In Stories written
I am smitten by hero or heroin
Life is stranger that the art we stare in
fairy tale romances underneath the surface glances
uncovers a setting
But I am betting you couldn’t of picked a better villain from your library book
and you will see
that there is a reason behind
their evil mentality.
It starts with there parents story
as it recycles on
Unhappiness detachment from love
is a somber song
sometimes played from a harp.
We are not the people who we thought
we are the stories we tell ourselves
the book our character is the one we tell ourselves we ought to play
but in the light of day
and in the night time
we hold onto the person we’ve told ourselves
whether we are lion king
we are not the character written on our forehead by god or the stars
we are the character fashioned and shaped by life our parents and ourselves
But do you know we can change our fortunes by changing the way we think
about ourselves in our own head
by burying the past and leaving it for dead.
Surrounded by opportunities
Which have been given
Laid at my feet but I need to be forgiven
Because I burn them as offerings
To my self for filling prophecy of pain
insane, I wonder whether I will receive them again
the world draws out the worst in me
If I am surrounded by arseholes cursing me
then won’t I can’t just give in.
Or is my life just a sin?
A tall tale of talent for sale
I move like a snail
when I should hunt like a bear
I stare at advertisers glare
at posters the only person who can change my life is me
I alone hold the key
But in the mirror the reflection I see
Is taunting the shy retiring me
and he keep my status quo
By keep taking the punches low
If I was boxer I be rocky
On the ropes
An eloquent man but also a joke…
Who would you be if you followed your dreams and became a truer representation of yourself?
Blood shot eyes
Awake in flashback nightmares
Screaming in silence
Lost in guilt ridden violence
Everyday is a brutal regime
There’s no distinguishing no changing
What I have done
Screaming victims is the war won?
A burning temper
A cold December
I try not to drink.
Realities torment I try not to think
Every time their faces come back to me
I stammer when I talk, I just can’t be
Screaming victim is the war won?
My family tries to support
My ravaged soul
I see the flames
They are burning out if control
In the distance a ray of light
Paralyzed by anxiety
I look to my family
Is the war won?
I am getting beaten
But I won’t back down
I forgive myself
I won’t back away
If there is a god
They’d forgive me I pray
I have let my war fade away…
Written in creative writing class.
It’s 3 am and I still can’t sleep,
When I think of the bullies at school I weep.
In creeps the hunger to cut and purge again,
The cut of the knife hurts me, though it focuses the brain.
Droplets of blood drip onto the floor
Dull and red, one blood stain more.
In my heart loneliness slowly kills
Making me feel isolated and numbing my will.
My parents are caught in their own private war,
Unaware of what’s happening behind my bedroom door.
My parents are furious at my falling marks at school,
However they haven’t noticed the cuts on my arms at all.
I am left in this house which feels unsafe and unlike a home.
I panic when I am left to my own devices all alone.
My breaths come fast, uneven and I feel sick,
Sometimes I can’t breathe at all, my heart races too quick.
When I was at primary school I had good friends.
These days I feel let down, they’ve turned out to be dead ends.
It’s a shame they all left me and shot through,
now bullies flock around like vultures picking at all I say and do.
Last Tuesday I bunked school and spent it walking around town
people stared at me, making me feel even more down.
I was feeling as if no one understood
So I went to a river near a wood.
I made for my house when it was time to go home,
but the school had already contacted my Mum by phone
My furious Dad threatened me with grounding.
I said “I don’t care! I like my own surroundings!”
The truth is I don’t want to feel anything anymore,
So I pick up the knife to cut myself some more…