An odd sort of Poetry

Bad Habits

I’m not ignorant.

I know exactly what I’m doing.

He’s a bad habit.

I know that.

For a minute though, he makes me feel okay.

The cigarettes are a bad habit.

I know that.

For a minute though, they make me feel okay.

The alcohol is  a bad habit.

I know that.

For a minute though, it makes me feel okay.

The speeding is a bad habit.

I know that.

For a minute though, it makes me feel okay.

The cutting is a bad habit.

I know that.

For a minute though, it makes me feel okay.

Starving myself is a bad habit.

I know that.

For a minute though, it makes me feel okay.

I’m not ignorant.

I know what I’m doing.

They make me feel okay.

For a minute though, I wish that they didn’t.

An odd sort of Poetry

Waste of Time

You’re too strong for your only weakness to be me.

You’re too kind for me to occupy your mind.

You’re too lovely to love me.

You’re too special to waste your time thinking about me.

 

I’m too cold to warm you if you freeze.

I’m too broken to stand steadily in your breeze.

I’m too far gone for you to sit and long.

 

I’m not the girl to complete you.

All I could ever do is deplete you.

I’m only a waste of time,

so please don’t stand in line.

 

An odd sort of Poetry

so numb

I can’t tell sometimes,

I know I’m alive,

But barely living.

They always take,

But never feel like giving.

so numb.

 

Some people aren’t (numb).

They don’t know.

I hope they never do.

If they do,I hope they never let go.

I just can’t remember,

But I hope that I was like that once.

Through the years, all my feeling I’ve surrendered.

so numb.

 

He dies, she dies, I’m fine.

Lies.

He died, she died. Believe me,

I tried.

He cried, she cried, I couldn’t.

I tried.

so numb.

so deep, but not deep enough.

I feel it, and I always look to remember,

I felt something.

so numb.

I can feel the blade through my skin.

I never thought I’d understand

For a minute I feel,

but I never win.

With time the scars fade,

And I need to feel again.

so numb.

maybe one day I’ll cut deep enough,

so I won’t need to feel again.

 

 

An odd sort of Poetry

Rewind and Resume

I knew it wouldn’t be good.

I knew it wouldn’t be nice.

I expected the heartless stares,

and comments laced with ice.

 

You know I’m doing well,

as well as I can do.

So why do you talk so mean,

even when I’m not talking to you?

 

They’ll never understand,

however they’ll surely assume.

I’m not the same as before.

I can’t rewind and hit resume.

 

Please don’t shower me with glances.

Please don’t touch my skin.

Please don’t comment on my looks;

That’s no way to begin.