Hi, I'm new here! So I thought what better way to start than to post some of my work?
I wrote this poem on my 18th birthday, you can probably tell that I was suffering from depression. I'm winning the battle now though.
A Gift From Me To I
I left a gift for myself.
I sent it back in time,
As a sort of warning,
Of what to come.
There I was,
Cross-legged, open-hearted,
My brain filled with candy hearts and optimism,
The gift folded neatly, tightly
Sitting in the middle of my blank room.
My chubby legs gave into the weight of my marshmallow flesh,
As I fell to the floor,
Excitedly tearing away at the skin of the present to unwrap the white bone box.
A gift from me to I.
Therein lied a peanut shell,
In the dead centre of my white box.
I picked it up and shook it,
Moving it from side to side,
And yet the peanut shell remained stagnant,
Immobile, inanimate.
My hands,
They seized up the peanut shell and popped it in my mouth,
My jaw,
From side to side,
Chizzled away,
Until the peanut shell crumbled and cracked to reveal a nothing.
A babe of no skin,
No brain,
No blood,
No tangibility.
My little miscarriage of hope.
Sent from I.
At 18.
I,
With the balloon in my face,
Taunting me,
Screaming shouting shrieking,
“HAPPY 18TH BIRTHDAY”
Screaming shouting shrieking
Taunting
My unhappiness
Taunting me,
The circularity of I,
Being eaten up by the square jaw of the world.
I,
With the empty smile,
I,
With the cracked-open arms.
I,
With no blood,
No tears,
No humanity,
Just a peeled away skin,
Just a cracked bone,
Shattered into a million.
The white shiny smoothness,
Spoiled,
Opened to the marrow,
To reveal the little holes,
The little emptiness’
In my bones
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