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Poems of Emotions

float_on
Strange Creature
Joined 1st Nov 2017
Forum Posts: 3

The First Time

I was 6 when I first recognized what anxiety felt like.
I was 8 the first time I looked at myself and noticed my imperfections.
When I was 10, I began to criticize my actions and appearance.
I was 11 the first time I cried as I stared into the mirror,
11 when my parents separated;
When I decided I needed to be perfect.

I was 12 the first time I made myself throw up
and made my legs bleed with a pencil;
12 when my sister tried to kill herself, twice. I blamed myself.
13, a knife;
14, a razor. Still no one had a clue.

14 when I found out my little breakdowns were called panic attacks;
That I had an anxiety disorder.
14 when I first drank alcohol.
I was 14 the first time I melted plastic into my own skin.
I was 15 when one of my best friends died in a tragic car accident.
I was 15 when I first took pills; did drugs.

I was 15 when I overdosed and was diagnosed with depression.
15, in a psych ward, wondering why I was the way I was.
When I was 15, I was drugged and violated by two guys at a party.
They told me it was my fault because I drank.
I didn’t tell anyone how much it affected me.

I lost my virginity to a boy who said he loved me, when I was 15.
A boy who cheated on and dumped me the next week.
When I was 15, I was first called a slut.
At 15, I was put on antidepressants.
I still tried to kill myself again.
It didn’t work.

When I turned 16 I decided to get better.
A few months later I was raped.
When I was 16, my best friend sided with my rapist.
Told everyone I was lying.
The bruises on my hips were only hickies and my wrist was just fractured because I fell.

16, getting a rape kit.
16, on a hospital bed wondering why I was the way I was.
Wondering how I could have ‘wanted it’.
“Willing little slut”
“Lying little slut”
I was 16 when I couldn’t find it in myself to testify.
16 when my rapist walked, despite all of the evidence.

I was 17 when I first truly felt regret.
I was 17 when I decided to move forward.
When I was 17 I met a boy.
17 when he held me through the nights;
Told me I would be alright.
And I fell in love for the first time.
17, laying with a boy thinking maybe life could have a purpose.
I am almost 18 and I am trying so very hard to be happy again.
Almost 18 and I have finally found some hope.
Written by float_on
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MyDesire_HisFire_1
DAY
Twisted Dreamer
United States
Joined 18th Oct 2017
Forum Posts: 6

The pressure that I am under to be PERFECT.... I feel like I’m suffocating from the expectations you have for me. I am a broken hearted woman.... I have my flaws and I have my downsides.... I’m scared because I feel the need to to be PERFECT... Can I make mistakes in your eyes... I am learning you hell I am still learning myself... I try but the disappointment in your eye tells me I have failed. I am broken and trying to fix myself for the better. I am under pressure from the expectations that you have for me. Can I fail and learn again? I am only a broken-hearted woman. I am stressed out about everything.... I am happy beyond measure but I am sad in its entirety... how can I feel this joy and pain mixed. I know it is supposed to be good times and bad times but Damn... this is hard... Am I strong enough for this journey.

Poetryman
Tyrant of Words
United States 29awards
Joined 14th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 1530

"Darkness Within"

She whispers in delicate songs filled with white lies
Lucy seduced me when I blinked my tired ancient eyes
Hypnotized by her slippery wicked red-lipstick smile
Enticing me with erotic visions and otherworldly guile
Her haunting eyes hypnotized me with their alluring gaze
Stimulating my muse she lit my vaporous soul ablaze
My queen casts splintered shadows out of her fiery crown
Looking up at one to whom I willfully bowed down
She brought happiness to a heart thought dead so long ago
Falsely beating hope into dark places I can never again go
Still her deception led to what was an unholy resurrection
Where life and death metamorphosised in a dysfunctional erection
As she blew French bourbon blues through a magical flute
And plucked my bleeding veins strung upon her devil's lute
All along I was nothing more than a sad song to be played
Another pawn left to wonder if life is more than a painful death delayed
But what does it matter if she is Lucifer come to torture my lost soul
Or a figment of my fragmented imagination falling out of control?
Yet I cannot shake the sneaking suspicion that others are to blame
Either way I'm a broken fool captured by a shrew no heart can tame

(JJ)

morgan2-18
Lost Thinker
United States
Joined 15th Feb 2018
Forum Posts: 7

today, a new day and I feel okay
until I get out of bed
until I start seeing bodies other than my own

today, I know those thoughts will come
and it will scare the living hell out of me
until then, I'm okay

Today, I wont wear anything grey, black or white
Just because those were the colors I wore those days
The days I was raped and assaulted

Come to think of it
I will not wear red today
it reminds me of the blood from my wrists

and today, I will not leave my house
i will stay here in my bed, alone
because when I do leave, I pass the place I was raped

Ont the side of the road
Pulled off beside my least favorite stopsign
but nobody will ever know that

nobody has the guts to ask
ya know, those deep ass questons
the questions about what really happened that night

its okay though, I'm okay
until someone asks, I'll be in my bed, by myself
until someone asks, i'll feel empty on days like this  

morgan2-18
Lost Thinker
United States
Joined 15th Feb 2018
Forum Posts: 7

Being depressed, I've always had thoughts
Suicidal thoughts
"I dont care" thoughts

It started with shaving razors
Then to dull, stolen razors
Lastly, brand new, sharp razors

He was a friend
He was innocent
He was my assistant

Cleaning my car
Thinking those thoughts
I found a pencil sharpener

He broke it, accidentally but I kept the blade
He was my unknowing assistant
To my assisted suicide

Arika
Strange Creature
Joined 12th Mar 2018
Forum Posts: 2

What kind of double life are you living??
hiding the truth from those closest to you. who know what you need, but you refuse to let them see
I’m not here to judge, is just the fact that you feel the need to mask your public life. when I’ve seen you at your lowest
where was your public life when the waterfalls you made had you drowning??

Arika
Strange Creature
Joined 12th Mar 2018
Forum Posts: 2

Feeling so lost right now. I know where to go but I keep going back. I am caught between a time of love and hate. And I eventually find my way back home. I’m trapped in never ending time loop one that’s waiting to break. You’ve broken me out more than once, but I somehow keep locking myself back in and so the cycle continues.
Happiness, tears, pity, guilt, and forgiveness are all attached to my name. They follow me around like animals trying to tear me apart. Somehow you keep coming back to me and take me into this fantasy where I keep falling in and out of love with you. When I’m not with you the bitter sadness burns and the blue waterfalls take me back to reality.
I’m brought back to a time when happiness shined with the never ending summers of memorable moments. When joy was sung as a symphony amongst the rambunctious chaos. But the chaos displayed its proud victory on the night our story came to an end. With a single moment that screamed in defame of every moment we ever shared.
Our story will be told along the masses of people who continue to whisper. Life will continue to write itself, but I sometimes look back and see a new heart stitched onto your arm each time. The what if’s continue to plague my thoughts, but it’s then that the light kicks in and the registry of time has forever been locked. With the key long lost its time to leave this story, and place it on the many shelves that case the story of my life.
So, I guess this is goodbye to the slowing memories that dance around in my head. And the climatic ending to this story has now come to its resolution. The place once filled with warm everglowing summers has now been turned into a frozen winter filled with a dry wasteland of recollection.

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