It's almost sick how sick I am.
You run around with your happy faces and intimate spaces
and I hate you for it.
I hate you.
I'm sad so why isn't the world ending?
Why aren't people stoping?
Why does time keep clocking
every move I make?
I hate this place!
The beauty of the world has shunned me
so I've turned back on it too.
I kick it around because it means nothing to me.
I'm angry and sick and sad and
what the hell?
WHAT. THE. HELL.
Nothing works out.
I give you my soul, my heart my speech
but you, you give it away
like it meant nothing to you
in the first place.
I rage and laugh and cry.
because I don't know what to do.
I can't control myself without your dependancy.
I need you to need me.
I want you to push me away
only so you can come back
and we can do it all again.
It was way back in seventh year
when I lost myself.
Even through years of clawing back
I can't find that person anymore.
I slip back into my new self.
full of hatefully colored emotions
and blood steeped with
every word they've ever told me.
It rushes through my ears when I sleep.
I hear it, feel it, breathe it, see it.
I live those words.
I cry no more tears.
I live in fear of my fearlessness.
I hate myself for my hatefullness.
I yell at myself in hushed tones.
It's sick how sick I am.
Hey, I'm not sure if how I perceived this was right, but I kinda got your message for this one.
It's like how others felt, I guess, and you just happen to wrote them perfectly in words. Somehow, it made me felt horrible (it's a good thing if that's what your poem intends to do).
I had a thing attatched to this explaining that its a slam poem. no organization but its me laid out on a dissection table for you. everything that im feeling right now...seriously where did that go?