Poetry, Sweet Poetry.
>>2003-01-18<< >>4:52 p.m.<<

In case you haven't alredy noticed, I like updating this journal. I like making my thoughts availible to all. I like being able to talk to everyone and no one at all. I like spilling out everything to someone and everyone and no one who gives a f***. I like being alone and surrounded.

I know that practically none of that made sense unless you are a chronically lonely person. Unless you relate to the distorted feelings of poetry more than the spelled out story emotions.

I FEEL

Strange

I'm screaming all alone in this silent crowd.

Scared

Cowering, pushing away from the awful sound of silence.

Strong

I'm standing by myself in this lonely hell.

Brave

I'll make it through this pain, through this terrible decline.

A poem. I like writing poetry. I relate to it so much better than anything else in this tiny life. I've never understood how people can survive without writing down what they feel. Whatever sick, twisted, unhappy emotion they feel moved to write about. I can never write unless I feel something. And then I can only write about what I feel. It's strange. So strange.

I think I'll write a poem next time I feelsuicidal, just so I can remember exactly how it feels to want to hurt.

..::Now the Moon::..---..::Has clouded Over::..

© 2003-2008 by Shy-n-Quiet- Design by ME!