oh, to be alone, to be complete,
to touch the hush among the stars—
not lost, not found, not obsolete,
just held within that flashing spark.

And so, the feeling carved its name
in breaths, in bones, in sleepless nights—
an untamed hunger, destined to remain,
a calling softly hums and hard to fight.
verse history: I found a new word: Sehnsucht.
also published on my blog
Cheyenne Jun 5
I feel her calling out to me.
From the depths of my brain.
Her face I can no longer see,
And it fills me with such pain.

     She is clothed in beauty and splendor,
Filling me with curiosity.
Her silky hands, I do remember,
Would always embrace me.

     She wears a cloud of wonder,
And it goes where she goes.
Until that day of thunder,
When we reach the end of the road.

     I remember how she’d softly sing,
Her melodies hold me tight.
Wrapping me with warmth,
Through all the lonely nights.

     I feel her still here with me,
Though her face is now just a memory.
Yet, I still long to see,
Everything that she used to be.

     I want to pull her back to me,
And keep her there forever.


     But I can’t.
This was the first poem I've ever written lol
Kalliope Jun 5
I'll know when I've healed,
For I'll be able to
reach out my hand
and not fear no one grabs it
1 am
inthewater Jun 3
An adage that's stood the test of time...
today, it made me pause and sigh -
does that make me ugly
if I've no one to be held by?
why are these the thoughts occupy my downtime? :')
i've held the knife
felt the cold edge of the blade against my throat
my wrist
that tiny voice inside me screaming with joy
'it'll all be over'
'pull the plug!'
i'm terrified of living.
of enduring this ceaseless torment day after day after day
seething, writhing, floundering in an ocean of pain
but the terror of attempting and being left unsuccessful scares me even more.
the fear of failure in every aspect of my life
it comes back and bites you in the back
when you finally had the chance to be free
end it all
it chains you down and keeps you there
watching you struggle
i can't escape it
the endless ******* cycle of self doubt and fear
so i'm still here
seething, writhing, floundering in an ocean of pain.
this world simply does not allow anyone the privilege of death. the privilege to be left at peace, to vaporize and slowly drift away into the night sky as all your pain settles in a pool beneath your body.
Kalliope Jun 2
Just a little too much
to overfill a glass,
not quite enough
to fill up the pitcher.

Dripping down the sides,
an ever-messy lover,
yet spiraling in panic
when I’m spilt on the floor.

Whether the rain revives me,
or the sun dries me up—
I don’t fit anywhere
I want to.
I don't want to be liquid anymore,
I want to be solid.
Next page