How do you pick up the pieces of your own broken heart, When each individual piece is like a shard of glass? How does one even know how or where to start, When it’s not exactly taught at school in a class?
How do you keep your fears at bay, and not drown in your own tears, When all you can really do is hide away and cry? How do you push through every strife, and go on with life through the years, When your thoughts have no end and all you can do is sigh?
You know, it’s really easier than it seems. You just have to take a step back. Look at how, even after a storm, the sun again beams. That could be you, so cut yourself some slack.
Sometimes you’re less broken than you feel. (Life) It’s not always going to be an easy ride. You’ll have to work on it everyday in order to properly heal. But you have to push and get better to validate your pride.
I am currently just a 17 year old, senior in high school, who uses poetry as an outlet for the good and the bad of my reality. I write to forget and I write to remember. I'm inspired by so many things, whether it be music, lyrics, poetry, stories, or experiences of mine or others. I just hope that one day my poetry can speak to someone the way many poets works have spoken to me. With that being said, I hope you guys enjoy my poems!
Walking through the twilight between reality and myth Stepping in the shadows of cross and monolith Chinese whispers running through religious verse Fairy tales told from baptism to hearse Children kneel, hands clasped with bowed heads Praying for angels to
Ever grown in adolescence, A convoluted leading presence, Thoughts loom large or small, Can this be it, can this be all? Eyes flicker like bulbs burning, Rarely it all fits or so I’m learning, Consumed with madness my kindness finds,
Immenseness of the contrast – from blue eyes to red apples, (we must stop apple picking!) from smashed leg to a stone wall – squanders the soft toys of time. A peach colored queen lies in state from centuries to
We are broken pieces, Pieces of art, Sometimes joined At the odd cracks, Hoping for completion. Sometimes we are glued To a piece so intricately Carved, so well we gel An illusion to dwell, An illusion to live, Until that