Freeword

"A place to write, is a place to be."

[deyornight]

DISCLAIMER:

This poem contains explicit mentions of death and suicide, if you are sensitive to these topics I recommend you scroll away.

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The Cure:

I used to spend hours begging,

pleading for God to take me,

I wondered why my prayers didn't work,

what I hadn't realised was that they did.

He did take me, just not physically.

He took my soul, my mentality.

and when I prayed for things to get better,

they did, even if only momentarily.

They say that it's just a coping mechanism,

God is not real, it's simply improbable.

I don't care if they're right or wrong,

Because whether my scars last or not,

The ending for us is all the same.

Who cares if that ending is a black screen,

or the divine heavens where souls rest?

My sadness might not go away,

but my happiness did, and will time again.

I realised that nothing truly matters,

Sure, people might cry a little,

But after a year or two they'll get over it.

Meanwhile your sadness lasted much longer,

And they will still have the audacity to say,

"Killing herself was selfish!" to my grave,

what they didn't know was the sadness

that had already killed me years before.

The anxiety that consumed me nights,

Or the thoughts that raced to every corner,

"What would change if I died?" Nothing.

God helped me kill my soul,

I just had to get rid of the corpse.

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Afterword: I believe this poem isn't one to be taken lightly; whether or not you are a poet you can clearly see the idea behind it. It's meant to be blunt and uncaring, it's meant to be unsettling and uncomfortable. My mission as a poet is to create a poem that will comfort the disturbed, and disturb the comforted. I believe this is the closest I've got out of the ≈75 poems in my archive.

Inspo:

[deyornight]

Caged

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I'm trapped, stuck in this cage,

I look at you, the key in your palms,

I hope you let me out,

but that key in your palms, disappears.

You throw the key in the trash bags,

Maybe you misplaced it.. can you get another?

I watch as you decorate the cage I'm in,

with everything and pretty things.

It's gorgeous, I almost don't want to leave,

but the pretty things suffocate me more,

I watch you on the other side, able to move as you please,

and I watch, as you mock my begging for freedom.

You bring guests.

I'm the first thing they see.

They clap,

cheer,

call my name,

I look at the door of the cage, but it remains tight.

Nobody ever bothers to listen to my cries,

They don't bother to look at my dying eyes,

No idea what this cage tastes like,

as I claw my mouth through the walls,

desperate for an exit.

They only smell me,

They think even that's disgusting,

Try to touch me,

and get mad when I move away,

Because in the end, how could I want affection,

From the very person,

That trapped me in the first place?

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Afterword: Toxic relationships, a complex topic indeed.. at least I'd say so.

[deyornight]

Normalcy

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Nobody is born

with the fuels of hatred.

The darkness of it all,

is something that is given.

By the people surrounding you,

making comments on everyone.

A child is born to love one and all,

not to disgust, or gag at someone.

The world shakes in fear,

as it is split in two,

the other, perfect division smiles

and grin, it's not their problem.

Join hands as you make

the colour in the world.

Make it shine beautifully,

because that's the purpose.

Languages - each in their own form,

whether it's, "你好, привет, përshëndetje."

It doesn't create an iron wall,

we are able to merge as one,

and love one another as intended.

We finally hug now, souls combined.

And create a new, perfect world.

Where we need each other,

and we help one another.

There may not be normalcy,

however, there is humans,

and that small proof of life,

is all we need.

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Inspo:

Afterword: A simple poem, compared to some of my other more intricate works. But I feel it is important to speak about discrimination:)

[deyornight]

DISCLAIMER⚠️:

This poem contains explicit mentions of suicide and hints at committing, if you are sensitive to this topic I recommend you scroll away.

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Reasons.

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"It's selfish." Is their first reason,

It ties to them though, not me.

"People will miss you." Is their second,

I snap and ask, "What about me?"

They're taken aback, not by my anger,

But out of their 10,000 reasons to stay,

Not a single one considered my feelings.

For a while, I thought my purpose

was so others weren't burdened

by my absence. Letters were written

in apologies, not explanations.

I don't think it's selfish to commit,

it's selfish to force someone into the ocean,

when you know they're tired of swimming,

so they'll let the jellyfish bite,

And their lungs collapse with water,

Slowly sinking to the depths they intended,

and hopefully the surroundings will devour,

so that they wouldn't have chosen to do it,

and it wouldn't have been selfish.

If these people claim to miss me,

Then why do they treat me as

if I don't matter, or shouldn't exist?

10,000 reasons to stay,

None which are sufficient.

The only reason to stay,

is so I don't hurt myself,

Since at the end of the day,

I'm the only person who hasn't betrayed me.

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Inspo:

Afterword: Yes, this poem is about committing. I wanted to base it on the fact some people, including myself, don't stay because of the common reasons we're given, such as being missed, because those things change and people move on. But their reason for staying is so they don't deal with the final blow of pain, and the possibility of the attempt failing.

[deyornight]

Keen For It

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I wanted that bubble,

Not to pop and watch it burst,

But to care for it, watch it blossom.

But in order not to kill it, I needed wet hands,

and my hands were dry, too dry.

And that bubble I was once so keen for,

It flew away before I could wash them.

Perhaps in another world,

I'm also a bubble, and together we can fly,

We'd pop and fall by eachothers side,

The remnants of our drops would intertwine.

We coud dance together,

That opportunity back in prom

Which wasn't had. Or we could hold hands

and watch the rainbow reflection.

Though realistically, in this world,

You'd be down south, I'd be up north,

Or you'd be on the far left, I'd be opposing.

Far enough to prevent something,

But close enough to realise something is there.

I want that bubble, protect, love and cherish

That bubble wanted me too, but instead

I flew away, and in my excitement I popped it

I loved it so much that I broke it.

That bubble, no matter how pretty,

Will never, in the end, be mine.

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I wanna try drawing something simple for my poems... but idk if I'll post it cause it's so 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[c0sm1cj4mie]

Miku Retry Now fanart by me 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ ՞𐦯

[deyornight]

The amount of skill and determination artists have on this app SHOCKS me

[poupeesung]

"as long as our journey continues, we can always meet again"

[eela]

wherever you are

[deyornight]

Inspo:

My poem called Orbit:

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I will be the ring to your planet,

Bring a coat, I heard it's cold.

Oh, wait. It's probably colder here,

at least for me, ever since you've gone.

Maybe not Saturn.. how about your moon?

Then I would only see your dark moments,

But I want you to be happy with me too!

You could be my moon,

Not because I'm not happy with you,

but because everything doesn't deserve to shine,

if you're not here, I don't want it to.

Every day,

it feels like each star is a flame too bright,

And I am the snow,

being burnt and melted alive,

They say time heals all wounds,

but is that because we didn't have enough,

or because if we had more we'd be glad?

The universe was always unknown,

yet now it seems bigger, stranger.

The Earth is dying, but to me,

it died the day you did.

Nobody seems to care,

they still throw plastic in oceans,

still litter on the pavement,

as long as they're okay.

Each step, a weight too heavy to bear,

Every breath, a deafening sound

I don't want to hear.

Every move, one that doesn't feel mine.

Don't worry, I will come for you.

Whether it's in the darkest part of the sea,

or the furthest part of the universe,

maybe something as simple as.. nothing.

That August, two people I knew died.

Not just you, a part of me too.

Ever since, constantly I go over the limit,

Overdose on that addiction you'd hate.

Perhaps somehow convincing myself,

that you loathe me for who I became,

would be much, much easier,

than trying to hate you for leaving,

when you never even had a choice.

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Afterword: I wanted to write a poem for those struggling with grief, and to be honest this poem was already published on my hellopoetry site, but it's one of the few I loved so much that I wanted to post on here too! No matter how long you've been struggling with it, know it matters.

[deyornight]

Umbrella.

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I can't see through the folds,

I can see my family laughing,

with their inside jokes and happiness,

I am not a part of that, I am the black sheep.

They're protected within the umbrella,

Their love for each other - infinite.

I stand just beside it, enough to know them,

but also enough to get soaked within.

I tried to fit in, change myself,

Instead pairs of eyes look at me weird,

They show me the way out,

Proving I'll never truly fit in with my own.

I'm not the embodiment of perfection,

But I don't want to be allowed in the umbrella

when it benefits you, and you only.

I want to be in when it's cold and pouring.

Not when it's bright and sunny,

Having no need for an umbrella.

I've been the black sheep for so long,

Might as well reap the benefits and burn.

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Afterword: There was SO.MUCH. I could write about with an umbrella, but after this idea in particular came to me I thought that I'd be able to expand on it, and hopefully make it relate to other people out there!

[deyornight]

My poem called Pool:

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People float around,

Performing underwater tricks,

Friends playing beach volleyball,

Or families out on vacation.

All smiles, having fun with their loved,

What they don't know is beneath the mask,

And under all that happiness, is a centre.

The centre of the pool seems heavier,

The colour darkened too, strangely so,

The sleeping body on the surface,

is in so deep, the core stopped to beat.

Everyone moving swimmingly with their lives

and you're lying there underwater,

Hoping for the help to come,

Though nobody ever noticed, or cared really.

The sight before me was beautiful,

Underwater, looking down on pure bliss,

What it would be like to suffocate in it.

Pray, and ask for just a minute more.

Getting up for air wasn't an option,

Not when the world was so overbearing,

So much so that it began to sink me,

Weigh me over and add, add, add.

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Afterword: I wrote this poem with the intention of giving it multiple meanings, you may change the meaning to suit your life narrative:)

[deyornight]

My poem called Consummate!

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If the merciless entity known as Death

must choose between my father and I,

Choose me every single time,

Not out of selflessness,

But to make him understand

the hurt his words used to cause

saying he'd hoped to die before me,

so that I'd be consumed with guilt.

Death is a consummate soul,

it kills, both physically and emotionally,

It eats at your grief and relishes it,

It licks the fallen tears from your cheek.

Death as a soul might be wrong,

Perhaps because of how dull it is,

or because it's not part of the norm.

It takes constantly, doesn't matter who.

You can beg, cry, and kill yourself instead,

I hate to bear the news,

but it won't stop the cycle.

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No inspo taken, just real life things.

[deyornight]

Warning

Pain can easily be reduced to brittle,

As signs can obviously be there,

But they're easily overlooked,

If you already know the warning,

Why bother reading it over, and over?

I complain, I use my voice,

Yet my pain is reduced to a mere joke.

My throat clashes in against itself,

Battling a war that has already been won.

Every slap, every touch, a print I can't let go.

His dark, malicious eyes, tell me all I need to know.

"He's only joking, learn to take it like the rest!"

He doesn't know his words are sharp,

That they wound and scar, perhaps kill.

So I'll drown in the stream of words,

Take them all as a joke, and ignore the signs.

Sink me in so deep until I can't muster the energy,

The energy to fight back, and lose myself in his voice.

It's okay though, because it's okay if he's mean,

It's okay if he scars, if he punches the heart,

Because it's merely a joke, and the punchline

Being time itself, is my life, taken along too.