Poetry Thread

[sootesheepy666]

Posting some emo ass poetry I wrote :33 @Lowfyie

-Ruby Soldiers-
Lines of ruby lined up along my limbs like little soldiers ready for a battle nobody but me is fighting.
Everyone says people do it to feel something. Or to make inside pain bleed to the out, but none of it is true, at least not for this little girl.
I do it to sleep well, counting never worked.
I do it to relieve stress, breathing makes it worse.
I do it to remember what I fight for,
Things feel fake, dreams melt into life like one horrible concoction until it all burns black to the bottom of the pot like soup gone wrong.
I don’t want to die, not yet. But I wouldn't be sad if I were to just never wake up either.
Things make me cringe like imagining a knife cutting me deep despite the irony.
I beg my body to get up when my mind keeps me trapped in my blankets like a chain.
I smile and serenade the tune of everyone’s good day because it makes me feel better about myself, at least a little.
I make a fake smile, not in the old tumblr way but because the phrase fake it till you make it has been so ingrained into my very bones that to do otherwise feels just silly.
Like always, I ride the line of life and death balancing perfectly;
straight like the line of ruby soldiers that litter my limbs.​

 

[sootesheepy666]

-Salted Milk-
The days pass by, I eat breakfast because routines are good.
I make cereal, bran before milk because that’s the norm.
Bowl, spoon, cereal, milk, eat; tasteless, clean, live, sleep.
Everything repeats in a mocking monotony like the sun itself wishes the worst on me.
I keep going, like a little wind-up-doll, cranked to life by the beeping of my alarm clock every morning.
Every day, just the same. Little changes; someone mean, someone nice. Good weather, bad. It doesn’t change anything.
Little changes just make life feel like a sitcom where the laugh track never plays.
Another day;
Bowl, spoon, cereal, milk, tears, eat; salted?
I look down at the table to see little spots of wet. Ones that weren’t there before.
The milk tastes bad, it never tasted very good at all but now it’s salty.
I look down at the bowl as though it’d change my day.
It doesn’t. Eat; salted, live, sleep.
I continue on in my endless march hoping that one day, the milk tastes good.
…Maybe tomorrow.​

 

[sootesheepy666]

-Brain Worms-
I sit in the silence of a dark room thinking.
This isn’t an activity I particularly like, the thoughts that come out aren’t very nice.
I am angry. Angry at the world, at those I love, at how I can’t put any of it into words that make sense, at how nobody understands my nonsensical anger, but then I pause.
Why am I angry? Those thoughts don’t feel like mine. I don’t feel that way, I don’t think that way.
I try to sweep them away like dust under a rug. They remain.
I try to talk over these sharp thoughts, they cut my words apart.
I yell, they scribble over my bolded words.
I wonder if it’s brain worms or maybe a product of this diagnosis I’ve been given.
I question if I can tear them out, I don’t think I can.
I clutch my head upset, why do I think like this?
Is this a spiral I am doomed to repeat?
To wonder if I’m high or low; or maybe just stuck on some infernal loop that makes me wanna tear my hair out.
It all feels like crayon scribbles behind my eyes, a picture conjured by an angry child.
An artist's temper tantrum trapped behind the windows to my soul.
Does this mean that I’m rotting from the inside out like a bad fruit?
If all my thoughts are all horrible, if all I have is intrusive thoughts, then am I horrible inside?
Or are my convictions held hostage by enemies in my mind?
Are the brain worms all I am, each fold of my mind one piece of an overlapping behemoth that eats my soul bit by bit until there’s nothing left?
I wonder if it will stop, if meds will fix it; dosing me up until I can’t think at all, or if I’m stuck like this forever. I don’t know.
I never will so I turn the light on, the brain worms only like the dark.
I continue my life shutting the windows so maybe, even if I’m rotten, I’ll look good on the outside.​

 

[sootesheepy666]

-Poetry Is Lame-
I used to think poetry was lame.
Something boring, a long winded way to say something complete in only a few words.
But it’s easier to put stuff out like this.
Hard conversations that usually bring you to tears can be formatted in a beautiful way. Wrapped up in metaphors and similes until those words that usually tear at your heart strings until they break feel softer, Instead plucking them into a melodie fit for an angel’s harp.
You write them out, everything feeling nicer and the best part,
Nobody has to see it, or everyone can.
You still dread the way tears will fall if your parents read it, the way friends will look at you, the calls the counselors will make.
Still, you write it down, a sonnet of heartbreak made just for you.
Something to be printed on paper, or to stay in your mind forever.
I used to think poetry was lame because the idea of putting my thoughts down like this felt stupid and melodramatic. Because you see the teenagers in the movies write poetic suicide notes that feel like they were written with the help of chicken noodle soup for the teenage soul, with music that swells as the people reading it whimper. Because the idea of cringe, and the fear of not fitting in scares me so much that I worried if my pain was palatable enough for others to not look at me weird, or serious enough to keep them from laughing. The truth is, poetry is lame. A confusing way to write the names of feelings we learned in elementary but even so,
it’s a beautiful mess of feelings that whether serious, or silly, or stupid, or cringe; have the right to exist.
Poetry is lame, so we should write more of it.​

 

[Lowfyie]

Oh wow... Theres a lot more than I expected, and they're a lot longer too

Does giving your kid beer make them emo? Causation or simply correlation? Actually, not at all I think, these are pretty good, I feel like they'd be relatable even while not drinking booze <- ignore this tangent

Reminds me of stuff I wouldve thought earlier last year, but I still dont quite know your age

Either way, this was pretty good but it was also really emo. Got what I asked for, just hope you're doing well

 

[sootesheepy666]

-Stick My Tongue Out-
As a kid I used to stick my tongue out at the idea of drugs, and alcohol, and kisses, and love.
I used to laugh at the addictions tying my family down, as though it was something you could just stop.
I thought that adults were silly for needing such gross things.
It all smelt horrible. They never said it felt nice either, so why?
People would always tell me that I would change my mind later.
I took it as an insult, like they were calling me weak willed.
Regardless, they were right, a lot of it I tried early on.
I giggled because I thought it did nothing.
Back then my thoughts were filled with helium, there was nothing for the chemicals to lift up.
Now my thoughts feel as heavy as rocks, a suffocating burden I would do anything to lift.
Now it all does something for me. It silences the noise in my mind, pushes away the bad thoughts. I’m not addicted, I don’t crave it. But that’s what scares me.
What if I do? What if I become what I used to mock?
Would little me be disappointed?
Sticking her tongue out at me the same way she did at the adults in her life?
I worry that by throwing away that last thing, that all I used to be will be gone.
I no longer stick my tongue out at drugs or alcohol, it’s all part of life.
I’m interested in kissing and love, though I’ve never tried it.
If I become addicted, restrained by the same chains my family bear,
Am I throwing away the last remnants of my younger self?
Was I always destined for this?
Now, I stick my tongue out at the ignorance I once had.
My tongue is stained red by the very drink I mocked, it turns my brain off and allows me to relax.
It’s nothing bad, not too much, nor do I crave it. But what if someday I do?
I stick my tongue out at the thought.​

 

[sootesheepy666]

Oh wow... Theres a lot more than I expected, and they're a lot longer too

Does giving your kid beer make them emo? Causation or simply correlation? Actually, not at all I think, these are pretty good, I feel like they'd be relatable even while not drinking booze <- ignore this tangent

Reminds me of stuff I wouldve thought earlier last year, but I still dont quite know your age

Either way, this was pretty good but it was also really emo. Got what I asked for, just hope you're doing well

I'm 16! Also, I think your parents drinking beer is what makes you emo! d: +I actually haven't drank at all tonight (I'm about to but that is besides the point)

 

[Manko-sensei]

This is not poetry, it's just internal dialog using short sentences that are not put in the same paragraph.