The Whispers

whispers entrancing my thoughts,
seducing me into a state of confusion,
my eyes low, the floor my ally,
everyone around the enemy,
if I look up, they will know
that I’m not worth the time of day,
the whispers tell me that
they’re not my friends,
they will never like me,
because I am insane,
I am existence’s bane.
friends talk about how they understand
but they don’t,
only the whispers do,
they know my deepest fears,
my worst insecurities,
and everyone else will pretend
it’s not that bad, that it can go away
if I just tried —
but the whispers know that
it’s not something I can fix.
that’s why they’re who I trust the most,
they might be mean and harsh,
but they accept me for who I am,
with all the bad too.
they don’t silence me for talking bad,
for having a rant, for a meltdown,
for moaning, or just being me,
they’re always here.
they always have time.
Always.

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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.