Recovery From Poems | Examples of Recovery From Poetry

sensual touches sate a need that aids depressed hearts seeking passion patches to cover twin aches scarring each with rejection escape needs fulfilled covers hold two stories told ~ desperate duet...

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She was too young to hear what she did. She was too young to see the way you looked at yourself. She was too young to feel how she did. Too skinny. I just need to gain weight to be beautiful. I just need curves to be beautiful. Too fat. I just need to lose...

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Reflection catches My guilt . I lose the trust In whatever , God, I pray too. I need a release , I need to take the seat I need to Stare back at Me. Eyes opening a grave. Don't won't to Be IN THE WAY. I'm red, in chains Im Covered , In dirt Unburied Me slowly. I'm...

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Metaphor and simile have been with the human race for thousands of years. This is my English translation of an excerpt from an ancient Egyptian poem estimated to be around 4,000 years old: Excerpt from "Dialogue of a Misanthrope with his Soul" (ancient Egyptian poem circa 2000 BC) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Death lies before me: like a...

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Am I acting normal? Am I blinking too much? Am I staring too long? Are people staring at me? Feeling nervous, embarrassed, uncomfortable inside. Reminding myself to not let the unease show. Making jokes to mask the nervous thoughts I have. Laughing to cover up the awkward reactions. Focusing on the distance to avoid staring...

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Began chatting, then as talking. Talking, to safe haven. Safe haven, to unfolding the dark tucked away. Unfolding, to sharing years of distant memories. Sharing, to unloading your internal warehouse. Unloading, to tears flowing. Tears flowing, words stinging. Words stinging, airway burning. Relief, haunting at bay for...

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Too hyper. Caffeine and nicotine, a constant cycle on repeat. Fidgety, can't sit still. Can't sit still. Not enough caffeine, not enough nicotine, not enough tattoos. Can't stand the silence. Listening to the waves' crashing to drown out the spiral of thoughts racing through my head. Brain, a constant whirlwind of thoughts. Maybe just one more drag of nicotine? Maybe a...

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ping! like pavlov's dog, i glance quick at my phone new facebook follow request. i click the account click! my rapist. it's been nearly 14 years since the first the time he laid his hands on me but i feel them like it was this morning. ping! his son liked my post on Instagram , are they working together? are they a team again? father and son, teacher and apprentice, master of none but...

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no i wouldn't die for you. i wouldn't, and i'm not sorry. i spent too long hiding in the shadows, waiting lurking wanting and hoping that they'd see that I would have. in an instant, i would have. a bullet, a train, a grenade, a pile of pills. i would've taken any of them for anyone. but instead, life shot me with an arrow. life gave me you. this...

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You’re trying to hang tough But your ball is in the rough Don’t throw a fit Just think then hit Forget all that pro stuff ...

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I wore my youth like shoes too loose to feel, Each step unsure, yet never dared to run. My heart was clenched, a rusting, idle wheel, While days dissolved beneath the quiet sun. I was the empty desk in every room, A chair unclaimed in stories being told. A lantern hung but never lit the gloom, Too scared to burn, too comfortable...

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Can't get you to understand. I already know your kind. You're really blind. Maybe, a sign, to you, will be given. To make you change, your way of living. I'm through with always giving. It's only your grave, that you're digging....

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The grief I feel is of another kind Sweeter than holy water A deeper breath than moorland air to find The black of midnight, not— Of monstrous seas, but— Of restful night, donated cloak From a kindly gentleman to wear Wrapped in coolest starlight, safe Astride a destrier — galloping to water Molted feather — fortuitously found New flight, gentle wind...

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Row by row the nettles grow And circles do surround Hairy stems the prison wires And jagged leaves their barbs. Cry out, forsaken sinner Your voice shall not be heard We listen to the wind song And hark its piercing sound. Your poison nettle vapours Cling to my moistened lungs And acrid nettle juices Drip from my swollen mouth. Alone, now in death— Eden’s angel looms Sword...

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after ‘The waste Land’, by T.S. Eliot I met a woman on a glitching screen, her face a whisk of pixels and prayer. She spoke of shattered systems and survived code, “The cloud remembers everything,” she said, "but forgets what matters.” A rat hurried through my feed at dawn, past memes and headlines, each a kind...

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