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I breath with faze,
moving my feeble soul around
making me fidgety.
Fumbling every time my mouth move,
My words turning equivocal.
My face is dark with rage,
Laying my head on my pillow at night
and the hurricane in it lits up.
Hoping to eradicate my tears,
Wearing my smiling mask,
Bunging my legs on the floor
asking how does happiness taste,
A conundrum question.
Raising my hands to sky
hoping to pray.
Invisible tears flowing like river.
But I keep fighting to stay alive.
Every conversation is insipid,
Infusing happiness trying to fight my depression.
I keep fighting because my instinct never lie.
I will win this war,
I am a winner!!!

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 


This is relatable. I can understand the idea of raising hands in a half formed prayer, and the knowledge of invisible tears. A true epidemic of our time.
One possible positive though... a lot of great poets were suffering from depression, you needn't look far.
Read some Plath if you will; or look at the war poets maybe Wilfred Owen, or Sassoon,poetry written in dire situations often yeilds great results.
Your poem is introspective, and may benefit from the poetry of others, but I do like the images at the beginning, and think this holds promise, and as you say you're a winner!

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

This has quite a number of basic grammatical errors. I suggest you proof-read it.

Poet(ess) to the Stars

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