Growing Up, poem, Poetry, reality, thoughts

(1 verse, 4 lines) – #19

Humans only change when they reach the precipice.
When they get to the lowest point throughout their life,
Things start to shift and they either become the best,
Or fail the life changing test and be bound to strife.

Advertisements
Standard
better state of mind, coming back, Growing Up, Inspirational, motivational, poem, Poetry, positive vibes, positivity

(1 verse, 4 lines) – #17

Our hero fell and stumbled on the cold, hard floor.
He was at an all time low, he was destitute and very poor.
He lost the most precious person and pets of all.
Yet he stood back up, dusted himself off and opened a new door.

Standard
better state of mind, Chasing Dreams, Growing Up, Inspirational, motivational, poem, Poetry, positive vibes, positivity

(1 verse, 4 lines) – #11

They say that a dream is a wish your heart makes.
Well, I don’t know about that dream for it is quite far fetched.
But if my dream comes true, despite my mistakes,
I’d apply the lessons I’ve learned and make a better sketch.

Standard
better state of mind, change in people, Growing Up, happiness, Inspirational, motivational, poem, Poetry, positive vibes, positivity, Youth

Keep Your Youth

We laughed and ran towards the open field.
We sat on the green grass and we giggled.
We watched the clouds change forms as time passed,
We enjoyed every moment of what a child can yield.

We studied hard and burnt out ourselves with lessons and assignments.
We buried ourselves with academical books and got lost in their labyrinths.
We drank heavily on the weekends, without remorse or resentment.
We fell in love with a bunch of people and we drowned ourselves during those moments.

We started to walk our separate paths during this time.
We started getting married, have kids, while some stayed single and said they were
fine.
We got 9 to 5 schedules, ended up working most of the time.
We lost the chance to connect and have a few drinks or go out and fine dine,
But we knew our friendship never fell out of line.

We grew up too fast because we lived our lives like automobiles.
Dashing through dirt roads or paved roads,
Never truly minding the heavy load
That we carried on our backs that led to heartache and tears,
But it was alright.
Because we had friends we called families and we stayed up all night.
We gazed at the stars and we hoped for something better.
We wished for a drop of refreshing rain to wash away all that was bitter.

We were younger then and look at how much we’ve grown now.
We survived through the years and that is worth taking a bow.
We may miss the good old days, when everything was about fun.
So to all the friends we’ve lost, old friends we’ll be seeing and new friends we’ll be making,
Remember these words and take heed of what I’m saying.
We still have of plenty of years ahead of us, so don’t stop the run.
Keep on pushing and enjoying the times that are coming.
Keep those childhood memories and your spirit young, and don’t mind aging.

Standard
Depression, Growing Up, honesty, Inspirational, monster inside us, poem, Poetry, suicide

An Open Letter To Suicide

Dear Suicide,
I am here to tell you that I will not abide.
I don’t believe in your promises of peace,
Because I know that you want to get yourself a piece.

A piece of myself
That you will store in a jar.
You will then put it on top of a shelf
And leave it to gather dust like a dilapidated car.

I’m here to tell you to stop knocking at my door.
I’ve heard your sales pitch and I can’t take it anymore.
I hate repeating myself like many times before.
I might become enraged and go Bloody-freaking-Roar.

I’m here to tell you in the most generous kind of way,
That you are nothing but trouble every single day.
Simply put, you suck in more ways than one.
You’re also not a solution to a problem that has managed to overrun.

Overrun and control the hearts of many.
You’ve led plenty of lives in perpetual misery.
You’ve left millions of scars to those who answered your call.
Truth be told, you’ve caused the most insidious deaths of all.

Now I know that you’ll harass me for the rest of my life,
But I can’t let you control me and make me pick up a knife.
Honestly, if you were in front of me,
I’d force you to pick up a metaphorical gun.
Make you put it on your head and watch you pull the trigger for the pun.

Now, I don’t want to end my letter on a sad notion.
I’d want both of us to move on without any bad emotions.
This is the part where we go our seperate ways.
So I’d like to say fuck you and have a nice day.

Standard
Depression, Disappointments, Giving Up, Growing Up, poem, Poetry

The Despondent Poet

I’ve come to write something again.
It’s basically about the things to remain.
Like a job and an income to be kept safe.
And how dreams and fantasies should be kept at bay.

For all the years that I have been alive,
To become a renowned poet is what I’ve always strived.
For my poems to be heard and to earn money for my deed.
To use the same money to help those in need.

I’ve always looked at my poems
As a way to help people and myself.
I think of my art as a sanctuary for the people and themselves.
It was my own way of saying “Hey, you’re not alone.”

Though I admit that some of my creation
Are merely a way for me to practice my passion,
Most of them are made from pure emotion.
An artistic form of self-expression.

Though I want to aim for the heights,
It seems that happenstance does not deem it right.
It seems that fate has another plan
Because it saw me unfit to be a poetically renowned man.

Looking at my situation here at home,
It seems I am fit to be a breadwinner all along.
It’s not the first time I’ve done this role.
I did well even though it left my heart with an empty hole.

Even though I dreaded waking up to work,
Even though I dragged myself to the office,
I’m always happy when I come home.
‘Cause I can see the smiles from my loved ones which is priceless.

Though I want to be a full-time poet,
It seems that God himself disapproves it.
‘Cause with all the years that I’ve been writing,
I still haven’t amounted to anything.

So with this, I give up my dreams.
My dreams of becoming known, along with my hopes.
I’m throwing them all to the flowing streams.
I still wish for people to go and grab their dreams.
I’ll be cheering on them from behind the ropes.

It may seem like the end, but it’s actually not.
I’ll continue to be a poet in a different spot.
My spot will be the darkness from which ambitions rot.

Standard