(Three Poems) Crazy What We Can Pull Through

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I’m going to do three poems today from my past. Not the worst ones. There are some that I am a little hesitant to share, but maybe I will get to them one day. I have just so many journals full of them. I want to get them all out there, but I’m not a fan of letting anyone into my past and seeing my dark side. I’m talking my really really dark. But I feel like people should know that no matter how dark you may be or have gone, that you can pick yourself back up. Some of my horribly terrifying poems I have written shock me at how messed up I really was. I look at myself now and I feel so much stronger, better, and happier. I remember not too long ago when I thought that I would never be able to make it out of a certain something. I could see no light at the end of the tunnel, but I did it. I conquered something that I never thought would be possible, and doing that has made me realize that there are so many things that I can do and accomplish that I don’t even know about yet. It has made my marriage stronger, it has made me desire more to better myself, and it has helped me help people close to me and I’m hoping one day people who don’t even know me.

When Are You Theirs?

They keep coming and coming,

visions black with fear.

Eyes start blurring

from straining them to clear.

They won’t go away,

small glimpses of hell.

Killing, sex, and burning,

people dying out.

They keep on taunting,

never going away.

With nothing left worth seeing,

our imagination it plays.

Words they keep on coming,

silent as the grave.

All filled with lust and torture,

raping another’s game.

They just keep on stalking. 

People, they want to sleep.

Kids while they’re playing.

Pets while they eat.

They just sit and watch at sin,

of sex, guilt, and play,

of lust, envy, and anger,

anything that’s lame.

While we’re all lame inside,

can’t move. Can’t think.

Can’t swim. Can’t flush out evil.

Can’t work. Can’t sleep.

We have things go in our heads.

Are they real? Are they true?

Is it when they control,

or end up marking you?

Marking you with scratches

from their icy fingers that burn.

With eyes that slice like knives.

With memories that yearn.

Is it when they make you suffer?

Is it when they make you play?

While making you have sex?

No control left to escape.

Leaving, It’s up to them.

To make fear rule.

As you keep on having visions,

while the demons take with you.

(When Are You Theirs was when I was having hallucinations when I was in late middle school and early high school, which I’m pretty sure were caused by a mix of medications I was taking. I won’t go into what the hallucinations were of course. Also, just so it is known, I am only now just naming some of these poems so it is easier to separate them and find out their meaning. In my journals they have no names. The poem below this I won’t name.)

Life is done.

Death is near.

We all hear panic.

We all see fear.

We close our eyes

to block out the pain.

The darkness has taken,

the light from the day.

She runs to hide.

Hide herself from strife.

He comes for her.

Comes to take her life.

He grabs her now,

rape in his mind.

His face all darkness.

His eyes not kind.

His hands all cold.

He holds the knife

and thrusts it home.

Her end in sight.

It strikes her heart.

She holds her breath.

Blood in her mouth.

Blood on her breast.

Her face turns pale.

She sheds one last tear.

Blood in her eyes, she swallows

the last of her fears.

(A poem with a mixture of elements I was obsessed with and that were going on at the time.)


I’m lost, lonely,

frustrated, scared.

Worried, confused,

trapped, and bare.

My thoughts are running.

I’m drifting away.

I’ll never know if

I’ll see another day.

Everyone reads me

when I want to stay closed.

Waiting to seize me.

Me not wanting to go.

Waiting forever

for someone who’s real.

Not leaving me helpless

and making me feel.

Being numb and cold

not feeling a thing

makes you …. want to

only just dream.

Because while everything’s moving

as fast as it goes.

It calls into question

how far we will go.

Will we go on forever?

Are you and me real?

Or am I just sitting alone

waiting to feel?

Feel someone with me.

Someone against my skin.

Someone to love me

and let me in.

Someone to work with.

Someone to hold.

Please tell me you are out there.

And where I should go.

I’m done with being confused,

lonely, and scared.

I’m in desperate need to find you.

I need you here.

(Another one from my past, but sometimes I find some mistakes and/or I add on and finish up some poems from my past. Which is what I did for this one. It is great to see more clearly now. Not as clear as I would want to, of course, but clearer than when I was younger. Just have to keep sifting through our minds and figuring things out until life is precious to us again. Diving into these poems in my past feels like greeting and getting to re-know the past me. Sometimes it is dark and scary, but it helps to know that I did and have pulled through, and if I ever get encountered by darkness as black and vivid as what I have encountered in the past, that it is more than possible to pull through it again. :))



“Monsters are fake!”

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“Monsters are fake!” She yells at her mom.

Her mom stares at her five year old daughter with a smirk and an evil look in her eyes, “No, honey. They’re not…” she whispers. “Look around you…” she grabs her daughter’s arm as her daughter lets out a scream.

Her mom’s grip was tight and bruising her arm. She was being dragged to a mirror.

“See!” her mother yells. “Look in there! Now don’t you see a monster!?”

The girl looks at herself in the mirror, crying. She did see a monster. Two in fact. One holding the other by the arm.


(another piece of writing I did in my past)


Please Make You Mine


Let’s lighten things up with a happier poem this time. This is one I actually did today.

Brilliant blue eyes,

so striking, they soar.

Lips so luscious,

one smirk, and I’m yours.

Chin standing dominant,

masculinity in every line.

Voice smooth and perfect,

please make you mine.



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I want you.

My body, my mind, my soul

it screams for you,

it lusts for you.

I search…

Search every city,

every town,

every dream,

but I can’t find you.

You’re lost.

I’m lost.

I’m just left to wonder

if you ever did exist.

A poem I did in early high school when I was in the middle of searching for the one I wanted and needed to be with. The one person that my body and soul yearned for, but didn’t know where to find him. I’m sure many can relate to this.

Live To Inspire

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Make it your life goal to inspire people. Constantly work on being that person who people look at and go, “WOW”. If everyone kept in mind that we are meant to build each other up and encourage each other, then everyone could keep inspiring one another until we have all succeeded and gone further in life and as a human race than we ever had before. If we all worked on being our own individual bests and focused on being inspirations, we could reach out and help people without even realizing it. We could motivate people to work on finding the best ways to live and do things that would make them happier. We could strengthen one another by giving each other hope that it is possible to accomplish goals and live an ideal and happy life no matter what anyone has been through. We should want to be the type of people that people see and think to themselves, “well, if they can do that or be that happy, then I can do this and be as happy.” We should want to inspire and spread hope for as many people as we can. We should want to be uplifting and influential. If we aim to be influential and inspirational, then not only could we inspire others, motivate, and change the world, but we would also be making ourselves happy and loving life in the process by doing what we love and being the best that we can be. Inspiration is what makes the world keep moving and changes lives. Inspiration is what keeps people uplifted and their dreams big. Be an inspiration. Live to inspire. Inspire to inspire.

Clenched Death

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Everything covers her.

She wants them both.

The growing need

it pushes her,

to do something

that most won’t.

She holds her death in one hand.

Seven pills in a fist.

It is funny that that is God’s number,

for he will be seeing her

after this.


Another poem from my past.


It’s Not About Being Flawless


We all have goals. We all have dreams. We all have places we see ourselves in however many years, and in order to get to those things that we desire, we work hard for them. We push ourselves so we can have our dream body. We practice so we can be great writers, runners, dancers, workers, or whatever else we want to be near perfect at. We get frustrated. We get paranoid. We get to be really hard on ourselves when we aren’t as close to our achievements as we want to be. We start pinpointing all the flaws in our plans and our goals. We start detecting all the little imperfections we see in ourselves that we perceive as being in the way of what we want. We start putting ourselves down and bullying ourselves. We start making unfair judgments towards what to expect from ourselves. We start to become not a friend anymore to our body and soul, but a critic with harsh assessments. We start to lose focus on what is really important. We lose sight on why we are here living on this earth. We forget what keeps us up and what keeps us going. We no longer have fun.

Life isn’t about being perfect, flawless, or the best. Life is all about having fun while you do what you do. It is about making memories and enjoying yourself. It is about loving every step you take on your journey to become who you want to be. What is the point of doing the things we work so hard on and waste most of our life on if we aren’t enjoying ourselves while doing it? We only have this one lifetime that we will remember, why not fill it up with great memories? Why not have more to celebrate than just the fact that you reached your goal? Celebrate the fact that you reached your achievements and have a ton of fun recollections from the passage. Have fun! Celebrate life! Have a blast while you become the best you at whatever you want to be! Don’t fret over being the most perfect person that is ever around. You will only lose yourself in the process and when you get to where you want to be, you will feel empty and irritated at yourself for taking so much time to get to where you are, but not feeling how you expected to feel. Enjoy yourself! Love the life you are living! Love yourself! AND HAVE FUN!!!