The Weed

This is still a work in progess, so as edits are made I’ll be updating it. I thought I’d go ahead and share it though.

The Weed

I am a weed
But I want to be a tree

I look for the sun,
Longing for its warmth,
Yet I struggle to feel it on my skin
Too cold from the shadows created within.

Unquenchable thirst,
Desperate to taste something pure,
But there will never be enough
To help me grow, I'm sure.

So fragile and frail,
Easy to pick at or pluck.
Yet in this muddy bed
I feel completely stuck.

My arms can't stretch,
They're so little and weak.
My voice so tiny,
Why bother to speak?

I long to sway,
To be set free,
But I'm just a weed
Wishing to be a tree. 

©S.T. '18
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Depression

Depression

Emotional cancer that grows and grows,
Parasitic sadness that eats away at the soul.
A spiral spinning out of control,
Breaks in the madness fade to reveal more holes.

It's in the blood, bones, and brain.
In the heart this pain is contained,
Leaking its poisons slowly and surely.
There is no way to cure this fully.

What is happiness? What is Joy?
When the darkness invades the answers are destroyed.
Blurry vision hides all the solutions,
Contaminated body feels like nothing but pollutions.

©S.T. '16
Picture taken of me, by me

Wanting

Wanting

I want to be seen,
Like the Sun and Moon sees Earth.
To be viewed from all angles,
Exposing the good and bad in me equally,

Hiding nothing.

I want to be felt,
Like the sand feels the ocean when rushed upon.
To have every part of me swept up
And caressed as a complete whole.

Carried away, heart and soul.

I want to be tasted,
Consumed like prey for lions.
To have everything I am stick to your tongue,
So there can absolutely be no doubt

I cannot be lived without.

I want to be heard,
Like screeching winds kicking up tornadoes,
Thunder promising only despair.
To have my screams be heard by all ears,
So it can finally be clear

I am actually here.

©S.T. Aug. 7, 14

Untitled- Aug. 2016

I may go back and give this poem an official name later, but until then…

Untitled – Aug. 2016

Laying in this dark room corner,
I’m aware of my mental disorder
Of always feeling completely
Alone.

It is a trick, I know of this,
Yet inside my brain there is a tick
Gnawing away at
Reasonability.

So down I spiral deeper in
This depressing hole inside my soul
While I pretend I am not
Shrinking.

Do they see? Those around me,
Can they focus their vision rightly,
In time to save me from this
Enemy?

Laying in this dark room corner,
I am eaten by mental disorder.
Parasites, they nibble on my
Brain.

It is a trick, I know of this,
But still I fail to silence the tick
Gnawing away at
Sensibility.

So here I go, still on the fall
While I pretend that life’s a ball.
Maybe I’ll be ok
After all.

©S.T. Aug. 14, 16

The Heap

I chose this poem for my first post under Lost In Words because I still feel the emotion that went into it. I remember writing it, and the struggle I felt with trying to get out all these things that were buried in me.

The Heap

The rocks in my stomach 
Threaten to come up somehow,
And I know I can't stop the pain.

The pressure builds in my core,
The weight of it crushing my pit,
And I don't know if I can handle all of it.

The rocks, I feel, tare up my throat
The jagged edges making me choke,
And I know I will never speak again.

There's blood rushing out of the tares,
The liquid blocking my air.
I know I won't survive...

This devastation -
This absolute loss of salvation.
I can only see the darkness,
For I am completely blinded by this.

The rocks fall out of my mouth and onto the floor,
There seems to be nothing but more
And I crumble in the pile of my mess.

There is nothing left of me.
Turned inside out by what was buried in me, 
I'm now just a part of the heap.

©S.T. Jun. 26, 13