Post Poetry

My intellect could rewrite your own mazes.

Do not pretend not to throw me away.

I know you

tremble.

I can see your fears.

Do not let your follys try to impact my divinity.

I will not submit to your cheap

excuses

for power.

I want to look at myself

from the stars

and know how small I am.

I want to scream

into the void

and pray for an echo.

At least then I’d know...

I was heard by someone.

is an understatement.

Darling, I’d wait life times

If it meant I’d be able

to hear your sweet melody

you were laughing

I was smiling

And before I woke up

I came to the realization

that I wouldn’t see you

outside of sleep.

So I called to you

in hopes that maybe

I’d wake up

to one last text from you.

in the wind sometimes.

It comes from the forest

The wind only ever blows in

On those nights.

Sometimes I follow

for I often wish to find

her once again.

Every time I do

I only find

the past

that she had finally

forgotten.

for my lungs are filled

with the sorrows of forgotten ghosts.

My mouth tastes of rain

and my clothes

have smelled like moss lately.

My skin does not wrinkle

but cracks

like the bark

of your great grandmother’s

weeping willow

Pebbles fill my shoes

and fungi

has grown from my brain

I am homesick

but not for your domestic life.

I truly miss the forest.

it’s like I’m one of a kind

I give you my being

as I’m starting to unwind

A few friends join

and the attention points to you

You gesture to the jester to entertain the crew

But these jokes aren’t funny,

they feel wrong and vain

But if I say anything,

Then I’ve lost any gain

And suddenly I’m worth less than a penny

A complete waste of space

But at least copper will taste sweeter than anything you’ve laced

Russian roulette

It’s your favorite game

Because you don’t play, you just place the blame

I spin the wheel and where does it land

But of course on you

The gun is in your hand

You shoot me once, without regret

Oh but I’ll comeback

Because you don’t always play

Russian roulette

Post poetry//Russian Roulette

A poem about how a toxic exfriend who was not a good friend. They belittled me but only when other people were around. And I just kept coming back because “hey! At least they don’t belittle you all the time”

Weak

For crying.

But being in touch

With my emotions

Is stronger

Than any of the

Silent treatments

“I’m fine”s

Or the “suck it up”s

You gave to me.

when you’re about to leap off

of the high dive.

When you’re at the peak of the jump

on a trampoline.

That moment when you are

weightless.

When you are at the top of a rollercoaster

But it never goes down.

Whenever I am stressed

Or scared of the inevitable.

I think about what it would feel like

to be at that point.

The feeling of when you are running

and jump off of a cliff over water.

That point before you start to fall

where you feel like your flying.

Sometimes that’s all I want to feel.

The world can be too heavy

and I just want to feel

weightless.

I can’t even hear the fireworks anymore

I can only hear your laugh from

across the room

9

You’re so happy

That’s quite the contrast

from 3 nights ago

when I still had tear stains in my shirt.

8

Did you get a hair cut?

Or maybe your smile

just frames your face too perfectly

7

You changed your style

instead of a sauce stained t-shirt

and sweat pant

You’re wearing a lovely peach button down

and jeans

6

You have a new crowd as well

Some have stuck around

And others have replaced the roles

of those who left

5

You glance my way

4

I give a nod and a smile back

3

You’re expression is warm and accepting.

2

“What’s it like?” I ask from the past

1

“Magnificent” you say from the future

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

That you felt like home,

None of the hotels

That I stayed at before

Could compare to your

Nostalgic scent.

“Drunken words are just sober thoughts”

I didn’t know you only thought about lies.

Post Poetry// He told me he loved me in the a.m.

-

-

of my heart that beats

of my hair that tangles

of my body that is healthy.

Why should I feel

as though I was made

by others

to be merely a chandelier?

A decoration.

An object that follows all conventional rules.

An object that can be easily replaced.

Why should I live

for others,

when I can barely stay alive for myself?

Why should I be a chandelier

if I can never break

shatter

or crack.

Why should I be ashamed

of being alive

for myself

and only myself?

Hey guys, thought I’d give a bit of an update since I’ve been a bit inactive. So I won’t be finishing the prompts for escapril. Due to school, band, and lots of mental health days, I just don’t have much time to sit down everyday to write the poems. Poetry is one of my largest passions but feeling as if I “have” to write something everyday becomes stressful. I hope you all understand I will get back to the regularly scheduled poems after April.

No

A storm.

Your thunder

was louder than any gun.

Your lightning

hurt more than one too.

But once you left,

flowers bloomed.