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Literature Text
Legs crossed on a cold basement floor,
Blood stains painting my flesh,
The wounds deeper than ever before,
A white gown now a short black dress.
Long tangled hair clinging to my tears
Wind howling through the trees,
Moonlight painting a sky so clear,
And darling, I'm going to be set free.
My fingers scratch at the blood on my skin,
A delightful pain at the thought of a touch,
And hey, everyone who said I wasn't worth it,
Tell me,
Now am I good enough?
Blood stains painting my flesh,
The wounds deeper than ever before,
A white gown now a short black dress.
Long tangled hair clinging to my tears
Wind howling through the trees,
Moonlight painting a sky so clear,
And darling, I'm going to be set free.
My fingers scratch at the blood on my skin,
A delightful pain at the thought of a touch,
And hey, everyone who said I wasn't worth it,
Tell me,
Now am I good enough?
Literature
I Will Believe That You're Okay...
If you tell me you're fine,
Then I won't question it.
I won't ask you about the cuts,
Or the bruises.
I'll turn a blind eye to everything...
Instead I'll ask that you join me tonight,
And maybe we'll cook ourselves a little supper.
Maybe you'd like to stay over? It'd be cool!
We'll watch a movie, play a few games.
C'mon you know how much I suck at monster hunter,
Be my wingman--er, lady tonight
And in the morning, let's go for a walk,
There's a huge park just a short distance away.
We could go on one of those nature trail things!
Hell yeah? Hell yeah!
And maybe, after you've had some time to think,
You'll see that things ain't quite a
Literature
Therapists, I don't like their taste.
i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.
she stole my rings
and left me hollow.
ii.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.
iii.
inexperienced,
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.
iv.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through
Literature
I can't write poetry for dead girls.
there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
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Be prepared. I'm in a "depressing poetry" mood.
Not saying i'm depressed, and just for the haters... THIS IS NOT FOR ATTENTION -.-
I'm just posting it... because i love writing 
And to anyone feeling this way in reality, please stay strong and know that you're beautiful <3
My facebook www.facebook.com/pages/Mikki-M…
© 2013 - 2024 MikkiMarie
Comments32
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still, you received my attention.