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Best Poems Written by Breana Swain

Below are the all-time best Breana Swain poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Color of Our Skin

Does It matter if the color of my skin black or white I should be judged upon, or is 
it just the thought that my ancestors once a slave; me growing up a black child.

Should you look beyond this skin they call “Chocolate” but made within us brown, 
the texture of our skin can not only come as a color but a heritage once long ago.

You May not like the way we look, the way we stare, or the way we eat, its what us 
as black children were brought up as.

Don’t call us a slave just because our clothes tend to fall off, or a shoe string may 
not be tide.

If your skin would be made the same color as mine, would you still have hate for 
me? 
Or would you not say anything at all, because we were equal?

Do we deserve to be treated like animals, or like dirt rather say? Or is it just 
because you hate the color of our skin.

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The Devils Game

Days like this i wish to be 
happy but with every 
gravitating force you set me 
back to square one. Pleasure is 
rewarded within you. Misery 
once falls when im alone. You 
take me on a ride to heaven 
then pitch me down to hell. 
Even him to were a angel.  
Theres a tunnel of light with 
every pill i take yet i continue 
to ignore the signs of fate. 
Living my life through this 
broken mirror i tend to hide the 
pieces i cant see. I heard you 
call for me i cried out your 
name... You see this thing 
called addiction is just a devils 
game.

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Since You Went Away

Without the trace of our love being left here, no memory from the past can ever 
cover the road that we once traveled,  No day can ever compare to the mist in the 
morning when the fog would surround the window that we one as a couple, 
would look beyond, something that our future would hold.


When the night comes and the stars seem to shine on me, the glare of my face 
should tell you that I miss you, your kiss, your touch, and those arms that would 
hold me at night. When there is no more left of me, no more tears that can be 
cried I will once think of you, and how you wiped my eyes.


There will be no worry’s that I have to dream about, there will be no more joy in 
my life that was mistaken as a happen moment, nor a reminisce to your love. 
Under the dirt of the ground will you find my heart, will you find my soul pouring 
out to you, begging you for forgiveness. My weakness is no longer a distance 
from here.  

Just a moment’s time can you image when I will come back to that place where 
no only us but the spirits of will remind us of what we shared, the pictures that sit 
upon the shelf that we built together; hand in hand, side by side. 

Since the day looked past that road where burned bridges were left behind, I no 
longer linger the sound of being there before. To me I will look at it as a memory 
from the past. A moment of that day. The love we had together. Since you went 
away.

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Still Uncontinued

Many to young to feel this pain i fell, the kind of love sprung from the ones good of 
heart.
Intelligence not something in the mind born with, love in the heart itself.
Thus this be the time when two and two go together, while one soul burdens 
alone.
Despite the high priest from above that tell our hearts to stop beating, just 
another tranquillity.
This mind not only suffered from pieces of broken skin but from lies that burrow 
within the soul. 
Myself feeling ashamed while themes play a tune still uncontinued.

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Unwritten

i write your name on the bus seat just behind the exit sign. 
i drift away in a asylum; no not the one where i should be, but the one that i call 
my happy place. 
when i sleep my dreams take no longer then a second to bring upon your face. 
happily ever after is where i see you and  metogether some day. 
i compare myself to sleeping beauty, once kissed, i have found my cure. 
sometimes i dont quite understand the things i do, dont mistake me but i think 
im crazy over you.
the same reflection that i see in the mirror seems to have a common name. i call 
her a "burden". 
Ashamed to say that i love you. love has never been a friend of mine; rather say a 
misery. 
once in a day do i get to forget the things that used to bring us together.
thinking about two different people, crying over 3 different things, dreaming of one 
miracle. 
i tell you i dont need you but baby deep inside im crying. why cant you see that i 
need you here to lay with me.
dont think im crazy cause i keep a picture of you under my pillow and when i have 
a bad dream i wake up to find you underneath me. 
tell me what was the purpose of you being here if hate was to seperate us?
memories pour out my closet as days go by.  i find myself chasing after them. 
if you were to see me in tears you to would be afraid. mascara runs down my 
eyes like a stormy night. eyeliner stains my cuts. 
my life which will soon be taken from me by suicdal thoughts and depression will 
no longer find its home here. this poem shall still find itself unwritten.

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Not Addicted But Close To It

Today i take another puff of this deadly nicotine, i watch the flames swim through 
the air. Its stains my breathe with the smell of being addicted.
I ran a mile under the skies that seem to look so blunt. How can i cure this 
diease that i call "depression"? 
Ive never been a victim to a beer bottle, but i chug ever bit thats left. These bad 
habits; i dont know where they reflect off.
Im not addicted but somewhere close to it

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Thoughts of Suicide

my eyes tear blood upon these dark mellow cheeks.
These hairs that sit upon my skin are scared;what i once wrote in a diary
every day that passes i die inside,im no longer apart of this life
kill me now,words i would only dream of, as if death were creeping next to me
the person who i pretend to be walk the halls , she blends in with conversation
blurry isles lead me to damaged roads, i stumble on my own fears
running gets me no where, shawdows dare to to hide their face.

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Heaven of God

We raise up hands and call upon the one that covers our sins the most, as we 
fall down and pray.

The lost garden of Eden still remains undiscovered till this day we now speak. 

The source that we once called harbour no longer seems to drift upon a floating 
river.

Footsteps of one man carrying a loss lonely sin differs to see himself any 
different then the man he once was.

crawling souls begging for forgiveness, but we once as a sinner heal hearts of  
broken tears.

Any day of light seen by us we run to catch the shadow that we no longer call the 
heaven of god.