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Best Poems Written by Enya Trader

Below are the all-time best Enya Trader poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Enya Trader Poem

It's Fine, Really

I guess I’m narcissistic
I suppose I’m masochistic.
Fitting into just another statistic. 

Hah, go figure.

I guess this is my delusion.
I suppose I enjoy seclusion. 
Pardoning me from inclusion. 

I like being alone.

I guess I am depressed.
I suppose I am obsessed,
With this I am possessed. 

It is my only friend.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

My Yolo

**** this.
I can’t look in a mirror without wanting to tear my skin off.
Literally.

**** this.
I don’t even know how take a picture with a friend.
Awkward.

**** this.
I can’t stop thinking I’m a piece of shit.
Depressed.

**** this.
I can’t help but love my obsessions.
Diseased. 

**** this.
I can’t keep from desiring love.
Hopeless.

**** this.
I can’t understand how to love someone.
Broken.

**** this. 
I can’t explain anything about me or my life.
Disconcerning.

**** this.
I can’t shy from my inappropriate apathy.
Distorted.

**** this.
I can’t shy from my desire to break from this world.
Trapped.

**** this.
**** you.
**** me.
**** this world.
**** this life.
**** it all.

I need to make room for my dreams. 

This is my one life.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

My Internal Torture

Picking
Scratching
Pulling
Tearing
The nail leaves two marks.
It stings slightly.
I know I did good.
I peel the broken skin away
and watch the blood rush.
Onto the next.
It won't stop.
I can't stop.
Leaving scars, 
one right after the other,
like a circle,
this cycle is endless.
I put my hands to my face
dig in as deep as I can go,
and drag my fingers down.
Prying the flesh from my face,
I scream inside.
Nobody sees it
-the scars-
-the marks-
-my disease.
To them, 
I'm narcissistically ignorant.
But if you focus like I,
you will be disgusted like I.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

Eargasmically Wonderful

Music holds such a strong connect with me, and it baffles me how some people do not feel with music. To close your eyes and let the beat of the drums change your heart rythm, to let your mind open up to hear every instrument, every sound that finds a way into and rushes through your veins, to be apart of that moment, in that song. 
And when the lyrics start flowing, it is such a connotatively beautiful dance with words. Hearing every strain in the voice that with, strains your heartbeat and tightens your lungs. Hearing every perfect metaphor that coincides with your actions, your thoughts, your beliefs, your emotion, your life, intertwining your very being into that song. 

For when your thoughts spew from your brain like blood a dying corpse and your words escape your mind, leaving you with nothing, music remedies. 
And it does not matter the song, the lyric, the beat. If the emotion and feel is there, it penetrates me, flooding my body with dopamine. 

Music has to remain true, has to remain the guts of the artist, has to remain a sanctuary and refuge for this life.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

Disclaimer

I'm a ****ing martyr,
so don't be surprised when I
   fake my orgasm.
I'm married to my weed,
so don't take offense when I'm 
   lying there numb.
I'm ****ing insane,
so don't get too close to me
   you'll become my pet.
I'm a broken mind,
so don't leave me, or  
   watch me bleed out

So let me take you in,
I draw you in so deep. 
You won't even know 
you're not on your feet,
with your head 
shoved so far up my ass. 
Your dependence makes me cum
like you can't. 
So when we lie in bed 
naked and sweaty,
Remember you are nothing 
because you are my everything.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

Mindless Words

I know what I am from what I am not.
I am not what I do not want.
And that which I know not what I am not,
I am to be sought.
And when I die, the soul for which I have fought,
Will mean more than what I have bought.
In the end we're falling,
Just wanting to be caught.
And I was. Caught not by my heart,
But the desire to not rot in this ****ed up place
We call the Melting Pot.
And although I ought to be shot
For disgracing this place,
I cannot help this the thought
That which has brought me feelings nothing but distraught.
But between feeling cold and hot,
Wanting to feel numb seems to be a lot.
And even when the hopeful leap of faith takes its hop,
It lands on a tack,
Ending in nothing but a pop. So in the end,
I always stop trying to climb to the top.
Because in the end I am nothing.
You are nothing.
This is nothing.
Except for when it's not.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

Disclaimer Reprise

I'm an old soul,
so don't expect me
   to understand this world.
I'm a free spirit,
so don't tie me down,
   I'll rip my limbs from the shackles.
I'm a child of the Earth,
so don't count on me 
  to move my roots.
I'm alive,
so don't think I'm so quick
  to die with you. 

So let me take you in,
I draw you in so deep. 
You won't even know 
you're not on your feet,
with your head 
shoved so far up my ass. 
Your dependence makes me cum
like you can't. 
So when we lie in bed 
naked and sweaty,
Remember you are nothing 
because I am your everything.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

My Own Monster

I feel it.
Stirring again with a vengeance. 
Waiting to pounce.
Waiting to spread.
Like venom, slowly killing me from the inside out. 

And like a child who knows monsters are not,
I still cower under the sheets when I hear it growl. 

It's hungry for me.

I glance in the mirror with a final hope of despair.
The monster is me.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

Thoughts' Attack

The waves keep crashing
and I can't pull up for air. 
But just before I give in 
and drown,
it's calm.
For only a moment.
And just before the next wave,
I smile.

By the end of the day,
I am exhausted 
by my devious game.

Details | Enya Trader Poem

Daily Mantra

And even though the day's shit
and you feel as low as you can get.
Don't forget to smile.
Hold it there for just a little while,
and you'll have gone your extra mile.
And when you're just about to quit,
take a deep breath to stop the fit.
Silly child, it's all in your head.
Did you hear what I said?!
Now kill the thought and it's dead.