if I'll ever
Be heard of again.
for the world.
c r a s h
make a splash
fills in valleys.
Dead BirdsI watched them fly
big enough to block
But one day,
their footprints will disappear
from the beach.
I still hear
on my door.
AyahuascaMeditating on the
looking down on my ego.
I'm freaking out,
Time kissed my cheeks
and told me I'll be fine.
I swallowed lights,
and cried the colors
of the rainbow. The bitter
taste of her voice
turns to sweet whistling.
I can see the window
I breathe out.
Hung Upno one
-.-. .- -. .----. -
.... . .-.. .--.
-.-- --- ..-
6.4642815e+23Microsoft Windows [Version 6.1.701]
Copyright (c) 2009 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.
C:\Users\Dylan>cd meaning of life
The system cannot find the path specified.
This command is not supported by the help utility.
This Isn't PoetryThis
No, just boring and aesthetically displeasing.
Depression is an OptionDepression is a choice, my dear,
And happiness the same
You choose this illness, don’t you?
What a tragic little game.
Depression is an option, love
Just get up out of bed
Take your tears and worries
And just smile now instead.
Depression is a choice, you see,
And so is suicide.
Just sit back, kick your feet up, dear
Enjoy this perfect ride.
Get over your own standards
Of what everyone should be.
Just smile for once, and maybe
You’ll be living perfectly.
Depression is an illness
That we feel so deep within.
Why would anybody choose
To write poetry on their skin?
Unless there lies a reason, dear,
I would not choose to die.
If depression was an option...
I’d choose to say goodbye.
GayI am gay.
I'm not a disease, I'm not a problem
I'm not an affliction
I don't need treatment.
I don't need help
I'm not sick
I'm not confused
I'm not a sin.
I am gay.
I'm your daughter
Your co worker
A complete stranger
I am gay.
I need love, just like you
I need smiles
I need support
I need a hug
I need a friend
I need a family
I need acceptance
I need understanding
I need you
I am gay.
I know what love is
I know what pain is
I know what hate is
I know what life is
I am gay.
And I need you to love me
The same way you loved me before you knew
I am gay.
And I have experienced hate
From more people than just you
I am gay.
And I wont change.
I wont give up.
I wont back down.
I wont pretend.
I wont lie.
I wont deny.
I wont hide.
I wont hurt.
I am gay.
And that's okay.
HetaliaxDepressed!Reader:Self-Inflicted AchromaticHetalia x Scary! Depressed! Reader: Self-Inflicted Achromatic
I want to be a person just like you, don't you see?
I want to be a person who is still being "me"
A tired sigh escaped your lips. You were just so damn tired. The other countries said that you, (f/n) or (c/n), was scarier than Russia himself. But of course, you have lived 2500 years with wars and bloodshed always trailing after you. You just really want to be happy. But all those wars and blood imprinted on your mind, you really just released off a dark (a/c) aura and a stoic atmosphere.
It really would be nice but I'm paying a price
'Cause I'd really, not be me and that would not suffice
You asked yourself, "I know my face doesn't show my pain. But isn't it obvious in my eyes? I'm lonely and hurt" You rubbed your numb (s/c) wrist, yesterday's cuts still had a colorless ache to it. You picked your silver knife, twirling it around watching the others argue. The said knife is the one you also use to cut yourself.
A dream which
you're much stronger than you thinkI'll be the first to tell you
scissors don't need to be brought to a wrist
to cut deep
because cutting off your heart from you head,
or yourself from your dreams,
is also enough
to make you bleed
and there's ink spilled all over these pages,
and at times it seems tears
are cheaper than water from a spout:
these lines need diluted,
these blots are a dark, dark sea
and maybe I'm not too good at swimming,
even if it's just through a pool of ink
but I've learned if you just keep paddling,
you're much stronger than you think.
For My PeopleAs far as I can recall:
I did not ask to be birthed
Into a cycle of stagnation.
I did not ask to be told,
That my dreams are achievable;
Only to see them limited by the scope of reality.
I did not ask for a failing system,
Passed unto me by half-dead corpses wearing suits.
Nodding eagerly at one another,
As they wait for an inevitable death.
This I did not ask for,
And I am certain that most of you did not either.
But it is for that reason,
And for that reason alone, I say:
That it is up to us,
We siblings bound by the chains of our forefathers,
To create a system that is better,
Than the bitter shackles of the past.
Justice is what I long for.
Justice for MY people.
There is no beauty in love.Love isn't beautiful.
Love isn't lilacs and roses and chocolate truffles of every flavor.
It isn't for the weak, nor is it for those unable to support themselves.
Love isn't finding someone to complete you.
Love isn't finding money on the street.
Love isn't trendy nor sexy nor fun.
It's about as thrilling as a car crash.
Love is a virus.
It crawls inside you like a parasite, sucks on your soul like a sadistic disease.
It warps your desires and twists your thoughts until you depend upon it, need it, thrive on it.
Without it, you lose yourself bit by bit to your addiction as if it were nicotine wrapped in white, lit and smoking.
Without it, you can no longer breathe.
Without it, you stay awake all through the long and lonely nights, hoping and praying that one day you'll be good enough.
Love brings lies and tears and depression and sadness.
Love brings jealousy.
Love brings lust.
Lust that'll eat you up as if it were a ravenous, drunken lover.
More, it'll say.
And more you'll
The Asexual Poem‘You’re either gay or straight.’
That is at least what my mother says.
She doesn’t comprehend it when I try to explain,
That I am neither sun shine or rain.
But something that falls in between.
She’ll look me dead in the eyes and say,
‘Anything else is just up in the air’
Sexuality is like night and day,
Are you gay or straight?
If there can be sex without love,
Why can’t there be love without sex?
My mother says that,
‘Nobody would want to be with someone who has a defect.’
And I don’t think she knows,
That I feel so broken inside.
A little heartless, a little lonely
I am, ‘Just a late bloomer’
She’ll say nonchalantly.
I am only writing this poem for someone else like me.
That feels out of place and invisible.
I’ve tried for so long to write down the words perfectly.
To describe the nagging feeling in my heart.
I’ll just tell you, what I wish someone would tell me.
You are not broken.
The Hero With Headphones The hero with headphones.
He has walked a long, lonely road.
He has lost his dad and that is never easy.
He has loved deeply and lost almost all.
He has almost ten million fans who
are striving to do good for those
To be the force for good. The light in the
dark to those in need.
Each of them look up to the hero in headphones,
no matter how much of a goober he is.
He wears a Warfstache and carries a tiny box named Tim.
He plays video games and records himself screaming in terror as
monsters fill the screen.
He commits to charity work for those in need. Always humble.
He is OUR hero in headphones.
Who is this hero you may wonder?
He is the kind of guy people look up to.
He is the leader of a force for good.
He is kind, courageous, and loving.
He is the hero in headphones..
His name will be passed on for generations.
His videos will be shared continuous