depressive poems.

Former Member

hi all,

as you may have noticed by now, i write a lot of poetry to let everything out.
I dont ever think about it, in some ways i guess, rather than put sharp object to skin, i put pen to paper, and just let the depression take over.

thing is, my mum found a piece i wrote in school when i was feeling incredibly low the other day (i think it dropped out of my bag. silly me)
Amazingly she stayed calm about it, and after getting over the shock and me reassuring her i no longer wanted to kill myself, she said it was some amazing poetry, really well written etc which suprised me really.
whenever i read over stuff that ive written i often think to myself "God im shit at this"

theres some of my stuff in this forum, and i can probably type some more up in this post, first coming the one my mum found.

I just want opinions really, as my mum telling me this came as a bit of a shock!


thanks for reading through that load of waffle

Former Member

Poem found by my Mum

I don't want to be
can't be
or do it anymore
strong, be strong
their words circle
in my mind
but I can't
im not
but still im here
and hold on
because its just as hard
to give up

the thoughts run wild
inside my mind
overdose, overdose
no it won't work
maybe I could starve
but no, thats too hard
oh come on
just give me a way
to get out of this mess
now, today!

Drown!
run a bath
drown yourself
all over
all gone
all ok.

I look at the clock
and see how long
until I get home
and can run that bath
once again ive given up
given in
to the voice
it has control again

a hand on my shoulder
that sense of hope
of caring
seeps in again
what am I doing?
ignoring my work
and planning my death
I don't matter
but they do
they've given so much
and helped me
supported me so far
I can't give up on them.

the voice is screaming
and losing control
as I start to feel
a tiny bit of hope
a little seed of strength
the words of the poems
sink in some more
as he wills me to be angry
stamp and stab and screw up
the paper that
the words sit upon.

everyones staring
as I pull myself together
they stare and stare
as I constantly
check over my shoulder

25 minutes
do I go home
or run away
keep up the strength
or give up
on myself
and them all.
I want to die
but can't give up
on them who care.
Torn two ways
and tormented
by him, the voice.

20 minutes.
I don't know
what to feel
let alone, what to do
so confused
and sick
I want to cry
but no tears come
as I shake in fear
and mess my hair

i start clock watching
no longer looking
up then away
as confusion and anger
eat away at me
from inside

"Such a happy and balanced girl"
I laugh at their comments
through their confusion
as still I scream
A* in drama, please!

Former Member

links to previously posted poems.

http://vbulletin.thesite.org/showthread.php?t=146025

http://vbulletin.thesite.org/showthread.php?t=146068

http://vbulletin.thesite.org/showthread.php?t=145777

http://vbulletin.thesite.org/showthread.php?t=145756

Former Member

I think you write beautifully too- I especially like the way you have written the poem your mum found. And I'm not just saying that! It has something about it that just works. I like.

Former Member

thanks

RichTBiscuit

Here are a couple of poems I came across in the last week. They are not my own. I wish I was this good!

On Quitting
by Edgar Albert Guest

How much grit do you think you've got?
Can you quit a thing that you like a lot?
You may talk of pluck; it's an easy word,
And where'er you go it is often heard;
But can you tell to a jot or guess
Just how much courage you now possess?
You may stand to trouble and keep your grin,
But have you tackled self-discipline?
Have you ever issued commands to you
To quit the things that you like to do,
And then, when tempted and sorely swayed,
Those rigid orders have you obeyed?

Don't boast of your grit till you've tried it out,
Nor prate to men of your courage stout,
For it's easy enough to retain a grin
In the face of a fight there's a chance to win,
But the sort of grit that is good to own
Is the stuff you need when you're all alone.
How much grit do you think you've got?
Can you turn from joys that you like a lot?
Have you ever tested yourself to know
How far with yourself your will can go?
If you want to know if you have grit,
Just pick out a joy that you like, and quit.

It's bully sport and it's open fight;
It will keep you busy both day and night;
For the toughest kind of a game you'll find
Is to make your body obey your mind.
And you never will know what is meant by grit
Unless there's something you've tried to quit.


And also

Advice from La Llorona
by Deborah A. Miranda

—a found poem

Each grief has its unique side.
Choose the one that appeals to you.
Go gently.
Your body needs energy to repair the amputation.
Humor phantom pain.

Your brain cells are soaked with salt;
connections fail unexpectedly and often.
Ask for help.
Accept help.

Read your grief like the daily newspaper:
headlines may have information you need.
Scream. Drop-kick the garbage can across the street.

Don’t feel guilty if you have a good time.
Don’t act as if you haven’t been hit by a Mack Truck.
Do things a little differently
but don’t make a lot of changes.
Revel in contradiction.

Talk to the person who died.
Give her a piece of your mind.

Try to touch someone at least once a day.
Approach grief with determination.
Pretend the finish line doesn’t keep receding.
Lean into the pain.
You can’t outrun it.

--
Both quite sad poems but inspiring in their own ways. I like the theme of determination. :thumb: Anyone got any others to share?

Former Member

I like those too

one that i find quite inspiring, and have interpretated in afew different ways in different moods, is

Love After Love by Derek Walcott.

The time will come
When, with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other's welcome.

And say sit here. Eat.
You will love again the tsranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you

All your life, whom you ignored
For another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love-letters from the bookshelf

The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your own images from the mirror,
Sit. Feast on your life.

Former Member

This is one of my favourites, written by Bettie B Young. Hasn't really given me the courage to talk to anyone about me really but it's so beautifully written and true.

I keep my paint brush with me
wherever I may go,
in case I need to cover up,
So the real me doesn't show.

I'm so afraid to show you me,
afraid of what you'll do,
that you may laugh or say mean things,
I'm afraid I might lose you.
I'd like to remove all my paint coats
to show you the real, true me,
But I want you to try and understand,
I need you to accept what you see.

So if you'll be patient and close your eyes,
I'll strip off all my coats real slow.
Please understand how much it hurts
to let the real me show.

Now my coats are all stripped off,
I feel naked, bare and cold.
And if you still love me with all that you see,

you are my friend, pure as gold.

I need to save my paint brush, though,
and hold it in my hand.
I want to keep it handy
in case somebody doesn't understand.

So please protect me, my dear friend
and thanks for loving me true.
But please let me keep my paint brush with me

Until I love me, too.