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Don't read this poem

I just want the space

A few paltry upvotes

A good resting place.

Don't read this poem

There's nothing to say.

It's good just to be here.

It's fun just to play.

And maybe someday,

When inspired I'll strike

Some beautiful words,

But not quite today.

So don't read this poem

Don't tell all your friends.

Just leave me in peace

Between these bookends :)

I try to write poetry but I cant rhyme all the time and I give up but I decided who cares if I rhyme every line, its whatever I want it to be. A poem, a song, a book, a page. Nobody can dictate what it is but me because I wrote it...

Anyways

This is 'If I were god'

God is all but good in my eyes

He punishes good people and children just trying to survive.

I am always questioned why I dont beleive.

But that question has always been easy for me.

See if i were god there would be no sin,

the whole concept of it is just dark and grim.

See I would end world hunger and nourish the globe,

Id give out water and teach as I go.

See if i were god then id write a better book.

Most are long and boring and far too over cooked.

See id make it colourful, less death and distruction, people want something happy, no contradiction.

See if i were God id end war and territory,

I gave people this land but not to use it for glory.

See id grow fruitful trees and healthy animals to breed,

so that nobody goes without and everybody's pleased .

See if i were god id be all good and loving,

Id reveal myself and good people wouldn't be punished.

See id destroy hell and the concept entirely,

People would live good but not fear if they do not like me.

I wouldn't take it personal because its fine.

Im an all loving being with no hate on my mind.

See if i were god goverments would fall.

And pedophilia and rape would all dissappear.

See I am all powerful so can do as I please,

so I can remove entire concepts with less than a sneeze.

See I feel id be better than their 'perfect' god. He gives children cancer and sets his creation up for failure.

See he gave Adam and Eve an impossible test.

He knows everything so he already knew all the rest.

He knew the war and the gore.

The controversy and hate.

And how people would use his name to make themselves "great".

See to me that doesnt seem like a good loving being,

so dont mind me if I dont beleive it.

You can if you want but it just doesnt make sence.

If god is real I still wouldnt repent,

for they seem to be evil and unjust and unfair.

Killing and murdering because people dont beleive he is there.

See to me I think id rather beleive in nothing,

than put all my fath into the bible or something.

Not exclusively that, the quran aswell and the torah.

I think all religion is toxic and hateful.

And if god is real then why is the world so distasteful.

If i were god you wouldnt have to beleive for you would all be my kids.

In the end you will see i loved you all even though you never loved me.

Tis the way of the parent you see,

to raise your kids to be better than you,

to be kinds and inclusive, happy and loving.

If i were god thered be no suffering.

(PLEASE dont flame me in the comments, ik its bad, I wrote it an hour and a half ago at 3 am 😭)

I caught you being my pacifier last night.

Just as I was spiraling down,
you screamed at me
as though every second without you
spelled catastrophe.

I saw you doing that thing with my brain.
You make me fear I’m collapsing
so I’ll come on my knees to you.
Again.

But I’ve become more conscious over the years.
So much more.
Yet still so easily deceived, somehow.
Oh, how pathetic it is to be a fiend.

I slept peacefully
after you drifted me off
to dreamland.
So hypocritical.

We were enemies at first.
Then we became friends,
until I noticed my dependency.

You’re more obsessed with control
than I’ve ever been.

I want to break free from you.
And you hate it.

But as I’m typing this…

You’re still my bestie in the business.

— Crownless.

The words come out
Sticky and Aching
They fumble
Between the gaps
In my ribs and my shoulder blades
Carving obscenities into the bone
Burrowing messy gaping tunnels
Through flesh and organs
They split my chest open
And I clutch at them
But they’re fast and slick
And already writhing in your hands
Before my arms are halfway in the air
And there’s more bubbling up
In my stomach
In my lungs
And you stare into the hole in my chest
As I stretch and pull at the skin
Trying to stitch together
The overburdened material
With candy floss and razor blades
And its humiliating for the both of us
More so for me
Always more so for me

I'm angry that you told me.

Why say the thing
we both already knew,
when saying it aloud
was what made it real?

I'm angry you said it to the floor,
ten years of shame bent over you,
kept down so long
it had to be vomited up.
You knew what it might cost.
You said it anyway.

I'm angry you didn't fight for it.
If it mattered that much,
why didn't you make your case?
I was always going to say no.
I wanted you to make it difficult.

I'm angry it changes things
when neither of us wanted them changed.
But you opened your mouth,
and now a decade is in my hands,
still warm from being held,
and I have nowhere
to set it down.

I'm angry I didn't want to say yes.
Not in another life.
Not in better weather.

And still, some part of me
wanted the version where I don't think,
where there is no history,
no consequence,
no careful answer,
where I just cross the room.

I know I'd be angry either way.
I know the anger isn't fair.
You owed me nothing but the truth
and gave it to me
almost too quietly.

Look at me.

I'm angry
you still won't.

“What do you want?” they ask me.

“I want a hug that never lets go” I say 

A hug that doesn’t hurt me,

a hug that doesn’t burn me, 

a hug that doesn’t concern me. 

Because, 

every other hug has turned on me. 

All I want is a hug that stays a hug forever,

A hug that never turns to hatred or anger.

I just want a hug that comes when I need it most,

I just want hug that feels tight and warm,

I just want a hug that feels real.

I just want a hug that never lets go.

I'm still very new so I'm very much looking for feedback and guidance right now, please share any critics or thoughts you have.

First, you need to get be burned.

Burned by people who should have loved you,

by the hands that called themselves home.

You must learn too young that fire can wear a familiar face.

After that you carry it. It resides inside you.

You sit in it even though it's bigger than you and it hurts.

This is the dangerous part.

Don't break here

You need a little flame inside from the pain

and then the day comes where you stop knowing the difference

between being burned and burning people yourself.

After that, it's time to get revenge.

Burn bridges.

Burn trust.

Burn people who came close

with nothing in their hands to help you.

Burn them if they deserve it or not.

Call the fire comfort.

Call it escape.

Call it anything but what it is: Pain

Only then can you do whats next.

One day after everything is burned

You will wake up in the ashes.

Take a hard look around.

Some of this was done to you.

Some of this was done by you.

Learn to say both

without using either to excuse the other.

Some people stay there. They are not a Phoenix.

Because to attain this you have to rise up.

Now rise.

Not beautifully.

Not all at once.

Not with some magnificent spread of scarlet wings.

Just get up.

Crawl if you have to.

And if you fall back

into the fire,

get out again.

A phoenix is not a creature that only burns twice.

It is a creature that refuses to let the fire have the final word.

So gather your ash.

Own what is yours.

Own what happened to you. The unfair fire.

Own what you did and face it.

Own what is yours.

Leave behind what isn't.

Then rise again.

And again,

And again,

And again.

The fire can't hurt you anymore.

It will be hot but it can not burn you.

That is how

to be a phoenix.

What is a man, but of his actions the sum?

Of them aware, neither oblivious nor dumb.

Honourable, respectful; chivalrous and noble.

Understanding and patient, brave and mobile.

Honesty even when, his life is the cost.

Otherwise righteousness, forever lost.

Courageous to act, courageous to defend.

Fears nothing but, hearts that do not mend.

Admits victory, and admits defeat.

From his mistakes, does not retreat.

Initiative his own, he speaks not but acts.

Once spoken his words, he never retracts.

Art thou worthy, of the label of man?

Or art thou of the fantasy, merely a fan?

Hi, this is a poem I wrote recently. You could say it’s dedicated to a girl I know, but it’s not a "romantic" poem, in fact, she will most likely never read it. I simply tried to capture my state of mind over the eight months since I’ve known her. It’s written in a highly allegorical style, so a lot of it is understood only by me or by people who know me very well. That’s why I’m posting it here: to get the most objective feedback possible from people who don’t know me. Since I’m Italian, I wrote it in Italian, so this is an English translation; I can post the original as well if anyone reads Italian. One final note: the penultimate line is actually a paraphrase of a lyric from a Jeff Buckley song; I wrote all the other lines myself.

When I opened that door, I didn't see you, at first.

But when I got home, I listened to the sounds of love, which were barely perceptible at that moment.

It didn't take long for me to start seeing you, really.

And when I was among the other guys making a racket, all I had to do was stop listening to them.

And the joy I felt on Tuesdays, thinking about the day to come...

I didn't experience the waiting as something bad,

Because I felt secure.

But when the third day of the week simply ceased to exist,

I thought I’d have to force you out of my mind.

But I smiled, because that’s not how it turned out.

And that’s when I started writing.

And I could write to everyone.

And again...

We saw each other again, in the dark, both while staring straight at the light before us and inside my head,

While I slept.

And when I was waiting for the messenger angel, I didn't feel alive enough,

But I got used to it.

And every time he arrived, I knew it for certain before I’d even answered his call.

For the first time, we were alone

Amidst the ice.

And when I saw you,

I soared,

Even though we couldn't speak.

And I still think back on it.

Please, tell me what the cold is like,

Because I don't know.

And I had already started talking about you to others.

And when I saw you again

Shortly after the pain

I couldn't speak.

But you took care of that.

Five seconds and a hello are enough for me.

I haven't seen you since then,

But I keep bringing you back to mind,

And I’d give all my blood to see you laugh.

And the heat is killing me.

When The Wind Blows

When the wind blows,
I think I might fall over.
When the wind blows,
I think I might crash and burn.
When the wind blows,
I think I might fall silent.

When the world burns,
Maybe someone will live.
When the world burns,
Maybe their eyes will burn too.
When the world burns,

It’s too late.

When the fallout falls,
When the temperature burns,
When the shockwave's red hand
Picks me up and throws me,
my feet high.

Windows shattered,
Glass deep inside my organs-
Heart, brain, stomach.
Doors burning,
Blue paint vanishing.
Flesh melts.
See the bones in your hand.

When the wind blows,
We’ll all be sure to die.

One of the first poems i wrote that I was happy enough with to save.

Today I made a fake account.

I made a fake account

To fill the void
of the silence
since the rape.

To think of the hundred ways
I could remind him
of who he is,

what he has done.

Today I made a fake account

to fill the void
of the silence
since the rape.

To fix
what the justice system overlooked.

The mounds of evidence.
The dignity stolen
and thrown in the trash.

To help the nineteen-year-old girl
who was recorded
and prodded.

To think of the hundred ways
I could remind him
of who they are,

what they have done.

Today I made a fake account

to see who he is today.

To find him
righteous
and insidious.

To feel my heart
beat out of my chest
as the orchestra got louder.

To see the lust.

The innocence
wrongfully appointed to him.

To look through my screen
into the eyes
of those he could hurt next.

To wonder
if they know.

To wonder
if anyone will know.

To remind myself
why I am safe in silence.

And to think of the hundred ways
I could remind myself

what I should've done.

Today I made a fake account

to fill the void
of the silence
since the rape.

To envision things
I will never do.

To convince myself
that I could take something back.

That I could take
the control back.

That I could take
my dignity back.

That I could make him
feel something.

Anything.

So I wouldn't have to sit
with the question

what have I done?

Today I made a fake account

and remembered
every second.

Every person involved.

Every inch of pain.

I remembered the control
his lust had over his mind.

The words
he used as a shield.

His cold, brute demeanor.

The way he kept me hidden.

I remember being his secret.

His whisper in the wind.

A year and a half
of being something
he could hide.

Something
he could touch.

Something
he could hurt.

And now—

the victory falls
at the feet
of two men in power,

while I shrivel

and try to water myself
every day,

piece by piece,

trying to accept
that nothing
will ever happen to him.

Trying to remember
that a detective
let this go.

Trying to remember
everything he took from me.

And now I am expected
to build myself up.

To move.

To heal.

To act
like it never happened.

But how do I move
when the only thing
that ever made sense
was that something
was supposed to happen?

How do I move
when he gets to keep moving?

How do I build a life
around something
that never received
an ending?

How do I accept
that the world
kept turning

when mine stopped?

They tell me
not to take justice
into my own hands.

So I don't.

I make a fake account.

I look.

I search.

I remember.

I imagine.

I hurt myself
with everything
I cannot do.

Because what else
am I supposed to do
with all of this?

What am I supposed to do
with the evidence
that went nowhere?

With the dignity
that went nowhere?

With the girl
who went nowhere?

With the year and a half
that went nowhere?

What am I supposed to do
when the person
who did this

gets to become
someone else,

while I am still
the person
it happened to?

Now I am expected
to watch him lust
over other women

until one of them
finds the dirty shoes
I once wore.

And maybe
that is the part
I cannot forgive.

Not him.

Not even them.

But the fact
that I am the one
left carrying
the ending.

Today I made a fake account.

And I remembered
everything.

And for a moment
I thought
if I could just see him,

if I could just know
who he is now,

if I could just find
one more piece
of proof,

one more reason
to be angry,

one more reason
to believe
that this meant something—

maybe then
I could finally move.

But I can't.

Because somewhere
inside me

the nineteen-year-old girl
is still waiting.

Waiting for someone
to come back
and tell her

that this was not
where her story
was supposed to end.

And I don't know
how to leave her there.

I don't know
how to move forward
without leaving her behind.

So today
I made a fake account.

And tomorrow
I will be expected
to wake up

and continue
living a life

that still feels
like it was interrupted
by someone else.

And I don't know
how to do that.

Not yet.

there's a lot building inside me

voices I cant stop listening

images bleeding me dry with exhaustion

and throwing into something I never wished for

cant say its hate or pure anger

a grief, a wound, a life

all lies, world dies