Time Self Poems

I’m craving a smoke

I’m craving a drag, a poisonous and toxic puff of smog

to fill my empty lungs to

pass the time to

feel the burn in...

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I make my case for sainthood knowing all that I've done is no good. 
My mortal coil feels it needs
 spoiled can we perceive 
I believe...

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Journey ahead with passion and fire,
Believe in yourself, for greatness you possess,
Courageous in spirit, a leader in your stride
Aim high, let your dreams inspire,
Overcome obstacles,...

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Holding your hand from afar like it matters, 
you, or anyone but me
walking your quaint little village 
after dragging me out of bed 
for your...

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The universe swallowed my thoughts
In another instant of uncertainty
Truthfulness and doubt together were something
Morphed into a new creation of nothing 
As if my time itself...

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Everything’s been frantic since the break.
What people don’t tell you about college,
is that you’re just tired ALL of the time.
I’m so tired, yawn ‘scuse me.
So...

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Quote: “You are as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fears; as young as your hope, as old as your despair.”—
Samuel Ullman

In realms...

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Sometimes I fall, and it seems easier just to fall than to climb back up.
 Because when I fall, I feel free.
 I feel as...

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The mirror reflects a lifetime etched upon my skin; a canvas of stories whispered through maturity. I stand before it, middle-aged and exposed, my nakedness...

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I was aware I may have lost my mind,
pinpointing on the time,
circular reasoning,
whether in front or behind.

Are thoughts a linear path like the heart?
Regarding sight,...

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i’m here, nor there, sometimes everywhere
a storm brewing

inside i’m darker
i’ve sailed these seas before

repetition becomes habit 
take me back to simpler times

an early childhood memory
just...

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Deep down inside, I carry this constant self-loathing,
It's more than just a passing feeling—it's like a heavy burden I can't shake.
Some days, I struggle to...

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Quote: A man can fail many times, but he isn't a failure until he begins to blame somebody else. By John Burroughs


Life has many ups...

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yet his gait was limiting
to the harvest of shadows around him
breathing whatever air was there
at the time
and since his writing 
caught no-one's attention
and colourful birds...

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