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Shitty Poetry Dump/Catch All

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  • Melancholia
    "I am," said Jesus, when asked who he was.
    "I am," said God, forcing thoughtful pause.

    "You are," said I, looking for peace, hope.
    "You are," said I, grasping for a way to cope.

    "But who am I?" I thought, feeling guilty, wrong.
    "But who am I?" Washed in his blood, says the song.

    "I am." For God, but meant not for me.
    "I am" For God, so he can make me free.

    "I am," for me is, "Selfish, sinful, bad."
    "I am," for God is, "Powerful, Creator Dad."

    "But me?" What, who, where - is that?
    "But me?" Don't ask God, the question will fall flat.

    "I am," said I, trembling with fear.
    "I am," said I, every day of this year.

    "I am," say I now, feeling much more certain.
    "I am," say I now, a lifting of the curtain.

    "I AM," I SHOUT. The opposite of his plan.
    "I AM," I SHOUT. Sin, a thought I ban.

    "I AM!" I scream! "This is wholly me!"
    "I AM!" I scream! "I am not wrong, SEE?!"

    "I am," say I, when asked who I am.
    "I am," say I, "A lion, not a lamb."

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  • Melancholia
    One day I'll be old.
    Wrinkles no longer small.
    Hair completely white,
    Life slowing to a crawl.

    I hope I'm still an asshole.
    I hope I still like memes.
    I hope I still think farts are funny,
    I hope I still have big dreams.

    I hope I'm super weird.
    The one kids talk about.
    How they're scared to pass my house,
    But still keep me on their route.

    When they finally get the courage
    To ring my spooky doorbell
    I'll open the door and say, "BOO!"
    Make them jump, scream, and yell.

    But then I'll smile real big
    Maybe with a golden grill.
    They'll pause and reconsider,
    "Okay, maybe this lady is chill..."

    They'll give me the once-over
    "Wait, is she wearing fairy wings?!
    Does she have glitter on her face?!
    How do her fingers hold that many rings?"

    I'll usher them inside,

    Show off the things I own.
    Oddities and trinkets, books
    Maybe a fake unicorn bone.

    They'll marvel at the sight
    While munching an offered snack.
    But they'd still be in for another surprise.
    I'd lead them out the back.

    A little secret garden
    Statues of mystical creatures.
    Creeping vines and bubbling fountains
    Just a few of my garden's features.

    A fantastical little haven
    A place to lose yourself for hours
    They'd run the paths, climb the trees
    Pretending they have powers.

    And then before the sun starts to set
    I'd send them on their way.
    Stomachs and hearts equally full,
    Already planning another day to play.

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  • Melancholia
    Can I have a do over?
    Another start at life?
    Too many cords running to my heart,
    Need to sever all with a knife.

    Let me begin again.
    On another planet, a different time.
    Where unicorns exists,
    And people only speak in rhyme.

    Maybe the trees are purple,
    Maybe the water is pink.
    Or maybe completely different colors
    Of which the human brain can't think.

    A life in which I could befriend a star,
    Ask moons about their day.
    Where pain, hurt, war, and famine
    Have no place to stay.

    Where fairies tend to cuts and scrapes
    With sprinkles of pixie dust.
    Where nothing is ever unfair or hard
    Where everything is just.

    A place where you're born whole and good
    And always stay that way.
    Nothing to break your inner parts
    A fantastical utopia, you might say.

    This of course cannot be had,
    We call it childish fantasy.
    Something adults shouldn't think about
    Lest they be marked with Insanity.

    I'll think about it anyway
    Let it get me through hard nights.
    Why would you ever want to snuff out
    Even the littlest of lights?

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  • Melancholia
    People think that I'm aggressive.
    Chomping at the bit.
    So attached to my opinions
    Fire and brimstone, poisoned grit.

    Would you believe me if I told you
    I don't think this is me?
    That it's a symptom of feeling unheard -
    Blare it, shout it, need to feel FREE.

    Free to make my own decisions
    Choose the life I want to lead.
    "You're wrong, you're bad," said my parents:
    The planting of the seed.

    Is it really any wonder
    That I threw myself at God?
    "You're a sinner, you aren't worthy."
    I could only cry and nod.

    A festering childhood wound
    Reinforcement in the church.
    Is it really any wonder
    That on Christianity I did perch?

    Back to being aggressive:
    I really thought I was right.
    I thought that God could help me
    Heal the thoughts I think at night.

    Or the depression, the anxiety
    That steered my course in life.
    I wanted others to follow!
    I only sowed seeds of strife.

    Regarding feeling unheard,
    And the aggressive label I bear:
    This is something of which
    I have recently become aware -

    "No one ever hears me,
    If they did, maybe they'd agree?
    Why do they hear him? Or her?
    Why can't they hear me?"

    "What makes me any different?
    I must be crazy, like it's been said.
    If this must be my life - well...
    I think I'd be better off dead."

    So I shouted from the rooftops.
    What else was I to do?
    To be heard, gotta shout in their faces!
    If you felt that unheard, wouldn't you?

    Back to my original point -
    I don't think this is me.
    If I had been raised in a healthy way,
    What kind of person might I be?

    I hope I would be caring
    Creating a non-judgmental zone.
    A person that you could tell anything,
    So you wouldn't have to be alone.

    I know that crippling feeling
    It's my Familiar, my Companion.
    It's been the only constant in my life,
    Something I hope to abandon?

    I don't know if it's even possible.
    Just a matter of learning to cope?
    Thinking about it that way
    Gives me little glimmers of hope.

    If you've made it this far,
    Sorry, I know it's long.
    Or maybe I'm not sorry -
    This is me, right or wrong.

    Bear with me as I heal,
    As I learn to calm my mind.
    If my aggression ever hurt you,
    I'm so sorry I wasn't kind.

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  • Melancholia
    It usually comes out of nowhere
    A feeling, a growing pit.
    I start to feel foggy, drowsy
    Light of life, suddenly unlit.

    I struggle framing thoughts,
    I want to go to sleep.
    I've felt too many feelings,
    Time to lock them in The Keep.

    My body trying to keep me safe,
    Drowning out the din.
    Can't allow the feelings to rage,
    Lock the grenade with a pin.

    I'm learning how to cope,
    Pushing self awareness and growth.
    "I am worthy of happiness."
    A shaky but solemn oath.

    So I'll take a selfie to edit,
    Maybe write a silly rhyme.
    Maybe if I keep analyzing it,
    It'll be better next time.

    This, I will tell myself forever,
    Until the last of my days:
    "You are strong and you are good."
    A little light in all the haze.

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  • Melancholia
    I shared my pain with you
    It was intimate, sincere.
    I signed a piece of paper
    Rules to which I'd adhere.

    Because of your position
    And because of your facade
    I foolishly let my guard down.
    After all, you're a man of God!

    In the beginning, it was great.
    "Hey, I think we should be friends!"
    But now I think friendship for you
    Only has manipulative ends.

    It must be easy
    You must be the star.
    You talk about your self a lot.
    Seems to be taking you far.

    You need a cast of devotees
    To make yourself feel good
    You say it's not about numbers
    But that sentiment is hollow, like wood.

    A pastor needs to lead
    A shepherd protecting his flock
    But you, sir? Nah.
    I don't think you give a fuck.

    It's all about your name
    It's all about your face
    It's about becoming famous
    In a theological race.

    I'd say I don't give a fuck,
    But clearly, I really, really do.
    So all I can say at this point is,
    "You snake, wolf in sheep's clothing - fuck you."

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  • Melancholia
    One day I stepped out on my porch
    To grasp a moment of peace
    I happened to look to my left
    And that's when I saw the crease.

    It was barely there, I almost missed it
    I rubbed my eyes and blinked.
    Around the corner came my ginger cat
    He look at me and...winked?

    I stared at him, he stared at me
    And then I swear he smiled.
    Then he turned, walked to the crease
    What happened next was wild.

    First he was there, and then he wasn't.
    My jaw dropped to the ground.
    What the hell is happening?
    Am I that mentally unsound?

    Shaking off self doubt
    I walked up to the spot
    The crease was shimmering slightly
    "Here goes nothing," I thought.

    Hand outstretched I touched the crease
    In it went, and disappeared
    The feeling wasn't necessarily bad
    Like that scratchy tickling from a beard.

    I took a deep breath, I closed my eyes
    And into the crease I stepped.
    Scratchy, tickling, then nothing
    I opened my eyes, and wept.

    I had stepped into a forest
    But not like any you've ever seen.
    I could see the soul in every plant
    Every tree, rock, and stream.

    I could hear their soul songs in the air
    A glorious orchestra of spirits.
    My tears would not stop streaming
    I wished everyone could hear it.

    It was then that I realized
    everything around me was rather...big.
    And then I look down at myself -
    I was no bigger than a twig.

    I finally saw my ginger cat
    Sitting across the way.
    His purring had drawn my attention -
    He was being scratched and rubbed by...a fae?

    I blinked, and blinked, and blinked again
    Yes, I was certain about what I saw
    A little, sparkling, translucent fae
    Sitting on my ginger cat's paw.

    Our eyes finally met, she flashed a smile
    And with her tiny hand, she waved
    I sensed that she was beckoning me
    I hesitated, then caved.

    As I made my way toward her
    I looked up to the sky
    Fae were everywhere
    Down low and up high.

    So much twinkling overhead
    It was the most beautiful sight
    They flit and flew, to and fro
    Like shooting stars in the night.

    Her lips never moved
    But I heard her just fine
    "Hello, my dear one, you're here!
    We've been waiting such a long time."

    "What do you mean?"
    I asked, heart beating out of my chest
    Was this some sort of trick?
    Or maybe some sort of test?

    "You know what I mean," she said with a grin
    "Close your eyes and recall
    It's okay, dear one. It's been a while.
    I promise you, you'll remember all."

    I obeyed her command.
    Closing my eyes, taking deep breaths
    I searched my mind
    Traveling to the deepest of depths.

    Deeper and darker, until I couldn't see
    Hands outstretched, I stumbled.
    Then suddenly I felt a wall, no, a door
    And a handle with which I fumbled.

    The door was locked, what could I do now?
    Far away, I heard the fae's voice
    "Dear one, you have the key. Use it
    Or don't. This must be your choice."

    I thought of what I'd lose
    I thought of what I'd gain
    I wondered if it would hurt
    If I was unlocking hidden pain.

    Again I heard the fae's sweet voice.
    She laughed with a melodious lilt.
    "Do not fear, " she said to me.
    "You'll feel no shame or guilt."

    A deep calm came over me
    I softly told myself, "Go."
    A key appeared in my hand
    "Go, and you will know."

    I placed the key into the lock
    I turned it, pushed the door.
    There I saw a golden light
    Emanating from a child's core.

    The child was me, I knew at once
    But this child was also fae.
    Suddenly the memories flooded back
    Of that terrible and fateful day.

    Stolen from my home
    Raised as a human child.
    Entombed inside this dying flesh
    When what I should have been was wild.

    My eyes snapped open
    Heart thundering in my chest
    Finally, my whole life made sense
    I knew why I found no rest.

    I had lived in one world
    But was born of another.
    Raised by random strangers,
    Not my father, not my mother.

    The fae, she smiled, and gestured happily
    I looked down at my arms and feet.
    No more was I covered in human skin
    Weighed down by hunks of meat.

    Instead, my body shone, and sparkled
    I looked like all the rest
    And for the first time in my entire life
    The weight was gone from my chest.

    I felt as if I had never known life
    I felt as if I had just been born.
    No longer shackled to my former self
    No longer feeling torn.

    I laughed and cried, all at once.
    My ginger cat purred, seeming smug.
    All the fae began to sing
    And this is what they sung:

    "Blessings - to She Who Is Returned
    The forest welcomes you, dear one.
    We bestow upon you the gift of joy,
    The gift of laughter, the gift of the sun."

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  • Melancholia
    Separate from flesh and blood.
    Trapped in this body made from mud.

    Unattainable, ever out of grasp.
    To my dreams, I forever clasp.

    I had it once, at least I think.
    Because hope dies - when you blink.

    An anticipated, welcomed friend.
    It won't begin until I end.

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  • Melancholia
    Dear Sparrow, I'm so sorry
    I feel emptiness and despair
    That I never met you earth side
    That you never once drew air

    I'm sorry for my body
    I'm sorry for my womb.
    It was supposed to protect you
    But instead became a tomb.

    I wonder and I dream
    About how life would be
    If you hadn't had to leave
    If you'd been able to stay with me.

    Would you be blue eyed like your brothers?
    Would you have their dark blonde hair?
    Would you be crazy, wild, untamed
    Or would you handle yourself with care?

    Would you be a daddy's girl?
    Give him a run for his money?
    Would you charm and soften him
    With a voice smooth as honey?

    Oh Sparrow, my dear daughter
    Mommy loves you so.
    Over and over I'll say it:
    I hate you had to go.

    I never got to hold you
    Never got to smell your breath
    Never got to rock you to sleep
    Instead, I mourn your death.

    The platitudes never helped
    They never touched the pain.
    Even now I cry and I cry
    My tears falling like the rain.

    My only respite is simply this:
    That one day I will die.
    And when I do, I'll come find you
    And together, we will fly.

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  • Melancholia
    As I sat and drank my coffee
    Feeling tired, feeling spent
    I heard the wind begin to roar
    So out the door I went.

    It roared as if it was for me
    It roared as if it knew.
    It flung about the trees and grass
    Upsetting the morning dew.

    I stood outside and closed my eyes
    Frigid air blasting through me.
    It invigorated my senses
    Ridding my soul of the dark and gloomy.

    A roar or a whisper
    I care not which way it comes
    The wind is like my lover
    To his touch I will succumb.

    In his arms, I feel alive
    My body ripped from it's cocoon.
    Awake, aware, his breath is life
    Please, my darling, come back soon.

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  • Melancholia
    Dirty, unclean,
    A sinner through and through.
    You'll never be good enough.
    But it's also not up to you.

    Believe or perish
    This is what I hear.
    But I can't believe unless He wants me to,
    So should that be cause for fear?

    Probably - the threat is Hell
    Fuck, I need to believe.
    Well maybe this really isn't so bad
    A much welcomed reprieve?

    A reprieve from my life,
    An answer to my "prayers"
    A place that feels safe enough
    To air my woes and cares.

    At first it was a joy,
    But you know, the suffering kind.
    Because suffering should be a joy -
    At least in the Christian mind.

    Taught to love, taught to forgive
    Taught to seek the truth.
    Confess your sins to God and man,
    But don't dare to be uncouth.

    The Church is a hospital
    That is what they say -
    That it's for people who are sick
    In need of a bed to lay.

    I wish that I could tell you
    I found hope and comfort there.
    But all that I have ultimately found
    Are fucking clouds of hot air.

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  • Melancholia
    If freedom were a fleeting hope
    I might dream of happy things.
    Of sprouting feathers, arms stretched wide
    Testing my new wings.

    I'd find a mountain, blue of course,
    And climb and climb and climb.
    I'd climb until the trees grew shorter,
    Beautiful and sublime.

    I'd peek around for fairy folk
    Caress moss-covered rocks.
    I'd close my eyes, and listen
    As the wind drowned out my thoughts.

    I'd climb until I reached the ridge
    And survey the land below.
    Miles upon miles of untouched trees,
    Just like back when life was slow.

    I'd see a ledge, jutting out
    A perfect Green Man throne.
    I'd scramble quickly to that place,
    To see if He was home.

    Alas, I'd never glimpse Him,
    But that would suit me fine.
    For that would mean that time and space
    Would finally be mine.

    Once on the ledge
    I'd gaze in wonder
    At the beauty before me,
    Above me and under.

    My body would quiver, as if on fire.
    The Transformation begins.
    I'd twist and shake and bend and claw.
    I'd finally shed this human skin.

    Free of the chains humanity bears,
    I'd stretched my wings out wide.
    I'd proudly turn my feathers to the sun
    Finally, I have nothing to hide.

    Before I'd give myself to flight
    I'd turn to look behind me.
    Behind the shrubs and in the trees
    I'd see His eyes, twinkling kindly.

    "Hello, my daughter," the Green Man would say,
    "I've been waiting for you here.
    Go now, and be free.
    You have no need for fear."

    I'd smile, He'd smile, then disappear
    and I'd turn back to the sky.
    I'd take a deep breath, run, then leap.
    Free, away I would fly.

    But freedom isn't a fleeting hope.
    It's not even something to consider.
    So until my soul is released in death,
    I'll just continue to...sit here.

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  • Melancholia
    started a topic Shitty Poetry Dump/Catch All

    Shitty Poetry Dump/Catch All

    Chest is bursting,
    Emotions boiling and churning.
    Will there ever be an end
    To all this fucking yearning?

    Maybe I could rip it open
    My chest, I mean.
    Rip it open and let it all out
    Maybe then I'd feel clean?

    I'd rather be a void
    Than feel like I do now.
    Trapped here in this body,
    Beaten over brow.

    My brain is fucked,
    That much is clear.
    Overcome by emotions,
    And especially, by fear.

    Medication sometimes works,
    Until it starts to not...
    That's when I get broody,
    analyzing every single thought.

    One thought leads to another,
    And another after that.
    Like I'm choosing pieces of paper
    From my gigantic trauma hat.

    But there are way too many pieces.
    I can't sort through them all.
    The pile keeps growing bigger,
    and I don't know who to call.

    I can't seem to stick with therapy,
    Maybe because I'm broken.
    There's so much locked away,
    So many things remain unspoken.

    Even I don't know what it is
    This inner turmoil that spins,
    Maybe if I can get my footing
    I'll be absolved of all my sins?

    Probably not.
    I don't know what to believe.
    It's all so very complicated
    and difficult to conceive.

    He loves me, He loves me not
    Both my husband and "God."
    Ripping petals off of flowers
    It's just a fucking fa├žade.

    I seem to fail at every turn,
    I'm a terrible wife and mother.
    Maybe if things could be different
    They could thrive with...another?

    Should I fade into oblivion,
    Taste that freedom I desire?
    Don't bury in me in ground.
    Send my body to the fire.

    And when you collect my ashes
    Don't shed a single tear.
    This is what you ultimately wanted
    ...isn't it, my dear?

    To be free from the cage
    That seems to be me.
    If I were not here,
    Then you'd be free.

    Just promise me this,
    When my ashes are in hand:
    Throw me off a cliff,
    And pray I never land.