Writing Depression Poems

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Details | Rhyme |
Ana
She writes her songs and her poems,
not one person know 'em.
She listens to the sound of her music,
she's stuck to it like a tick.

If someone took the time to listen,
her true colors would glisten.
She's put on a mask,
and hid everything when someone asked.

She was the type of girl who would always laugh,
making you wish it would last.
She was the type of girl who would smile the day away,
too bad it is no longer that way.

She is now the girl who is depressed,
I bet you're impressed.
Since no one could tell
that she was going through hell.

Everyone thought she was happy, 
when really, she felt crappy.
Everyone thought she was having the time of her life,
who would have guess her best friend was a knife?

She spent her days alone,
she seemed to do everything on her own.
Never once wanted help.
Thought she could do everything herself.

Then the day came,
when she lost the game.
She fell apart,
and everyone saw her broken heart.

They saw the way she overreacted.
Oh, if only you saw the way she acted.
She bruised herself, scratched herself, and made herself bleed,
no one knew what it was that she needed.

They saw her tears,
and that was what she feared.
They found out she wasn't okay,
oh, she hated that day.

Everyone found out about her secret,
and she wish they'd just forget,
but she knew they couldn't,
and that they wouldn't.

She left that town and started over,
no one knew she went undercover.
She said she got better,
when really... something else occurred. 

She secretly hurt herself,
and walked away from help.
Everyone thought she recovered,
when really, she was undercover.

She secretly wanted to get worse,
no one knew of course.
No one cared to ask,
if she was wearing her mask.

Now it's too late,
she locked the gate.
Killed herself,
everyone had forgotten she needed help.

Goodbye cold world,
this was a story of a girl
who once loved everyone
then feared who it was who won.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013




Details | Free verse |
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
alone;
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.

Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.

Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.

-10/14/2013-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
           I bent over to touch my toes
               and the ground tore open like a backbone.

I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe 
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars, 
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.

Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees, 
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]

The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.  
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.

   I dared to taste oblivion,
       and the sky swallowed me. 

My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming, 
but inside out.

            I bent over to touch my toes,
              and my spine tore open;
            the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
          like the tines of forks.
            I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
              but I only found where I end.

Copyright © Elizabeth Nathaniel | Year Posted 2012




Details | Ballad |
Don’t send me more 
Of your tragic poems
My dear 
Covered in blood
Of your monthly flood
Of tears

Don’t send me more 
Of your angry poems
My dear
Carved with the knife
Of your molten spite
And fears

I’m just a peddler 
With a cart
Bringing discount words
To hearts
Broken hearts across the land
Woman left without her man
Broken hearts throughout the world
Anguished boy and crying girl

Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to read, for me to bear
Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to get from here to there

Don’t send me more
Of your bitter poems
My sweet
Forged in the fire
Of your endless ire
And grief

Don’t send me more 
Of your hopeless poems
My sweet
Ripped from the womb
Of the lonely room
You keep

I’m just a peddler 
With a cart
Bringing discount words
To hearts
Broken hearts across the land
Woman left without her man
Broken hearts throughout the world
Anguished boy and crying girl

Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to read, for me to bear
Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to get from here to there

(You see that shadow on the road
Trudging ‘neath its heavy load
A heart weighed down by sands of time
And your poems only make him cry
And he won’t add them to the pile
So he can walk another mile)

(And he won’t add them
To the pile
So he can walk 
Another mile)

Too heavy, dear 
Too heavy, dear
For me to read 
For me to bear

(They make him sad
Make him cry
Beat him down
Deep inside)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear

They make me sad
Make me cry
Feel as though 
I want to die

(And he won’t add them
To the pile
So he can walk 
Another mile)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear

(A heart weighed down 
By sands of time
And your poems 
Only make him cry)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear


Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard 
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.

I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.

And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.

But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,

As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.

And here I am, pouncing at ground before me, 
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.

Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
She's broken.
She just wanted her thoughts to be spoken.
For her words to mean something,
For her words to be affecting.

But she feels worthless.
Her dream was to become an actress,
to inspire others ti achieve their dreams,
but she had fallen in the streams.

She lost all of her hope,
having no way to cope. 
She wakes up every morning,
ready to start acting. 

She puts on her mask,
hoping for someone to ask,
hoping for someone to realize
how long this has been going on, and apologize.

Yet no one seems to care,
she feels like she shouldn't be there.
Since no one seems to notice her,
that is what she has inferred.

But then someone spoke up,
noticed how she was lost like a pup.
So they decided to help,
she first yelped.

For she never knew how to accept,
she only knew she wept.
Later, she saw light,
and shone bright.

She finally saw that she was someone,
not a no one,
but she meant something.
She was finally acknowledging

Her true beauty,
she found her true duty,
to help others,
and make things better.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
As i stare at this paper
empty
without words
it waits for me to write
so my feelings can be heard
inspiration came often
when we were together
words flowed freely
my pen
light as a feather

Fate has a reputation
of never being wrong
it takes destiny by the hand
and grips it forever strong
now this paper
which once was alive
quietly stares back at me
with dull loose leaf eyes
it mocks me
even dares me
to write words i couldn't speak for years
but, without you
the forecast calls for emptiness
with a good chance of tears

Inspiration comes from within
your smile always gave me my start
but these days my pen lay heavy
and so quietly broken
like a roadmap of your heart
for soulmates are rare
to let one go........even worse
now this pen and paper
who once were my companions
are now the very things i curse

So i put my pen down
and tuck the paper away for the night
and maybe tomorrow
just maybe
words i couldn't speak
i'll be able to write......


Copyright © Kurt Kohls | Year Posted 2010

Details | Blank verse |
Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.

Copyright © Nick Hertzog | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |
As I, sit here and I stare up at the night sky,
The cool air rushes past, and it's a moonless night
I listen to leaves bristle in the gusts of wind,
and the howling of the smooth air, and it's my friend

They say there's always a rainbow at the end of a storm,
well I'm still picking up the pieces while another storm is born
And while my last scar is healing, more of my skin is torn,
These last few months, I can't figure out what has been going on

So I, put these words together like it's gonna change anything,
If anything I'm doing nothing but hanging on to my dignity
I already lost my pride, I put it up on the shelf,
So that when you laugh at me, I laugh along, at myself

Cause nothing you can do can phase me, this life is a maze see
You just gotta stop by and take a glance to learn I'm amazing,
Because I made it here, without giving up,
and there's a long road ahead of me before I blow up

As my body deteriates, my soul is still alive
My mind is ahead of me, I'm living before my time
But in my mind, what I'm doing is right,
And I know I'm losing, but at least I'm putting up a fight

I'm scared off the odds, because the results could be drastic,
I'd rather hide my face, so like Halloween I mask it
And the mask fits, so I choose to wear it
Then like my face, the pain hides, and I can finally bare it

I just, roll along like everything is good,
knowing that I'm nothing, but I'm doing what I should
This depression is taking over, who would've known that it could
I need some shade for a while, so I slip inside of my hood

I try to, dream better dreams and live better days,
Knowing that the end of that road is miles away
There's no stop lights, just an on going road,
I've got no compass, my heart is tell me which way to go

Copyright © Aaron Guttery | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
you won’t listen to me, so i write to you on my arms. 
this one says i needed you and you weren’t there. 
this one says i’m bleeding but you don’t care. 
i wrote you this one out of despair, 
seemed like you always had to be at some other somewhere,
and it hurts, because it’s me you’re dismissin’, 
with no time to listen, just need your attention, 
it’s your touch i’m missin’, look me in my eye,
i know you see my letters, so why don’t i get a reply?
i guess it’s worth it just to try, 
to get you to notice me just one more time, 
write you just one last line, 
but i’m runnin’ out of time ‘cause i’m runnin’ out of ink, 
needin’ more time to think, 
but i don’t have it, so i sign my last letter and address it to you,
i hope this one gets through

Copyright © Erin Evans | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Writing with a pin,
I know it is wrong.
Writing with a pin,
Blood is being drawn.

Writing with a pin,
My skin's burning and searing.
Writing with a pin,
It's wrong, but it has a satisfying feeling.

Copyright © BRITTANY MOON | Year Posted 2010

Details | I do not know? |
Many nights I've sat typing things for which none will ever read.
Burning midnight oil only to add to this mornings trash.
Then going about the act of pretending it's all good.

Wearing a mask of my own creation.
These long nights of endless confession to empty wall's.
Hollow thoughts from a bitter heart to scared to exist as himself.

The page lay beaten only to be erased.

the circus of life is a deception for after the show when the dust settles 
the magic gives way to truth.
Tempers flare  and thoose happy clowns appear to be just angry ordinary
people who hate and loath there so called friends.

Dream that it would have all been diffrent if not for this or that.
never taking blame just putting it on others like normal so called adults.

These long nights breed anger and that page takes  the punishment
and like a coward I look apon this act of pure thoughtless work.
And second guess myself wishing only for the approval of people who yearn only 
for the approval  of some one else.
Like hamster in a wheel never getting anywhere.

For who wants to be themself when you can be a watered down version of someone who 
wasnt good to start with.

I cant say the comforts of being a clone wouldnt be nice .
But I never did like things that were nice.
Never cared about being on a list  or kissing someone's rearend just 
to have them talk about me as soon as my back was turned.

Be yourself and cherish thoose who hate  for  the bitter and cruel amount to
nothing  and there only hope is to lure you down there same dead end life.

The clown tries in vain to make you laugh.
The fool doenst know or care if you laugh.
And me Im just the jerk adding to the mornings trash empty 
as the page that sit's befor him.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009

Details | Salaam |

Jab Meri Bechaini Mit Jayegi
Jab Mere Dilko Sukoon Mil Jayega
Yeh Khaalipan Mit Jayega

Do Pal Ki Chandni Ke Liye
Aj Bhi Zinda Hoon Main
Meri Khaamoshi Ke Ageh Aasmaan Bhi Khatam Ho Jayega

Kehne Ke Liye Toh Roz Marta Hoon Main
Thoda Aur Marne Ke Liye
Yeh Deewana Kal Phir Ayega

Copyright © shadab shaikh | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Like sick allergies, 
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE

Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!

Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination ! 

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
She has so much pain inside of her,
she doesn't know how to address it.
So she turns the pain into anger,
after she explodes, she becomes quiet.

She goes up to her room, upset.
Why does the world hate her so?
She thinks to herself, “That’s it!”
But in reality, it isn't though.

She lies on her bed,
Pulls out her book and reads.
As she turns the pages, she loses her head,
In her mind, she thinks “This is what I need.”

A place to escape the world,
Somewhere she can run.
For it seems everyone hates this girl,
And nothing she does is fun.

She plays her cello 
And loses herself in the music
She does this when she feels low
Then she plays the song of her pick

She listens to the beat she makes,
Trying to make it sound perfect,
But oh, she keeps making mistakes,
She thinks that she will never get it.

She leaves the cello alone
And watches her shows
She then grabs her phone
And tells her best friend the show as it goes.

She leaves the TV on, 
Then she enters her laptop.
She stays on till dawn,
She just can’t seem to stop.

She loves the idea of leaving the real world
And entering an imaginary one.
That’s the story of the girl,
Who is never done.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
All men (the loser boyfriends/husbands) think that it's their right to be physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward their female companions (girlfriends/wives), well they're wrong. Most guys are always beating their girlfriends/wives up every single day just because they didn't make their men dinner, do chores around the house, or whatever. It seems that these womanizing losers are way better than their women. Actually, they're not; they're idiots. Controlling these women and being physically, mentally, and verbally abusive toward them don't make these Neanderthals men; they're like childish cowards. All guys think that they're the only breadwinners in their families and the women aren't. But guess what--they're not; some of them don't have jobs. And does anyone knows what gets on my nerves? Men always cheating on their girlfriends/wives with other women, getting them pregnant, and not taking care of the children they already have. And those controlling, abusive men, they're always telling their female spouses/lovers what to do, what to eat, where to look, and who to talk to. I mean, who are these womanizing losers to judge other men and to boss these women around? I mean, who does that? Everybody doesn't even know why they'd bother spending the rest of their lives with those abusive idiots. This whole saying by these controlling abusive men have been getting on everybody's nerves and my nerves, as well: "You're-not-to-speak-unless-spoken-to," this "You're-not-to-talk-to-your-family" ordeal, this whole "You're-not-to-have-guy-friends," and this whole "You need me! You're nothing without me! You have no money! You have no friends! Everything's in my name: the house, the cars, clothes, everything I own! You're useless! You're worthless! I own you for life! And you will respect me!" Where I come from, the rest of us nicer guys, we treat our women with the respect they rightfully deserve. The last time I checked, the mothers have raised their sons to treat women and other people with respect, but they now know where they've gone wrong with those womanizing clowns. My suggestion for the women is for them to leave their abusive husbands/boyfriends before it's too late because if they don't, they'll end up in the hospital or the morgue. To be honest, these women, they never should've met, let alone dated or married those abusive men to begin with. And if these abusive men think that they can control those women forever, they've got another coming.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2012

Details | Romanticism |
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.

-10/6/2013-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Concrete |
Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can

I think about life, I think about my everyday strifes
I know I love you girl you the mama of my children
You already like my wife
I know I have cheated from time to time 
but you the only one who I sleep with at the end of another long night

Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can

I know I like to drink yet it feels like I love that alcohol
This liqour and beer is my number one downfall
If it werent so then the crazy *****in my life now I would have never saw
I would have never ended up sitting in prison for breaking the law

Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can

It's alright now though because Im back in school
I know I struggle at times but Im reframing from being another lost fool
I know it bull-*****even though many youngsters think that *****is cool
But they don't know if they been where I been and still want to do what I do

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |
Forgotten somewhere in the midst of steel and concrete. 
Bound by shackles and chains even in our sleep. 
Living like wolves preying amongst lost sheep. 
Concrete tears and pains so mindfully deep. 

Forgotten by those on the outside. 
We cant even run no where, we cant even hide. 
No choice left but to sit and fight. 
In here only the strong minded survive. 
Truth be told in here what is wrong is right. 

All most os us got is wasted M&^*&F*^&&ng time. 
We sit back and work out and write heartfelt rhymes. 
Not to be a victim of prey we all trying. 
Many stories are told, songs are written of truth over lying. 

We are gone for the moment but not truly forgotten so the hurt we must not show it.
 We are to old while we young to be crying in front of full grown men for this is a time we must out grow it.
 There aint no way out this hell hole and we all know it. 
Feelings of hopelessness surrounds te heart to the point where we can no longer control it.
 
In here there is only time no fun. 
Darkness fills night no light shone in here from the sun. 
Only by our own selves we may be out done. 
BECAUSE IN HERE IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE TRULY THE FORGOTTEN ONES....

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Dramatic monologue |
I look pretty much like every girl in 
the hood right/ And back in your 
mind you tryna construct ways to fall 
asleep in my heart right/ Your 
friends have never met me but 
endlessly Question due dates of my 
visiting times right/ Only because you 
told them short stories that had 
twisted endings/ The truth is you 
really don't know the being I am. 
You don't know my petrol drive/ The 
vein that runs blood straight to my 
heart shaped in a half apple shape/ 
You don't know what my heart 
chooses to echo/ A wise man ones 
said life is an adventure and we are 
all in a journey to finding the other 
half that fits our Godly given half 
apple shaped fruits/ Now some 
people find their missing part of their 
hearts in money and the rest/ What 
they don't know is that what your 
heart feels is shaped in one image/ 
That means not everything will fill 
the hole in your heart/ A half of an 
image is 50 percent full while you 
hold the other half/ I think, and I 
mean I think when the verses in the 
chapters and scriptures  say don't 
love money too much, they simply 
saying don't fall into the trap and 
focus on your Quest/ The rest is just 
there to destruct us I think/ So since 
I have brains I shoot back pains/ I 
am not tryna be rude but I hate your 
approach/ Clearly your heart shape 
is smaller, racist and fictional/ Oh my 
name is Africa/I’m an African/ 
Welcome to my ground/ Your visit 
has miscarried so many kinds/ Our 
ancestors wear miniskirts/ Traditional 
healers in war with pharmacist/ 
Misleading them to this scientific 
reality/i happen to tell the truth\

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
You say you're ugly,
You say you're fat,
You say you hate reality,
but it's not just that.

You say there's nothing good,
you say everyone hates you
you say you can't eat food,
I wish I could help you.

Because in my eyes, you're beautiful.
In my eyes, you are perfect.
In my eyes, you are wonderful.
Please take the time to reflect.

You want to die,
I want you to survive.
You're trying to say goodbye,
but I'm holding onto the knives.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Acrostic |
Down in the dumps
Except when fixated on
Pen and paper to produce a
Rhyming (or not) mental diversion
Essential to the
Soul's seasoning that
Simply lifts
Into the ether the dark mood
Out into the light of
Nature's muse of hope.



                         Assignment for Constance on how
                           poetry can heal depression

Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2010

Details | I do not know? |
Oh well here I go again, 
wishin for a dream that I could be wrapped in, 
entrapped in, 
torn away from addiction, 
destroy the tele… 
vision they strive to force upon you, 
its all false but you know I’m true. 
They will not protect you when you scream your broken cries, 
they are merely evil faces of masked men behind illuminati eyes 
with which they hypnotize, 
brainwash you with their lies. 
I've got those deep thoughts pouring in, 
all the roads I've traveled down
conditions I have traveled in 
here in my pretty town, 
the 910 deserves a crown. 
East Coast I'm representing, 
I promise you I am not venting. 
High on that purple haze, 
And still haven't slept for days, 
excuse these bloodshot eyes
with a krispy kreme glaze, 
some will try to say its just a silly phase...
My mind is so graphic, 
use words like special tactics, 
unmistakable like D'Jango, 
or a peace signs' angle, 
destroy the crave for war and struggle, 
no need to explain all the trouble, 
with places burstin’ into rubble, 
Rebel! Rebel! We’ll show ‘em hell! 
I’ll be fightin’ when I'm dead, 
kick and scream till my blood is shed, 
let authorities know the message will be spread! 
Put on a show with a little bit of passion 
or the bad things will continue to happen.
Get the love through your head, 
all this hatred should be dead, 
what I'm saying must be said, 
before the gauge goes into red. 
With vocabulary this brilliant makes a female more vigilant, 
like brothers boston what I speak 
my words alone will make you weak, make you faint, 
Like blood spilled by hands of a vigilante saint, 
trust me lifes too short,
you dont have the time my young cohort, 
wait until your words make an enemy
cause their threatened by the uncertainty 
that you will make it this far 
make a point unlike this war
next thing you know you see ‘em sweat
words fresh like paint drippin with purpose, 
makin ‘em wet.  
I finger paint a master piece with a just simple rhyme, 
just don't pull your piece on me just let me speak, my mind, 
while I unwind, rewind all this blasphemy, 
continential catastrophe, 
I may have to beg and plead so that my boys can rest in peace 
sorry for the interruption, 
don’t blame me for the corruption, 
for now I'll put my words at ease, 
hope you told someone you loved them today and that it wasn't a white lie, 
just a tease.

04.27.2013

Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Concrete |
Im look happy on the outs but Im sad deep inside. 
I know none of ya'll mother ****ers gonna see my silent hidden cries. 
Death's right around the corner so if I die I die with honor not pride. 
In this life of mine everyday is a do or ****ing die. 
Here in the land of OZ you face the truth even if it's a ****ing lie. 
Here you either do or you don't, ain't no such thing as giving it a try. 
Here fantasy ain't *****once the truth hits you finally realize. 
I was once a young lost soul trying to fit in and be just another one of the "guys".
 Smoking weed getting drunk feeling so dam low while getting so dam high. 
Flying so dam low at the same time walking so dam high Im fly. 
I know not one person here can understand or know my hidden cries. 
The only one who can truly understand me is the one who I pray to in the sky. 
I know I look happy but I feel like *****from side to side, 
I need to better understand my own silent cries......

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
Ah, the september weather is here,
the trees turn firery red and orange,
and the leaves gently fall to the surface.

Fall is here,
and the grass turns from green to yellow,
the souls of many change their ways.

From going on beaches in sun
to walking on wet streets,
with jackets on.

September weather is here,
too most it is depressing to see,
such change in the world.

But I love it.
The girlfriends and boyfriends go away,
and that makes me happy.
Then I go apple picking.

I pick red apples,
from low, hanging apple trees.
and I eat one, while walking down the trail.

Fall is here,
the time of death,
the last of sunshine.

I don't argue,
I love fall,
it is so cosy and it gives me hope.

Hope that a day will come again,
when the sun pops its head out
and the warmth returns.

September weather is the best,
when summer is gone, but not quite,
and the cool breeze sweaps through your open windowpane.

I love fall,
it gives me hope,
that with death comes life.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
He says he loves me then he says he loves me not
He loves me today but by tomorrow I'm forgot 
He runs from my love but returns wanting more
I guess I'm to blame for letting the traveler explore, 
See travellers just wander and are never here to stay
They admire the scenery and enjoy the display 
They tour the land and ride the attractions
So memories become their only subtractions,
They search for an experience that is what they yearn
The condition once they leave is none of their concern!
So how can the land be devoted and true 
When travellers come and go out of the blue.
The present is now and where he's travelled to,
But the past he calls home so he must return soon
Most likely just a visit although time can only tell, 
But what he lusts is in this land and he knows it very well
He may call that place home but its this land that he seeks
Travellers on a mission never realize until they hit their peek
He continues to damage this land down to its core 
So what's left to offer when their is nothing left in store?
The resources were depleted and the land left bare
He comes and goes as he pleases it doesn't seem fair;
See this land has been abused time and time again
Seeds that were planted, were means to an end
But pleasure and satisfaction was always accomplished
Because this land provided where the homeland was disadvantaged!
But despite the history and despite the trust
Submit to his urges is something he must.
So this time around his departure is permanent 
Lack of faith and loyalty was the final determinant.
The damage he caused cannot be rendered,
So his visitation rights he has surrendered!
So leave this land I say and never look back
This is the path you chose I hope you can stay on track,
Cause travellers have memories of the lands they have stained
But the land only remembers the one that remained!

Copyright © Nicolette Holness | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |
I needed a way to release from inside,
All of the tears that I never cried,

My head was exploding from all I kept in,
While onto my face I glued a fake grin;

I hid inside my suspicion and fears,
And locked them away for many years;

They built up a wall and trapped me within,
Until I didn’t even know where to begin;

I had every emotion locked in my heart,
So I started to write, I made it my art.

Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
I'll get better, one day.
I know I will.
I just have to keep going this way,
and try not to fall down this hill.

Sure, I'll fall out sometimes,
but if I don't, how will I learn?
These are the times-
it's strength, I'll earn.

It takes time to get better,
it takes time to be happy,
but I know if I do this with her,
I'll no longer feel crappy.

This is the time to change,
the time to smile,
time to leave this range,
and run the mile.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Too long have I been staring at this cruel blank page before me, My crazed, hysteric mind screaming and imploring I know there is a message that's dying to come out— I need to fill this confounded page without the slightest doubt! It's a simple predicament to manipulate, Into a mass of thought A futile attempt to insinuate, Weak hints are left with naught I sit here in silent desperation, What can fill this page? I slap myself in indignation, My eagerness becoming rage! Like roaches sporadically running from light My thoughts are but a haze The words I write just don't seem right, On this cruel blank page!

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? |
Hand in hand we walked 
together into Reception
Nothing could stop us and 
together we were three
James and I LARP-ed Doctor 
Who for fun
We talked and laughed for 
hours
Because no stress was in our 
way
Anna and I smiled and laughed
And jumped on our bouncy 
castle
With nothing dividing us.

Side by side we walked 
together into Year 6
Some stranger stopped them to 
talk and broken we were alone
James and I talked about 
Doctor Who for fun
And we talked and kissed for 
hours
But misunderstanding broke us 
up
Anna and I still smiled and 
laughed
And joked about our bouncy 
castle
But secondary school was going 
to divide us.

With no one there I walked 
alone into Year 7
And a stranger became my 
friend and together we were 
two
Violet and I both loved Doctor 
Who
And James found Dominic
So James and I talked for mere 
minutes
And school started pulling us 
apart
Anna and I still laughed and 
smiled
Still promising to be friends 
Never letting it divide us

Suffocating and drowning I 
walked into Year 9
Hating how I was and feeling 
alone
Katie and Chloe were so pretty
And Violet so funny and all 
were better than me
James and I hardly talked or 
saw each other
But we still made the most of 
our friendship
As we were like family, stress 
couldn’t break us apart
Anna and I laughed but I did 
not smile genuinely
Because the bouncy castle was 
long gone
And our schools were beginning 
to divide us

Dead yet breathing I stand 
right now
And I hate who am I and every 
single detail
Fights broke us up and pulled 
us apart
So I can feel Katie, Violet and 
Chloe
Falling further out my reach
James moved house to a place 
unknown
And blamed me for never 
talking to him
But really it was because of my 
ex who was a girl
It was for something beyond 
my control
Anna and I were still friends; 
only by a thread
As she did not know about me
And how school broke me apart

So this is me now; I’m all alone
No longer the smiling young girl 
of reception
The only person talking to me 
is me
And the voice in side my head
You see; they all left me and 
always will
So now the only call I answer
Is that of my blades
And the darkness
That is constantly
Pulling me
Down

Copyright © Teenage Frustrations | Year Posted 2013