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I sit alone
I sit
Tangled thoughts are lost
My soul knotted with my mind
All I can think about is life or death
I sit and stare
"How did I get here?"
"Why am I here?"
My reflection is everything I despise
"At least I can see a stranger instead of me?"
All I can see is everything I wasn't and everything I am in the worst way
My soul is binded with my broken heart
Every word I get hit with stays and every word I hear is permanent
I finally knew were I stood in this family
I finally knew were I stood in myself
This contained mind with poisoned thoughts got stained red paint on my cloths
I lie
To keep myself sane
I sleep to wake from reality
"Why me?"
Every night I repeat scattered in memories
I sit
With my thoughts alone weeping bloody tears
Style / type:
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity):
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction):
[This option has been removed]
Editing stage:
Contest:
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Comments
Gracy
Wed, 2020-02-19 20:14
Sad poem, katia. I had a son
Sad poem, katia. I had a son with mental problems, schizophrenia. He had voices telling him he was a bad person and deserved to die. I hope you're just feeling tired and negative. Why me? Why not others? Exactly what my son and I asked ourselves at the beginning. But yes, it was his illness, which appears in about 1% of people. So he learned to accept it and not ask that question over and over.
Your poem is spot on. I'll return for another read. As I said, I hope you're not feeling depressed, in which case there are plenty of institutions or therapists to contact. Even the Good Sammaritans. All the best,Gracy
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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury
Hannah Moonlark
Wed, 2020-02-19 21:51
Hi
I agree. Your poem is spot on.
I really enjoyed reading it.
Eumolpus
Thu, 2020-02-20 05:34
poetry will be good for you
keep writing. The bleeding heart needs the pen. It is hard to express these feelings. The more you write, the more the poetry will set you free. It is the first step to becoming a poet.
Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings
Hannah Moonlark
Sat, 2020-05-02 21:14
I love this poem and think
I love this poem and think you have a lot of potential.
Also, it seemed like you were pretty sad, so I hope you are better now. It really does get better, believe it or not