PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I love all my drawing,

I used to have the entire wall

of my room

covered in my drawings.

My drawings sow me,

for who I am,

for how I feel,

and for what has been done to me.

In my drawings,

and in my writings,

I hide.

I hide my pain.

I hide my sorrow.

I hide who I am.

I hide the fact that I have never been loved.

I hide things that I truly want to say,

but am too afraid of what people might think of me.

I sing because it is the only way to show my true feelings,

without having anyone judge me.

But someone always finds a way.

In my opinion,

words hurt worse than anything in the world.

Words cut deeper than a dagger,

than a sword,

than anything I know.

Words that are hurtful,

lower your self-esteem,

lower my,

self-esteem,

make you become an emotional wreck,

make me become an emotional wreck.

It hurts when strong,

anger-filled,

cold,

dark words are pointed towards me.

Even if they are not pointed towards me.

Even if someone is yelling at someone else,

When my family feels pain:

I feel pain.

When my friends feel pain:

I feel pain.

When people,

I do not even know,

feel pain:

I feel pain.

Even when I “hate”,

“despise”,

and “cannot even stand”,

feel pain:

I feel pain.

And I cannot stand but only so much pain.

I wound rather,

once again,

feel physical pain,

than emotional pain(the pain within).

At least then,

I could anticipate when the pain would be over,

but with emotional pain…

you never can.

But sometimes…

I wonder if someone can feel my pain.

And I am scared to say the pain within,

is becoming stronger than the pain without.

And it grows stronger,

day,

after day,

after day,

whenever people pick on me,

talk about me,

both in front of me,

and behind my back.

Whenever the loneliness becomes unbearable,

to where I almost become insane.

My paintings.

My drawings.

My sayings.

They show my happiness,

(which is very little of),

and sadness,

anger,

pain,

deceit,

distrust,

and loneliness,

(which are a lot of).

From which I heard,

that it takes five good thoughts,

to rid one bad thought.

Five wonderful days,

to rid one horrible day.

Five extraordinary years,

to rid off one horrible,

excruciatingly,

painful,

year.

Which means,

that sixty-fives to seventy marvelous years,

would have to rid off thirteen to fourteen miserable,

tear filled,

heart aching years of my life.

(Which I doubt will ever happen).

My paintings.

My drawings.

My sayings.

Equals,

mine,

including everyone else’s,

pain.