Walls closing in. Your head speaks too loud and all you want is a way to escape. Is it romace? Is it novels? If John Green ever wanted to play Dungeons and Dragons you would be the main character. A physical embodiement of teenage depression. Maybe one day life won't be as bad as it seems.

my world

is splitting

into before and after

where am I

in the foggy inbetween

what happens

if I get stuck

on the wrong side of my own story

could it be

the unwritten villians

that turn my mind against me

The world we share

It’s more than butterflies

More than knotted stomachs

Sideways glances and

Deep romantic kisses

Our world is open arms

Forgiveness and

Commitment

The kind of love

The world envies

Because it cannot be destroyed

Where ‘I don’t like you’

Isn’t the end

But a moment

In our timeline

A time when

We remembered

That love was more

Than just attraction

That we were and are

Stronger than the infatuation

We are accused of

My middle finger

Facing the world

As I stand beside you

Ready for forever

#love #romance #poetry #freeverse

I know. I know the pain isn't a pain at all but a numbness. An absence of feeling that leaves you wondering if you still have a heart. You can hear it beating. One thump, one second at a time passes by and the sound of that heart becomes so overwhelming. You don't feel happiness or sadness or even anger. You're not alone but you feel isolated. You're not hungry or scared but you wish you were because you would at least be feeling something. You are numb, as you once said "feeling so faithless, lost under the surface" Sometimes it feels like none of it will matter in the end. But there is hope - one more light to find and never let go. There are people in this world who looked up to you. They connected to the melody of words that you poured from your heart. They knew what you were feeling. They supported you and had your back, but did you see that? Why did you give up? Chester?

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tick--tick---tick... No clock. No silence. Just sights and sounds everywhere in this small brick of matter. No one else can hear. Just me. No one else can see my visions... That's what I call them. Not hallucinations. Hallucinations aren't real, but visions are. Therefore, I see visions. I'm not like most people, but most people are monsters. I refuse to participate. I have a game of my own!!!! I don't torment people with 'good intentions' or praise with a hidden agenda. I simply exist. I see what you people are. I don't want to be human - I'd rather die. Monsters with desperate heartbeats. Bum.... bum-bum.......bum-bum. Looking for something they will never find because they don't know what they're looking for in the first place! Silly, stupid monsters. Idiots. Somewhere in my mind I can still hear it. The clock. The timer of my life slowly ticking away. Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick--tick---tick...

Unearth a hidden confidence

Exploit the riches of your mind

You, my dear, are worth so much more

Than the critics say in lies

"Start over my darling. Be brave enough to find the life you want and courageous enough to chase it. Then start over and love yourself the way you were always menat to." - Madalyn Beck

Wild hearts can't be broken. Not in the way you break a horse. No partner can ever truly be tame and train them to fit the hole in their soul. A wild heart roams from place to place, hiding from the inevitable hurt that follows falling in love. Wild hearts cannot be broken because you cannot get close enough to break it. I'll make sure of it. Wild hearts run in meadows, following the herd, grazing in local bars and clubs. Never stopping long enough a settle. Always sure to protect themselves from any unwanted sidetrack, like a family. Wild hearts may not break, but slowly and surely they crumble. Finding themselves in alley ways and bar fights with no one to watch their back. They crumble under the crushing weight of lonliness they have afflicted on themselves. No, wild hearts cannot be broken, but they do break. Wild hearts settle down, or run until they can't.

She watches from the outskirts. She loves him. She loves him. She loves him. She loves her? A woman walks along the sidewalk holding hands with a man who will never understand. Never will he know of what happened between his girlfriend and the woman sitting on the bench behind him. Mainly because there is nothing to tell. Maybe something, some little hint of a romance that would never actually come to be. A fleeting look between starcrossed lovers to scared to actually be. Being a couple, starting a romance wouldn't be an atrocity but because of who they are, two seperate lives on the same path though neither one can accept what they love. Love has no gender, love is neither a woman or a man, but unfortunately love has gender. Love has a man and a woman, and a woman and a woman or a man and a man. But the latter are forbidden, forced to hide in shadows, fleeting glances of something that turned into nothing after all. Like the woman I watched walk the sidewalk, holding the hand of a boyfriend who will never know.

I always imagined the angel of death wore black. A man with pitch black wings that droop with the weight of destruction. I would have never imagined this image of liberty. A woman of maternal love in a yellow satin gown welcoming her children home. Long curls of blond hair falling around a perfect almond face. Yet here she is, embracing me. I feel like I have known her all of my life, though I could not tell you her name. She was there behind me through every storm, but I had never beheld her face. That is - until now. Now she is ushering me home to meadows of sunflowers and fescue. She offers me a freshly drawn bath, like a child who has ceased his playtime. Heavenly scents of a mother's perfume, cinnamon and sugar, curl around her in playful tones. Her wings white, and halo unbroken, not a tear has shed from those bright blue eyes. Whatever it was I had once imagined, forever gone from my mind.