What does it feel like?

What does it feel like?
To want more for yourself?
A happier existence
a job to be proud of
a family to come home to
friends to support you
a lover to love you

what does it feel like?
to care about something even a little
that isn't just you?
Saving the always endangered trees
buying diapers for your helpless baby
directing a lost stranger
visiting a crabby widowed grandmother

What does it feel like?
To be so happy you could cry
to feel so angry you break jaws
to feel your heart ache when you're sad
to feel so lonely you could die
to feel pain when you bleed

What does it feel like?
To feel apart of the world?
To know your existence matters
if not to those close your heart
it matters some
to your uptight boss
your money-grubbing landlord
your devoted cat

What does it feel like?
To have memories and dreams
to carry with you always
however slight
and recall at will
an always curious childhood
a first amazing love
an unexpected marital beating
or simply waking up this morning...

What does it feel like?
I'm asking
in hopes for any answer
any answer
be it simple
critical
pessimistic
loaded
be it a squeak

What does it feel like?
to belong
to be human

What does it feel like?

oh please...

What does ANYTHING feel like?...

hmmm , thts fairly good :) and welcome to the forum ! ! ! * smiles insanely * , i think u will fit in good here :) , keep up the work and u will soon improve to ur full potential meh'dear :P , u are always welcome to check out my forum :) .

x-lil-dark-angel-bitch-x
a.k.a christina or~
†-¦-`·.¸¸.·´´¯`··.¸¸.·ChRiSsIe·.¸¸.·´´¯`··._.·´-¦-†

u seem like having so much inside that u need to write about... i think u shud use stronger 'n deeper words...
keep writin'
welcome to dark whispers :)

this was a really good poem. im glad i looked at it. i think u should definitly keep writing.

your poem is fantastic well done it is written realy well ......a pleasure to read it ...your talented .

julian

Thanks to all who replied!! i'm glad my poem received well enough and i wish i had the time to reply back AND say thanks and even read other threads :down: unfortunately, not having a computer of my own gives me very limited access (especially time :26: ) *gah!*
i do have another poem to post (altho i'm really surprised at how different it is from my usual stuff) *shrugs* when u gotta write, u gotta write, am i right? :P

Finish

I'm staring at a pint of wood, that
could one day, maybe, be a stone
It has become so smooth, you see
Partially
Not quite yet

Just remembering, how
I've been to the shore
Danced atop serrulate petals
With she
With he
With you

Would you polish my heels?
Think me sweet
Thnk me winsome
Think me demanding
Smile as indulgently as pleases you

I've run smooth with
Calluses
I've run wise with
My little toll paid
For my little stroll laid
Around the block.

Would you, I say
Smiling as lenient as pleases me
End me of my jaunt?
Or, bring me to my refulgent finish
And sent me single again?
Another block...

Oy, watch the boots, love. What ya writin' there?
Good poetry; looking forward. Peace.

I like you work. Welcome I love it here I am sure you will too.
Rose

To be...

She didn’t know what to do.

She knew of things to do, but none of them interested her. At this point, nothing was interesting.

She wished she could just die right now. She wished her heart would stop. She wished nobody would mourn her passing and that her body would burst into flame and nothing would be left of her. No ashes or bone, nor memories for others to cry over.

She kept staring at the white, blank wall. Memories were coming at her, but she wasn’t quite aware of them. They seemed to be reeling at the corner of her eye. The wall was her main focus, the wall was all that expressed her right then.

She wanted to cry or scream, she wanted to laugh or smile, she wanted to roar in anger or beat the wall and dent it. She wanted the wall to do something. She wanted it to crack, she wanted it to melt, she wanted it to call her name. She wanted it to tell her she would go somewhere, that life goes on, that she was young and that things would get better. She wanted it to turn a different color.

Most of all, she wanted to believe all of those things she wanted the wall to tell her.

Instead, it was just the same as it always was. Blank.

Her eyes just stared at it endlessly, never growing tired, never seeing anything. Her mind was consumed with little else. She felt as she had always felt. Blank.

A door opened and she heard her mother’s voice.

“Well, don’t you look just miserable. Why don’t you go outside, get some fresh air. A girl at your age shouldn’t be cooped up in her room all day.”

The door closed. The clink of a mickey taken away.

Automatically, she opened the curtains to her window and the room was blasted with bright sunshine. She looked out the window for a bit, watching cars drive by, seeing joggers pass in huffs, little kids on bikes and dogs sniffing at trees.

She wanted to go for a walk, she wanted to absorb the sun’s life and have it fill her own. She wanted to see all sorts of sights and hear all sorts of noises. She wanted to smell things like grass and smoke. She wanted to greet strangers and buy something, whatever it was, she hoped it would make her happy.

Instead, she turned away from the window and continued to stare at the wall.

Who was she kidding?

Her mind was the wall. Blank. Much as she’d like to tell herself all of those things would cheer her up, all of those things would inflame a zest for life into her being, none of it really would. At the end of it all, she would have to come back home, sleep alone in her bed and the last image before she closed her eyes to slumber would be the wall.

She could always just cover it up with posters or wallpaper or paint it a different color. She could always mutilate it with holes or peel away the paint. She could always do something else but stare at it. She could make friends and hang out with them. She could join a club or take lessons. She could volunteer her time or get a job as a paper courier.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it. It felt better just to stare at it. To pretend her life didn’t exist and that she was the wall. It was so much easier than to feel. So much easier than to live. So much easier than to think.

She felt a closeness with the wall. Whatever she did outside of her room, she did with a dead heart. Her mother often commented on the flatness of her voice and her grandmother called her face plain. Her dad called her ‘expressionless,’ and her grandfather just ignored her.

Everyone wanted her to be more lively. They wanted to see her be something she didn’t understand, something she’d never been. Her parents talked about getting help for her. She didn’t know what kind of help she needed.

What about what she wanted?

She wanted to die. She wanted to be as lifeless and blank as the wall. She wanted to be gone. She didn’t feel right being here, or anywhere. She didn’t feel comfortable in clothes, in her own skin. She didn’t feel comfortable living.

Is that so much to ask?

Her mom told her once she was a planned pregnancy. They really wanted her. She wasn’t an accident.

For some reason that stuck in her mind but try as she might, she couldn’t put two and two together.

There was just the blank.

Is it so much to ask not to have been born yet?

i notice that, much like myself, my writing doesn't follow a common theme
can't say i don't feel proud...