billions dead [poem]

so many corpses

without graves,

so many victims

forced to be slaves.

to all of us they serve,

not knowing why,

but this they don’t deserve,

they don’t deserve to die.

cracked or boiled,

baked or fried,

don’t forget the oil,

and murder on the side.

i cry each night,

for those who can’t fight;

they have no rights,

no future in sight.

the world is dying,

so many starving,

it can all be fixed,

but only if we change.

if we stop

if we look

if we realise

then maybe.

dangerous mind (poem)

bad, bad words
in my head
scary, scary thoughts
like go be dead
no one to talk to
they all say it’s nothing
but I think I’m suffocating
trouble inside
my dangerous mind
no, no to my feelings
they gonna go, go away
or maybe
I’ll just wait for
the stars to fall another day

Suicide [Poem]

Dedicated to a friend of mine who was failed.

Heart stops, literally,

as you fade into a black existence,

with those mourning,

others tutting,

some not caring at all,

for you are dead

and you did it by your own hands.

This is why your death

is debated by all around;

are you stupid

or are you scared?

Are you worthless

or is that simply unfair?

Why are people talking about you

as if you’re just a court case?

You’re a person, dead or alive,

and you still have a face.

The Mind of Anxiety

Leave the house or everyone will forget you exist.
Return home or they will remember how awful you are.
Speak up or people will think you have no tongue.
Be silent or you will offend the world.
Do what they ask or you won’t be respected.
Disobey them or you won’t be respected.
Listen to something else other than your mind, for once.
How can you listen to something else when your mind won’t ever leave?
It’s that music the neighbours are playing too loud, it’s your heartbeat that you just remembered is right there, it’s the alarm clock reminding you that you are alive.
Talk to people or you’ll suffocate.
Don’t talk or their advice will make you regret it.
No one can help you except yourself, they say.
Try being me. Then give me that advice. I can’t help myself. I’m a block of ice. Helping myself would mean melting away.

C [Poem]

Sometimes it’s A or B,
Other times there’s only C.
They say you have a choice,
but that isn’t always true.
Often, you have to resort
to doing what’s best for you.
It might make them upset
but you’re not their puppet.
A or B might lead you astray,
so give C a try,
before it’s taken away.

People Tell Me

People tell me I’m sensitive. What this means is that my heart is unlocked and you just need to climb inside it to see that I’m crying. People tell me I’m insensitive. What this means is that I picked up a pebble and threw it into the wind, but then it fell back down and was bigger than I first noticed. People tell me I’m beautiful. What this means is that my mind is a socket and people are plugging in a charger for my feelings. People tell me I’m ugly. What this means is that everyone else sat in a field of grass whilst I played in the mud. People tell me I’m smart. What this means is that I listened to thousands of other voices regurgitating the same spit. People tell me I’m dumb. What this means is that my life is an essay that I have yet to complete. People tell me a lot of things. What this means is that their lips keep determining, their eyes keep deducting, and their ears keep ignoring. I tell myself that I’m here. What this means is that I can focus on the snakes or the mice but, either way, I’m going to get bitten. Instead, I should focus on the most conflicting voice of all: my own.

Wall

A brick wall pushes against my brain,

trying to keep me sane,

but in reality,

it’s trapping the helps and the whelps

and maybe I need them back.

If I have no tears or fears,

if I have no worries at all —

then what’s left to care about?

You only care when you feel bad,

and I just can’t feel sad.

It’s so heavy, against my mind,

and I can’t lift it —

I need a grenade.

Perhaps, then,

I’ll find a way

to feel again.

Rain Clouds

Everyone has a little box in their brain

full of rain clouds

that will never go away.

They’re the rain clouds

you can’t let fade,

because they’re the darkness

you need to keep.

They’re tightly sealed,

until those days

when you think about them.

My box is full to the brim,

and rain clouds are fighting

to get out every day,

and more are getting leaked.

They fill the parts of me

I don’t want them to fill,

and rain is getting in the way.

My happiest thoughts become

soaked in rain.

And me?

I’m already drenched.

There’s no saving

a soggy piece of paper.