Uncategorized – The_write

Embers

People sometimes ask me how I write poetry.
Is it muscle memory that I alter every time?
Is it a whisper that comes to me?
How do I write?
Somewhere along the way, the gods gave me their poetry, in exchange for my peace.
Being alone is painful now, because every voice in my head speaks without talking.
They all give me lines to write on, and I make order out of chaos.
Nights are non existent to me, because the whispers take them away.
I traded away my sanity for the art of the Pen.
I traded my sleep for the ability to paint pictures with words.
I traded my sleep away,
For those little whispers,
Those whispers of poetry that I now hold.
These poems are little sparks,
That I pick in the dead of the night,
That give me permanance,
Give me passion, give me peace,
Give me poetry.
I ran from it but the thing
I loved came always back to me.
When I was young I used to see,
Sports being the call for me
But the Pen, I couldn’t survive it’s charms,
With it I lasted several storms, blowing away in only a few, and only then reaching out to you.
I traded everything away,
To leave a print on a page,
To make sure that my age is
What I transcend as I write for rememberance.
I write for my peace.
They are embers, to not be contained in rhyme schemes but to be let free and to let burn within this world.
I was a young boy looking for talent,
To feel the words I now carry.
And in the process, I traded it away,
My nights, my peace, my sanity, my sleep,
Just for these embers,
That burn in me.

Pain changes you.

Pain sucks.

It changes the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you think, the way you talk.

Pain Changes you.

If you’re lucky enough to survive, you get to talk about it and people admire you for fighting through it. If you’re not lucky, it changes you.

Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. It changes how you look like your eyes start to drop a little deeper into your sockets, or that’s just me.

It hurts sometimes to get out of bed in the mornings, and the bed is all you think about. It changes you mentally as you start to hurt, it teaches you not to trust people, not to let people in. Pain teaches Paranoia. It teaches self – preservation.

Spiritually, you don’t worship anymore. You start to question God, the concepts and the concept of her. Worship becomes false to you. Needless, too. You stop feeling after you experience pain.

You just feel hurt. And Angry. And sad. It breaks you. It is not for romanticism. It crushes your hearts and dreams. It kills you. Slowly.

Exist when wanted.

I only know how to exist when I’m wanted.
When I’m seen.
When I’m recognized.
I only know to exist when I exist within a group.
When eyes recognize me,
And greet me, with smiles and laughs,
And waves of hand.
I know only to exist when I am wanted,
When I am needed.
When I am accepted.
When I am take in by the ones who I want to be friends with,
Taken in by those who I long to be friends with.
I know to exist when people call me their friend,
Invite me to parties and to events, to birthdays and to weddings,
I know only to exist when I am needed,
When I feel needed, when I feel accepted.
When I am invited to hang outs and get togethers, when I am invited to sit with them in class and sit with them when class is over,
When I’m invited or accepted when I come to sit with them in the college cafeteria,
Or not flat out ignored, when I stroll on over to listen to their conversations.
It’s the eyes, Chico, they make me feel wanted.
Every day, the world me an offer I can’t refuse,Getting me to trade my self worth,
For the high of a few eyes who acknowledge me as their equal, as their companion, as their friend.
The high of attention. It feels like I sell my soul everyday, as I tell the devil to go ahead and make my day, while taking my soul.
I crave attention. I crave people. I crave a group,
I have craved the high of laughs out of the group ever since I tasted it first, the high of a smile is a different type, a different kind, a different breed.

When I don’t have attention.
When I don’t have those eyes,
When I don’t have those highs,
I spiral.
Into a downward trend,
Into insecurity,
Into madness
Into chaos.
And chaos is what brings me to my brink.
I set myself on fire everyday and be
What they want me to be e everytime I’m not accepted, when I am rejected, when I am Shunned.
I spiral out of control, wallowing in madness and insanity, cutting of parts of myself and adding fake ones just to fit into what the group is like, what they do, what they want me to be
I cut myself open and recreate myself,
Burn myself to ashes and rise anew from the embers like a Phoenix,
But they don’t know what a Phoenix is,
So I don’t know what a Phoenix is,
I’m just another guy with some sleazy,
Innuendo filled jokes,
And even though it goes against Who I am and who I want to be, the high of the eyes is just too much to turn down,
And I re create myself over and over again, loosing myself all the time but gaining the friendships I’ve always craved.
If I don’t get the hit of the eyes, I unravel.
I only know how to exist when I’m wanted.

When I’m seen.When I’m recognized.