Oh it was the cat,

The fence caught my wrist,

I tripped once again,

It’s meerely sunkissed.

Leave me alone,

I’m alright I swear,

Please don’t talk to me-

I’m just becoming aware.

Aware of the disappointment I’ve caused,

Aware of the pain I’ve brought on my friend,

Aware of the shadows creeping from behind,

Aware of how lives just bitterly end.

Perhaps just once more,

Perhaps just a scratch,

Perhaps if I bleed,

I’ll stop being attached

Even the worst things have things to love in them, this is a known sentiment.
My mother’s house, with mold on the walls and drugs in the matza balls, also had Christmas lights all year long you could see from the highway, and a cat around every corner to sit or play with.
My grandma’s cabin, with mildew in the food and unclean linen on the couches, had hand-made quilts with lies in every stitch, and embroidered pillows on the bench that you could never move, when I moved in I didn’t put them in the right place after sleeping, so I was told to move to the porch where I met a family of raccoons and spiders that found shelter in my hair and shoes
Even the worst things have things to love in them,
My grandma is a caretaker, even at the age of 72.
I see most things in close-ups, I’ve trained my brain to avoid the wide picture screen of the scene I’m in today,
If it’s raining I focus on the drops hitting the drain, or the splashing in the puddles.
On the way to work there are men who sneer and jeer at me so I’ll give them a smile- or a jump, or a shriek- I focus on the cracks in the street, making sure my feet are evenly stepping on each.
I hear things in a blurry wind, something goes out first then it comes in.
I reread paragraphs five times until the words stop moving, and I say “Good morning” twelve times until it sounds like real words and I can keep moving.
Even the worst things have things to love in them, even me, with my fear and my rituals and my zing.
—  There’s Still Some Laughter and Dance Moves in that Bottle

I hate my eyes.

I hate the burn they give.

I hate the telling of lies.

I hate how they don’t pretend I live.

I hate my smile.

I hate it’s subtle plea.

I hate the pity that it will rile.

I hate the way they can all see.

I hate every little thing.

I hate my laugh when I am glad.

I hate how my voice sounds when I sing.

I hate how everyone can see I’m sad.

But there’s nothing I can do.

There’s nothing I can prove.

I am worthless through and through,

And I have nothing left to lose

New Year’s Poem

New year,

New me,

Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?

Less social media,

More real world experience.

Less television,

More books.

Less laying about,

More working out.

Less thinking,

More doing.

Better sleep.

Better writing.

Less anger,

More kindness.

Work more,

Write more,

Live more,

Grow more.

It’s not about becoming a new me,

But instead,

Being the best me.

Less sloth,

Less lust,

More love,

And more trust.

Follow me into the forest,

where the old and ancient lie.

Follow me into the caves,

where little ones return to die

Dearest, come with me,

To where the river refuses to run dry.

And I’ll guide you through the valley of oak,

where the spirits and ghosts whisper falsehoods into truth.

Accompany me through the dense of the fog

Where time is stagnant and all but I seem amiss.

Now dearest, let me lead you,

through the shade and through the veil.

Do not fear the uncertainty of the future,

for I will always be by your side.

So abandon your past; your family and friends.

Your life among the mortal has come to an end.

No longer are temptations vile and magick a sin.

Leave all behind, and love me till your last breath.

So darling, please feel free,

drink our wine and eat our bread;

Join our dance; become our friend

Joyous lover, my beautiful pet,

your life is mine; do not ever forget.

So follow me into the woods, my love,

Where you may all but disappear—

Live forever with my kin and make yourself dear.

You’ll never escape this madness, even if you wish.

So follow me, my beloved,

And you’ll have my love until the end.

renaissanceenby  asked:

BYE i'm dying at that shitty poet saying that ppl not liking his poems is "like fahrenheit 451" i'm pretty sure that people thinking you suck at writing isn't the same as burning books...

He are being censored by people thinking his shitty pervert poetry is shitty and pervert.

He’s like The Room of poetry.

Hit her?

Hit her.

I did not.






Behold, Mark.

poem for mental health awareness month

“People with mental illnesses are crazy”
“Schizophrenia is the same things as multiple personality disorder”
“People with mental illnesses are always dangerous and violent”
“You cut yourself? Emo freak!”
“You can just snap out of it”
“I don’t know anyone with a mental illness, all of my friends are ‘normal’”
But don’t forget that mental disorders make great adjectives!
“My mum yelled at me yesterday, she’s so bipolar!”
“You almost gave me a panic attack”
“You look so anorexic”
“Quit being psycho”
“My OCD is coming out again!”
“Oh yeah I was really depressed yesterday”
“I stayed up until 1am my insomnia is so bad!”
Well that caught your attention
It’s a shame the actions leading up to it couldn’t escape from under the rug
A mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality or person
A strong feeling of disapproval that most people in a society have about something
Causes an individual to be mentally classified by others in an undesirable, rejected stereotype rather than an acceptable ‘normal’ one.
1 in 4 people will experience a mental health problem in their lives
Someone you know or love had or will experience a mental health problem.
1 in 10 children will experience mental health problems
Depression affects around 1 in 12 of the population
Rates of self-harm in the UK are the highest in Europe
450 million people worldwide have a mental health problem
People with psychosis are 14 times more likely to be victims of violent crime than perpetrators
Facts could help to end stigma
Facts can help to raise awareness
12 year old girls romanticising mental illness on tumblr won’t
Romanticism helps to rebuild the wall that prevents individuals from receiving the help they need.
“I think suicidal people are just angels that want to go home”
Really? Then where are my wings?
Putting flowers in a noose, in no way makes the loss of somebody’s child romantic or symbolic
Do not call depression ‘beautiful’ until you’ve seen me not leave my bed for a week
Anorexia is not an achievement stop wishing you had the ‘self-control’
To watch your skin melt from your frame and leave your body too weak to hold itself up
Scars are not beautiful when summer rolls around and people can’t help but stare
Mental disorders are not an accessory
Personally I’ve never seen a bracelet stop someone from breathing or leave them shaking in a corner
Causes an individual to be mentally classified by others in an undesirable, rejected stereotype rather than an acceptable ‘normal’ one
Next time you decide to judge someone for a mental health disorder
Replace the name of the disorder with ‘cancer’ or ‘diabetes’ and see if you develop the urge to force your words back down your throat.

Are you losing your mind?

Surly you are.

For a mind intact,

Would not mistake such words like that.

But at last, you’ve unscrewed your head.

How sad.

The maggots ate through the brain that’s dead.

And so now the corpse walks—

sanity cracked.

So tell me girl,

how do you feel about that?


Memories to forget

Look at you saying your mind is to blame.

And look at me the one who believed you at first, what a shame.

I was told you used me and I got torn apart.

I swear I felt you rip out my heart.

The first time I believed you and I let it get the best of me.

I let my anger and hurt take over as I broke my knuckles on walls.

I hid my tears and muffled my screams as I walked down the halls.

You walked away and I kept my distance thinking this is the downfall of us.

I tried to fix us but it was a bust.

We stopped talking for a while and I started drinking.

I stopped writing and started over thinking.

I stopped shaking and started smoking.

I stopped listening and became more broken.

As time went on we started to be ourselves again but I was still damaged.

Alcohol and smoke was in my system from the constant nights,

Constant nights of smoking and drinking trying to forget the words I’ve read,

but you’ll never know that.

You’ll never know about the nights I drank to forget your name.

But I stopped because your voice was in my mind telling me to stop.

On my birthday when I blew out the candles I wised for you,

Surprisingly enough my wish sort of came true.

I held you that night, and you started to hold me.

Our faces inches from one another’s once more.

Our feet entangled in each other’s.

I was happy, I was foolish to believe any of this is real but for now it’s worth it.

I hate that you did this

That you turned us into a this

That you have to apologize for everything

That when you talk about us it’s with guilt and shame

I hate that my friends don’t understand why I still talk to you

Why I defend you

Why I would even want to

Why I still smile when your name shows up on my phone

I hate all of this

But what I would hate even more

Is if I didn’t have this to hate.

Friend or foe,

depends to whom you speak;

For our passions are great,

Both love and hate, equally potent

Caution child, else you beget the most dreadfulest of follies.

Beware, for our beauty may be grostique and ghastly, or ethereal and enthralling;

but with cunning and glamour, men are easily deceived

And with talons and fangs, flesh is easily torn;

Morality grey,

Life as easily taken as saved.

Take heed, for our kindness you shall know not

if you veil yourself with ignorant nativity;

Your steps best light for if not, your life may fleed.

Watch us well and mind your words;

And perhaps; your life be yours to keep

Boys and Girls

I like boys.

I like girls.

I like diamonds,

I like pearls.

I’m not ‘confused’.

I’m not a ‘whore’.

I’m just ‘bisexual’,

I know that for sure.

It does exist.

It is for real.

It’s not a lie or a cloak,

It’s just how I feel.

I’ve kissed girls.

I’ve kissed boys.

Some were serious,

Others were toys.

Boys are hot.

Girls are too.

Tell me it’s a ‘phase’,

And I’ll punch you.

I like boys.

I like girls.

I like diamonds,

I like pearls.