Self Poems
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Personal poetry about the way you feel about yourself
This area is for personal poetry: poems about yourself and your feelings about who you are. Poems here focus on identity, ego, self confidence, insecurities and personality. For readers it's a chance to get to know the poet better and for writers it's an opportunity to analyse themselves by poetic means. The self poems category encourages the poet to lay themselves bare for all to read about, it can be both a frightening and empowering experience.
ALWAYS
We laughed hard
at our attempt to copy the bard
you will not be forgotten ...
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/117954-love-story-the-beginning/
at our attempt to copy the bard
you will not be forgotten ...
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/117954-love-story-the-beginning/
#love
#memories
7 reads
1 Comment
Much healthier now
The worst I have ever felt
Has often been my fault
For overdrinking
Overdrugging
Undersleeping
Underloving.
Has often been my fault
For overdrinking
Overdrugging
Undersleeping
Underloving.
#SelfReflection
6 reads
0 Comments
Despair(working title)
Plagued with thoughts of ending it all, I sit with my back against the wall.
With head buried deep between my arms, I start to wonder where did it all go wrong.
Before today, I remember how life was much better. When smiles and laughter filled the air, never revealing this crippling despair and how I just wish it would all just go away.
The lies...
the fake love...
the false hope...
Just make it all disappear with a snap of a finger. Instead of letting this depression and self loathing linger.
Take everything back and...
With head buried deep between my arms, I start to wonder where did it all go wrong.
Before today, I remember how life was much better. When smiles and laughter filled the air, never revealing this crippling despair and how I just wish it would all just go away.
The lies...
the fake love...
the false hope...
Just make it all disappear with a snap of a finger. Instead of letting this depression and self loathing linger.
Take everything back and...
#sadness
#anxiety
#despair
#disappointment
#emptiness
2 reads
2 Comments
I think you’ll find I am not a spill, Sir
Listen
I’m over the ‘s’ word
implying only
that these lines
were accidents
that this poem flowed
with purpose and grace,
filtering itself until pure
there’s no river here;
not even a damn pond
I don’t pour majestically
from babbling brooks of dreams,
paddling half-heartedly
in the shallow pools of cynicism
neither should I be compared
to dry rice
milk
a loose shit
on the way out—
I want my words
to strike the Earth
like a wet lamb ...
I’m over the ‘s’ word
implying only
that these lines
were accidents
that this poem flowed
with purpose and grace,
filtering itself until pure
there’s no river here;
not even a damn pond
I don’t pour majestically
from babbling brooks of dreams,
paddling half-heartedly
in the shallow pools of cynicism
neither should I be compared
to dry rice
milk
a loose shit
on the way out—
I want my words
to strike the Earth
like a wet lamb ...
#funny
#LifeAsAWriter
#myself
#frustration
#WritingPoetry
31 reads
6 Comments
The call home
I fear that I will soon wither away, that it will seem that I was never here to begin with.
The water that inhabits my lungs weighs me down like an an aged iron anchor,
And the numbness is a feeling that i've only ever known all too well.
I fear that I am sinking, and that this time I may not make it out.
The numbness that lives inside my skin is comforting to me,
Because in a way I know now that she'd never left me in the first place.
That happiness is a fever dream that I know will never come to me.
I am thankful for her numbness, because she is all...
The water that inhabits my lungs weighs me down like an an aged iron anchor,
And the numbness is a feeling that i've only ever known all too well.
I fear that I am sinking, and that this time I may not make it out.
The numbness that lives inside my skin is comforting to me,
Because in a way I know now that she'd never left me in the first place.
That happiness is a fever dream that I know will never come to me.
I am thankful for her numbness, because she is all...
#sadness
#depression
#MentalHealth #IMissYou
#MentalHealth #IMissYou
11 reads
1 Comment
Poison
Overwhelming sadness fills my heart
As you pour your tears into my cup.
I drink it
As I heave up my own turmoil.
I constantly partake,
But my cup runneth over.
It’s a poison flowing through my veins
As I swallow again and again;
Trying to take away your pain.
I can’t do it.
It’s killing my spirit.
A never ending reign of darkness;
Destroying any light I have left.
It’ll be the death of me.
As you pour your tears into my cup.
I drink it
As I heave up my own turmoil.
I constantly partake,
But my cup runneth over.
It’s a poison flowing through my veins
As I swallow again and again;
Trying to take away your pain.
I can’t do it.
It’s killing my spirit.
A never ending reign of darkness;
Destroying any light I have left.
It’ll be the death of me.
#relationships
#emotional
#SelfDiscovery
8 reads
2 Comments
Shed a Tear
Shed a tear for the inner child
Who died giving birth to the man
Shed a tear for forgotten dreams
That withered as time moved on
Shed a tear for family and friends
Alive now only in memories,
Existing in faded pictures
On a fragile, crumbling page
Shed a tear for an empty heart
That feels nothing but wasted life
Biding its time in sadness,
Waiting for its turn to die
Collect the tears in a paper cup
And pour them on the ground
May roses spring from the bitter drops
May new beauty soon...
Who died giving birth to the man
Shed a tear for forgotten dreams
That withered as time moved on
Shed a tear for family and friends
Alive now only in memories,
Existing in faded pictures
On a fragile, crumbling page
Shed a tear for an empty heart
That feels nothing but wasted life
Biding its time in sadness,
Waiting for its turn to die
Collect the tears in a paper cup
And pour them on the ground
May roses spring from the bitter drops
May new beauty soon...
#death
#LifeCycle
#aging #nostalgia
#aging #nostalgia
9 reads
0 Comments
the sin
I look at the ceiling, I see nothing
Void filled with echoes of the past
Have no regrets is what they said
Yet they all made me regret it
All these days I paced around
Wondering if they forgot
About my crime
I wasn’t a good man
But now I am
Void filled with echoes of the past
Have no regrets is what they said
Yet they all made me regret it
All these days I paced around
Wondering if they forgot
About my crime
I wasn’t a good man
But now I am
#anxiety
#regret
#fear
9 reads
0 Comments
sun stripes on a dark night
I used to savor those moments,
side by side as the morning waned,
casting a silhouette of the wooden blinds
across your back. My eyes tracing the stripes
of shadow and sunlight
remind me that opposites are nothing without each other.
I wanted to preserve every second; hoarding them
in every space I could find between my cells like a thick, sweet syrup
waiting for it’s time to coat the tastebuds of
the next victim of indulgence, for nights
like these when I can feel the cool air scraping
against my shoulders once shielded by...
side by side as the morning waned,
casting a silhouette of the wooden blinds
across your back. My eyes tracing the stripes
of shadow and sunlight
remind me that opposites are nothing without each other.
I wanted to preserve every second; hoarding them
in every space I could find between my cells like a thick, sweet syrup
waiting for it’s time to coat the tastebuds of
the next victim of indulgence, for nights
like these when I can feel the cool air scraping
against my shoulders once shielded by...
#loneliness
#beauty
#morning
#nostalgia
#StreamOfConsciousness
13 reads
0 Comments
To Poetry and Beyond
I could string precise words together to tell a story or make lines look neat and pretty
I can take you from the thoughts in your mind to another location within mine
I can draw a line in ink for you to follow with ease
I can piece together a profound poignant vocabulary to create a bright mosaic of sound
Or I could rhyme to the rhythm of your heart with art to impart
I can present life lessons or simple truths as tiny wrapped gifts to share
I have the ability to maintain your attention for a literary mile and make it worthwhile
But alas, none of these...
I can take you from the thoughts in your mind to another location within mine
I can draw a line in ink for you to follow with ease
I can piece together a profound poignant vocabulary to create a bright mosaic of sound
Or I could rhyme to the rhythm of your heart with art to impart
I can present life lessons or simple truths as tiny wrapped gifts to share
I have the ability to maintain your attention for a literary mile and make it worthwhile
But alas, none of these...
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
#PowerOfWords
31 reads
14 Comments
Snapshot
I’d love to take a snapshot
of the newness of the day –
that moment I first open my eyes
before thinking gets in the way
Morning holds such promise!
The dawn is on fire with hope,
like a rocket ship poised to blast off
to challenge the vast unknown
But alas, my brain insists on booting up
The chaos and trouble soon begin
Shadows are cast and plans are dashed
as countless memories rush back in
Where is the button to pause my life,
to stop the endless replays?
If I couldn’t remember my yesterday,
would...
of the newness of the day –
that moment I first open my eyes
before thinking gets in the way
Morning holds such promise!
The dawn is on fire with hope,
like a rocket ship poised to blast off
to challenge the vast unknown
But alas, my brain insists on booting up
The chaos and trouble soon begin
Shadows are cast and plans are dashed
as countless memories rush back in
Where is the button to pause my life,
to stop the endless replays?
If I couldn’t remember my yesterday,
would...
#hope
#courage
#inspirational
#frustration
#disappointment
11 reads
3 Comments
A word on collecting
He once said
our spare room
looked like
a bazaar
as he weaved through
stained glass lamps,
occult oddities
and herbs.
I've collected burn marks,
cigarettes, orgasms,
bruises
I've collected good scotch
trip stories, nicknames
and muses
and it's easy enough
to be a collector to prove
you exist—
all that's left
are guitars and
crystals
I don't think he knows
how lucky he is.
our spare room
looked like
a bazaar
as he weaved through
stained glass lamps,
occult oddities
and herbs.
I've collected burn marks,
cigarettes, orgasms,
bruises
I've collected good scotch
trip stories, nicknames
and muses
and it's easy enough
to be a collector to prove
you exist—
all that's left
are guitars and
crystals
I don't think he knows
how lucky he is.
#LifeStruggles
#alcohol
#drugs
#SelfReflection
#acceptance
36 reads
5 Comments
DU Poetry : Personal Poems. Poetry about Self Reflection and Self Awareness.