PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I always thought that every writer could change someone?s life,

I thought a poem could move someone, could give someone light,

But these words of mine I throw into these so called poetic lines,

Don't mean a thing, not even to me, they're just worthless dying rhymes.



It wouldn't matter either, my poem or a spoken word,

You'd still look at me the same, and tell me "that's absurd,"

I thought you were my best friend? I guess you haven't heard,

I'm falling again, I'm crying again, and you just left me mixed and stirred.



Isn't it awkward when you know I'm mad at you?

But you don't do anything, you let it all pass through,

I know you say you don't know what you can do,

Please just talk to me, don't leave me in the blue.



The things you've seen and the places you've been,

Don't come close to the pieces I have to mend,

You don't know what it's like to have no friends,

To have no one there to comfort you, unless they just pretend.



Now you don't stay up all night, and cry awake in bed,

You have new friends and relationships, but from me you have fled,

I'm not surprised, who'd want to be near someone so dead?

I just thought it meant something to you, all the poems of mine you read.



Do you remember my red folder, all the old poems I laid to rest?

Remember what I wrote about, that stabbing feeling in my chest?

It's kind of funny how that feeling has yet to fade away,

Three years later, and not one damn thing has changed.



You said it would be better, you said life wouldn't be so hard,

You told me I deserved it, you said that I have come so far,

Yet I feel like I'll end up as another drunken bum at the bar,

I'll still be depressed, and you will have become the next up and coming star.



My direction has changed, but it still isn't right,

I still think of my pain, and cry all through the night,

I can?t really remember the last time we had a good fight,

Just know that I'd still die for you, I want you to keep your glowing light.



I know you?ve said you've felt bad for me,

But don't worry, it'll fade, it's just plain sympathy,

Not everyone has luck, or a way out that they can see,

Things aren't the same, you know you've changed, and now I want to leave.



I always thought that a writer could change someone's life, I can't even change my own.

I thought a poem could move someone, but there's no light that I've been shown.

These words of mine I throw into such poetic lines, are still not read, and are still so alone.

They don't mean a thing, not even to me, they just sing their same old moan.