Collection Of poetry

Why am I?

Why am I so tired
Why do I no longer smile
Why am I struggling to care
Why do I hate mornings but crave long nights

What is wrong with me
Am I broken or worn out
Is there a glitch in my system
They say others go through this but I still don't understand

How has this happened to me
At what point in my life did it go so wrong
When did I hit the point where I count return
Was there ever a place where I could have stopped

Where were the signs
Where was the support
Where were the people who swore to help me
…Where is my life

I no longer recognise myself…
I look in the mirror and frown at the person who looks back
I can see there is something wrong with them
But I don't know what

I think I’m broken but I don’t know
I think I’m out of luck but I don’t know
I think that time isn't on my side but I don’t know
I just… I don’t know


Broken System

I think I am malfunctioning
I tried to get better
To fix the broken parts
But that just broke another thing

When I try to sleep the nightmares are there
When I avoid the nightmares my body burns out
When I take medicine for the pain I become sensitive to everything
When I stop taking the medicine everything hurts

I want to get better
I wanted to
But no matter what there is going to be pain
I am going to wake up, either in pain or fear

Is it normal, no
Do I have a solution, no
Do I want to give up, no
Will it work though, no



My Body

My body is mine correct?
That is what they say,
As they criticise every aspect of it.

My body is mine.
And yet it isn't,
not really.

Is My body mine?
They criticise, shame, and control me,
Demanding things from me every day.

My body is mine.
But they still dress me up,
they call me pretty and hide my scars.

Can my body be mine?
When they cut down every flaw they see,
And in doing so cut me out.

My body is mine.
But only when they allow it,
And I don't think they will.



Family that chose me

They are mine, and I am theirs, it is as simple as that.
The sky is blue, grass is a plant,
And they are mine and I am theirs.
I can’t explain why or how but they are,
They chose me and I them,
So they are mine and I am theirs.

The how’s or whys are lost,
Washed away in time and pain,
But it does not matter,
Because they are mine and I am there.
I don’t care how this started,
Only that I am here and I am with them.

When I first realised I was theirs I got scared,
I tried to pulled away, tried to burn myself out,
But they held me close and kept me safe,
They stopped me burning away, and that is why I am theirs.
They held me while I burned, and when I tried to run,
And they told me they love me.

When storms rage against them I set everything alight,
I burn away the fear and keep them warm,
They get burnt, but they don’t stop me, they never complained,
Only hold me closer and thank me.
They tell me that they don’t need me to burn to keep them safe,
But they never tell me not to, to stop or to leave.

How can they love me?
I don’t know how they could stand to be so close,
To hold me tight as I burn and set everything ablaze,
I don’t want to hurt them, I don’t want to leave scars,
They know that, and they hold me,
That’s why I chose them.

To hold me while I thrash and burn,
To thank me for my fire that burnt away everything,
They know I am trying, they tell me that much,
They hold me close and tell me they are proud.
That is why I am theirs, they chose me,
They love me.

I’ve never needed anyone,
Those who raised me made sure I could stand,
That I could burn a forest and then walk away,
But they taught me only how to burn.
So when my family came along, holding me close,
I learned how to rest, they taught me how to.

I let go of my walls, they taught me how,
I still set myself ablaze, and they kissed my scars.
I still burn everything that could hurt them,
But they hold on and bring me close.
So that once I am done I can come home,
Home to them.

That is why they are my family,
They chose me,
Even when I burn,
They love me,
And they hold me close,
I love them, and I won’t stop.



A Blank Page

There is a blank page. There is a pen and a desk and a light. There is a blank page. There is a thing in front of that page. There is a blank page. There is a thing with a mind ready to fill that page with magic so natural it is in their very bones. There is a blank page.

There is a blank page. There is a doubt that hovers and fills the room, encompassing everything in the room. There is a blank page. There is a thing battling to turn on a light, to sit at a desk, to pick up a pen. There is a blank page. There is a thing overcome with doubt so thick it cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot be. There is a blank page.

There is a thing, and there is a blank page. There is a moment of silence. There is a thing, and there is a blank page. The pen is picked up, the desk is sat at, the light is turned on. There is a thing and a blank page. There is a moment's hesitation and then it begins. The pen fills the blank page. There is a page, and it is no longer blank.