Half-hearted attempts and bare minimum efforts will not keep me around. I deserve more than that... I deserve more than you.
Tag: Poetry
Fault
It isn't your fault. It's my fault. I was the one who believed that you would be different than the rest.
The Last
I like to think that you think about me too, but deep down I know I am the last person on your mind when you go to sleep at night. You rest soundly, while I struggle to close my eyes.
Wanted
Even if everything you said
in those moments were lies,
please never tell me that
your words were not real.
Let me move on believing that
I was all you had ever wanted.
Selfish
My thoughts may be selfish to you,
but they are mine.
I refuse to be sift and sort
through my beliefs and ideas
to please sensitive ears.
I forbid myself from following
societies standards that shame
those who speak without fear.
My words are neither
cruel nor vicious,
they aren't meant to coddle
the already oppressed.
Yes my tongue lacks
the desired censorship,
but those desires I detest.
So judge me,
ridicule me,
think me to be outlandish.
My voice is meant to be heard,
only my silence would be selfish.
Words
Words have a lasting impact, even the most seemingly insignificant ones. They create an echo or permanence within our heads that just refuses to be shaken free. They make us cringe, cry, and question ourselves. They can break trust, create doubts, and ruin moments. They leave us with disfiguring wounds, jagged and simple to reopen. And they burden us... replaying feverishly in our minds as if they were just spoken yesterday. Words are easy to speak... yet nearly impossible to forget.
Even More
The stanza that follows is short but true... I love him even more, because of you.
Stopped
If we stopped, where would we go from here? Would we be complacent as we watched our lives be stripped down to normalcy? Would we scream inside ourselves as the cravings for more consumed us? Or would we cower... fearful of being led back to where we were always meant to go.
Someday
Someday I won't be here and I'll exist only in your memory. You'll be here, surviving, picking up the pieces of everything I left behind. You'll remain stoic, with your head held high, as you remind yourself to stay strong. You'll be sad as grief dehisces your delicate wounds each time they begin to close. But eventually you'll move on, and that'll be okay... Knowing we'll meet again in the end someday.
Exhausted
If I'm being honest with myself, I'm tired. I'm tired of splitting up fights between the thoughts in my mind, and the redundancy of my habits that are anything but fine. I'm tired of living for the days I think are worth waiting, just to see them come and go as fast as I'm fading. I'm tired of the facade that I'm feeling okay, when inside my strength has begun to decay. I'm tired of the cycling through the lies in my head, and the words I have spoken that I wish were never said. But now I've lied once more and said that I'm just tired... When exhausted was the word I should've used when this started.
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