Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
I gave up on getting better.
because every time i try
I fall back in again
And I hate feeling like i just messed it up again
Like I just screwed all my progress with the laziness of my sin
I don’t wanna cut my skin
i don’t want to see scars in place of flesh
a constant reminder of what i am
a mess.
can’t be fixed
want to be better
-- sometimes --
but it’s just easier to crave the sadness
the pain
and i least i FEEL when i feel this way
i don't need me to hate me
to blame me
just another name on the list
because those don’t help, there’s enough on that list
and now i’m just angry
memories taint me
an ugly, neglected, disposable kind of color
that haunts my sheets
alone under the covers
I hate you and i miss you
but i know i’ll never again trust you
because you showed me
that i am not worthy of who you are
that you had better friends
now we just pretend…
I avoid you because it pains me to see you
to let myself think
i still know you
and i know i don’t
because the friend i know wouldn’t have done this to me
because she knows
personally
how that feels.
But maybe,
if i let my brain wonder
maybe she was curious how it felt
to be the other person
to have that power
to throttle them
then watch them seizure
gasping desperately for the air you took
for the friends you turned
for the confidence you killed
and i know
i know it's not The End of The World
and i know you weren’t my whole world
but you were the torch, the flashlight in the dark
that illuminated
and brought to life
me
and my life
and now i can’t see
stumbling around blindly
my eyes useless,
but pouring out a sea
and i am left to wonder
when the color,
now dimmed,
will once again be bright
be blinding
as it once was
and i wonder
When, again, will my passion burn?
as i sit and wait
for it to light up this earth
this cold, damp, stagnant world
with rain clouds looming low
and eyes full of sorrow
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
Hate you?
No, I don’t hate you.
I just hate who I become around you—
Desperate for your attention,
twisting cruelty into affection.
Because who am I if you don’t know me?
If you haven’t spent sleepless nights
wondering why I’m such a to you?
You hating me
is better than you forgetting me.
At least then, I exist—
etched into your tortured screams,
a whisper in shattered glass,
scraping against a dull chalkboard.
Yes, it hurts—
but not as much as being ignored.
Vengeful eyes burn into mine.
I don’t want to be this way,
but I’ve forgotten any other way to be.
Be kind? Be soft?
Sounds simple, right?
No.
Not when I don’t remember how.
I spent so long teaching myself to hate you
that I forgot how to love you.
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
the soul
that thinks it has a right to my body.
Ungrateful—
it does nothing but complain.
And really, what right does it have?
It has it too good—so good
that, what?—
it just needs something to cry about?
Even if the pain is manifested,
even if the hurt is self-inflicted,
it’s never enough just to be happy.
No—
it craves, it aches, it dreams,
only to shatter those dreams on the floor.
A million pieces,
cutting my beautiful body into bits.
Blood on the tips,
words so sharp,
so loud in my head.
It doesn’t want to be sane—
it wants a game.
And this body—
I—
am the one it chooses to play.
I hate my soul.
Selfish. Needy.
Insatiable. Greedy.
Too lazy to pick up the pieces,
just a consuming mess on the floor
where I once existed before.
Yes, under that rubble,
there was a body—pure.
A virgin of the mind,
with no soul to count the time.
But now it whispers:
tick, tick, tick
"I’m not pretty enough yet."
"I’m not loved, I bet."
tick, tick, tick
"It’s not enough—I want more."
"I want mirrors to cover the floor."
But to do that,
such a virgin must be shattered.
Once a body, now only battered—
bruised.
And it’s all over the news:
The screams, the cries
of the bodies left behind,
outraged at such an ugly fate.
"We deserve better,"
they scream at themselves.
"You don’t deserve my beauty, my pride—
get out! This body is mine!"
Trying, tirelessly, to evict the tenants.
Hope—relentless.
But home is dented,
battered by the hail of battle cries
singing through the night.
"We deserve better!
Get out! Get out!
This place is mine!"
Nowhere for you to hide.
Nowhere I won’t find you.
And when I do—
I’ll stab you with a sword of might.
Finally—courage, a sight.
A fatal blow.
What hit you?
Guess you’ll never know.
You always underestimated me.
But I am strong—
something you refused to see.
A sword of steel,
this time, my dreams become real.
You’ll be gone—
just voices I’ll no longer hear.
You’ll talk—
a mere whisper in my ear.
But I won’t listen.
Away with such fears.
You’ll be dead,
gone from my head.
Just a body left to reclaim—
and a necessary love
to free it from its rusted chains.
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
you treated me
like i’m just ****
how am I to come back from this?
you ditched me
when i needed you most
oh how easy i was, for you to dismiss
you said you
would always be around
but that has not been true,
as i have found.
and you said you
wouldn’t let me go
but i fell
from this ledge
You let me drown.
you cast your blind eye
i cannot lie
you let me down
the fact i’m trying to wrap my head around
but that’s so hard
such a thing to believe
after everything you’d said
all you’d promised to me
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
Somehow,
Those empty eyes
staring back through the glass
They just seem to laugh
At all that I am.
And they seem to see
The person I wish I could be
But somewhere,
Beyond the reflection
Is a soul
Who doesn't know
Who, even, they could be
If their head was filled with dreams
Instead of physical fantasies
That tells them they're ugly
Never will be pretty enough
Never be good enough
Just a horrible catastrophe
An endless rhapsody
A drying, dead
Never-again-to-be beautiful city
though Drowning in a hurricane
Of it's very own tears
Sinking in an ocean
Of similar sorrow
Of which no one knows
Convinced she is alone
And must not stray from such a narrative
Forever stuck in this imperative
In this day which holds all of it's resentment
Close to it's core
And won't relent it
Even when it is known what is being done
"All the more fun!" it cries
All the more fun...
Even when it is clear
The depression has won
The green keeps rolling as the salty seas keep flowing
The harsh greed seeping into the sea
Convincing Wants to be Needs
Perfect and clear,
But still no one wants to be near
The river in which my soul has died
Laid to rest, now, that so hated body
Finally finding a home in the tide
With the many before
And surely the many after
The tomb of dead laughter
Feeding on walking disasters
Like I
And many more
Who let themselves be sold
On the idea of perfection
As the building block to affection
That never felt deserved
Look now, what we've learned
Look, now,
the end we've earned
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
how am I
to come up with anything new
when i have just one phrase on repeat
I hate you
how am I
to become anything better
when I have nothing else to do
but keep thinking of you
and I am still so
obsessed with you
with hating you
that I can do nothing else
but sit in my gloom
consumed
by all the rage
I can contain
without ripping the flesh from my bones
spilling my blood at your feet
watching your face drain
your blood mixing with mine
on the cold concrete
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
I’ve no one to talk to and it’s bringing me down
Can’t be myself so I try on someone else
But the outfit never seems to fit
Too tight
Too suffocating
And I can’t breathe
Makes my waist look small and my chest look big
It's what everyone else wears
And I'm told to fit in
I hate it but- no one cares
We look so alive but we are all dead inside
The pain is irrelevant
The suffering is a consequence
We cast no eyes to everyone else
And only a blind eye to ourselves
When I die I hope for my ancestors to read this
But I know
That they won’t care either
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
Broken dreams have such an appeal
Bury me deep ‘til I can’t feel.
Soon the sun, it will cease to shine
But by then, I'll have said my goodbyes.
Broken hearts are over-rated
You cry tears while I cry blood.
You’ll do your hair
you’ll do your makeup
You’ll move on
you’ll get over them
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
She wasn't real,
or, at least didn't feel
an extension of the people around
she herself was lost among the found
her life was a blessing
and too, a curse
She loved it and hated it
emotions reversed
when in the low, she craved that pain
those feelings of self disdain
the overwhelming hate, coated in rage
the relentless game she was made to play
but when high
she could fly
an all-consuming ocean of emotion
the tides either high
or the water drained,
the pool barren
or a tsunami and rain
It was a downpour she could not escape
Either flood or drought
the danger swam in the sand and the sea
but always present, undeniably
She had no escape, no way out but the extreme
and so she would suffer
indefinitely
until the end
when peace would descend
she was stuck in this life
her stupid self not a friend
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Deyja Sieben Poem
My fake confidence
Could surely kill you,
Large and colossal,
A giant in its hard shell.
It clings to me,
Armor I didn’t choose,
A brittle shield
That I’ve painted gold.
I see your ego drilling into you,
Spiraling, twisting,
Digging deeper than you know.
There’s no turning back—
You’re tied to the tracks.
The iron bites,
A weight you thought you could carry.
The whistle is blowing,
Echoing through the air,
And the train is in the distance, growing.
Your defiance burns—
Eyes locked on mine,
But I see the cracks
You won’t let show.
And I stand there,
Feet planted,
Hands clenched at my sides.
Do I untie you?
Do I run?
Or do I stay and let the collision come?
Because when the train arrives,
It’s not just you.
My confidence stands too tall,
Too hollow,
To survive the blow.
And when the whistle fades,
What will be left?
Not us—
Only the tracks.
Copyright © Deyja Sieben | Year Posted 2024
|