inspirational
Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Thoughts
As long as I can remember I felt out of place. It sounds a bit cliché like I'm yet another teen tortured by angst and struggling to comp with reality. The truth is, I don't care. I'm writing this to all the people who like me always felt possessed by their loneliness, pulling thoughts and away from people constantly struggling to find a way to connect to someone. Longing for happiness and a life without depression and anxiety.
By Black Samurai7 years ago in Poets
Looking Glass
Past the looking glass, what is it that makes me special? Does the mass and the masses that weighs me, that torture me, and confine me... make me any less special? The looking glass that I spend my days examining, the tools that measure my weight on the world, are those helping me or destroying me? Am I meant to be skinny, pretty, quirky, funny, and charming? Or am I just meant to be whoever I am? The blurred line that fuzzes the truth, holding me stiff and wary. Which side of this tiny tightrope should I walk on? Should I become 'her'? The person that I want to be, whom I desire I was instead? Is she any more special than I? Am I worthless? Does it only matter that my appearance isn't as fair as hers? My insides slowly rotting while my outer shell cloaking the truth. Every meal I miss causes more blood to drip onto my collar, down to the very floor on which I burden. Why should I exist when it only pains me? The truth that I will *never* be her, that I am also going to stay me. That truth is not the truth I want. If I can't fulfill anything if I won't amount to anything why am I still here? Why am I still in this world that only makes me dread. Why not instead take a knife down that very line in which divides me. Cut through that cloak who was never even me. Show the world my inner self, as they say, "it's the inner part that matters," right? Let the blood gush down as my tears do. Why not just end it all? I'm sure it would be easier than staying here. On the floor, I let out my sorrows, like sparrows who never actually learned to fly, but jump the jump anyways. Clarity rushes through me. Do I deserve to die? Really? I'm sure it'll be easier but am I really straining you that much mother earth? Oh, mother earth. Why did you create me as you did? Just a repulsive speck of filth, soiling your soils. Is it okay if I live on? As myself, not her. Not anyone, no matter what persona people push onto me. Do I deserve to have that freedom? To have the bliss of loving myself? Oh tell me mother earth, as I want to... I want to be free. I want to jump the jump even though I never flew. I want to soar the skies, examine your faces. I feel relieved. Burden slipping away, possibly onto its next victim. My blood and tears mingle. Creating a new substance, a new me.
By Elentori Smith7 years ago in Poets
The Ladder
On good days I climb up a few rudders on this ladder and on the not so good days I climb down a few, maybe slip up and fall down a few more. On the worst days I sit at the bottom of the well. The water down here is dark and it wants to eat me alive, it saps the energy from my body. I gaze to the top, looking for the light, wondering what caused me to fall all the way down here. Things weren't always this bad. But eventually, I gather my strength and start to climb again. The process may repeat several times before I reach the top, but I've breathed the air outside of this well and it's sweet. The air smells like freshly cut alfalfa on a cool summer day and the breeze is refreshing. I want to sit on the top of the well and bask in the warm rays of a meadow filled all of my favorite flowers. And on my best days, I do.
By Tasha Benson7 years ago in Poets