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depressive poems.

Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
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 :)

Comments

  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    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 MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    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 MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    thanks :)
  • RichTBiscuitRichTBiscuit ********* Posts: 14 Confirmed not a robot
    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 MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    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 MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    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.
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