Green ones for my head,
Blue before I go to bed,
The white one helps me see,
Yellow, keeps me buzzin like a bee.
The black one, like my soul
Has a stench so foul.
All these pills inside,
They’ve got me bleary eyed.
How much can they really do?
But make you a little less you.
It’s not about what you say,
Or the things you do
Every second you breathe
I am triggered by you.
It’s either loving or hating
There’s no in between
I can’t live with you, or without you
How can you be so nice, yet mean?
You’ve got my heart jumping ropes
You toy with my hopes
Then you sweep me off my feet
Making this circle repeat.
Heroes speak of battle scars,
Knives and bullets that seared their skin,
The blood they spilled,
And the lives they lost.
Little do they know about
The wounds that words can cause.
They don’t know of all the haters
The cowards behind masks,
And the sordid whispers they wield.
Lately, the battlegrounds have shifted
And wars are camouflaged in civilisation.
I am pushed and pulled
Left to suffocate in silence,
A voiceless fool.
I am taut and teased
Stripped of my pride,
A spineless tool.
Made to feel so silly,
By a heartless bully.
You bring me down like gravity.
Not knowing what to say,
Not knowing what to write.
It has never been the issue.
Having too much to pour out,
That endless train of musing,
It goes on a journey
From too much truth to heartache.
Putting pen to paper is like,
A vacuum to the heart.
In the end there’s a dirty bag of poetry,
And a soul drained of all emotions.
I write away my sorrow
It is the only way I know.
Spilling ink thicker than blood.
Leaving behind words in place of scars.
They said, Be the change and the world will follow.
I pretend to be reborn.
I tell myself that I am the change.
And the world did follow,
On Instagram to mock at my expense.
Some people see a few familiar faces and call it home.
What if I need to look at hearts and not faces?
When I look through those chunks of rock
Will I still be able to tell them apart?
This mind of mine colourfully black and white,
Scatters them into piles of two
They all judge me for my depth
Some look at my pockets and some my poetry.
At times, reality isn’t real enough,
Everything’s better with a tinge of drama.
Struggling to conform
To ordinary norms.
Some lies we tell the world,
Some to ourselves.