#poems daily

[lou07sworld]

Depression

They say depression is like a tunnel. You see a light far back, but you don't think you can reach it. There are no windows. But actually there are windows. There are good days. There are windows and there is an end of the tunnel. You can try to reach the end of the tunnel or even just the next window. But with every step your legs get heavier until you can't move anymore. And then you question everything. The windows, the walls, the floor, yourself. But those aren't the bad thoughts. The bad thoughts come when you think the end of the tunnel is a mirage. Because then it doesn't matter if you go through the tunnel alone or in pairs. It is and remains endless. And the steps become heavier.

(Wow, 50 likes. Thanks to these 50 persons who liked this post. I can’t believe that there are 50 people outside who like what I wrote. You are amazing. Thanks to everyone of you. Finally there are people out there who understand me and my thoughts. You helped me with my biggest fear: feeling alone. ly❤️)

[dontdieonmeyet]

maybe i'll go to sleep instead

i live in fear of the wires

controlled by this desire to feel less blue

it glows azure on my face

and keeps me up at night

[theaddictspoetry]

What will you do when the party ends? When the drugs run out, and you're all in your head? At 3 AM with nothing and no body left, All cause of some fun, some escape we didn't realize would end.

-addiction took everything from me, but never again.

@theaddictspoetry

[1introvertedsage]

The Journey

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice— though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles.

“Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible.

It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do— determined to save the only life you could save.

~Mary Oliver~

[suffering-is-cute]

you are my littlest secret and loudest love.

[mianimasenpoeticus]

[vidsontheroll-blog]

Everything,

overfill of dark,

dim under the heaviness of living.

Voices

drowned in the dim stillness,

the wavering reflection of

the deep shadows followed,

hurrying after

anything alive.

Day 19: The Poeming: A Found Poetry Project from The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

The poem has been culled by Vidya Premkumar from pg 37 of Penguin Random House , 2009 edition.

[eefrostpoetry]

i've only now realized nothing could have saved us

[raven-runes]

I've said more farewells

than a hundred sailors

whaling from Belfast to Boston

shed more parting tears

than a myriad weeping madonnas

mourning their martyred sons

keened on more

blood-soaked moors

than all of Éire's banshees

.

is each last kiss

worth its searing stigmata

or should the heart quiet sleep

under a cairn cold and deep?

[jiannaeloise]

Poem 005

Words unspoken.

Unspoken understanding.

Understanding what's broken.

Broken and misaligning.

Misaligning the truth I've been keeping.

Keeping what I can and hold it in.

In doing so, a whole lot of reminiscing.

Reminiscing yet I couldn't win.

Win or lose, this is a battle I choose.

Choose my heart or lose my mind?

Mind over matter, there is no use.

Use all the time I wish I could rewind.

Rewind all the good until I tire.

Tire myself in details I missed all the while.

While all of what's left may go haywire,

Haywire in heartbeats, for you, an extra mile.

-----

Won't break, can't shake this fate, rewrite.

Deep breaths, tight chest, life, death, rewind.

You're just my eternal sunshine.

[dontdieonmeyet]

i feel cold

my lungs are wet with air

crystallised from vapour and

shadows around me

yet i swim on dry land

blowing through the branches

and settling a canvas

this winter morning.

[theaddictspoetry]

I feel so deeply,

It's like words are shards of glass

Against my skin,

Ripping me apart within.

I feel so empty,

As if I'm just a shell

Of a girl I used to know.

@theaddictspoetry

[1introvertedsage]

Dust

Someone spoke to me last night,

told me the truth. Just a few words,

but I recognized it.

I knew I should make myself get up,

write it down, but it was late,

and I was exhausted from working

all day in the garden, moving rocks.

Now, I remember only the flavor -

not like food, sweet or sharp.

More like a fine powder, like dust.

And I wasn't elated or frightened,

but simply rapt, aware.

That's how it is sometimes -

God comes to your window,

all bright light and black wings,

and you're just too tired to open it.

~Dorianne Laux~

[suffering-is-cute]

emerald dreams remind me that guilt on my face looks a lot like love. i am no different from Oz or his domain,

no different from a magician invoking his tricks. my love is

spun lies and gilt armour, letting myself be caught with the shrewdness of a cat that wants to be domesticated.

sometimes i do feel it pressing upon me, the solemnity of the fact that there is only one way and i have made no mistake upon discerning it.

why is it that you will only be loved when you lie?

difficult things. sometimes, i have learned through trial, you are not made of a substance that gleams and flitters like fireflies. you are a lump of fool’s gold, that in the right hands, can be sold for a price, a value, far above your station.

if you can solder together a steam train, passengers of tricks and mischief on board, isn’t that a skill? you can be yokai, traditionally enamoured by princes of old.

but you know, no one good sees it that way.

they see an intruder in a sloppily painted mask,

an amateur intruding into the rooms of the crown.

so when you and i get caught, we play it off as looking for a job. give a careless smile, flaunt our broad knowledge of topics and mind of steely quicksilver. we act your pretty fool.

never let it be said that we can’t adapt to the part the script’s written us for.

we slip into the palace searching, hoping for an eye so true it can lay our vulnerabilities bare.

if only we’d ever been caught.

singular emerald in the pawnshop of neverland

5. Nov. 2023

[mianimasenpoeticus]

[vidsontheroll-blog]

Art and Poetry by Vidya Premkumar