There are no adult geniusesWhen I was 5 they called meThere are no adult geniuses by OnceUponAWinter
When I was 10 they called me
‘Full of potential’
When I was 13 they called me
When I was 17 they called me
‘You can do better than this’
Now they call me
Merry Christmas, From A MisanthropeI don't like peopleMerry Christmas, From A Misanthrope by OnceUponAWinter
and I don't particularly like anything
but I like you
I like your human-ness
and the way I've loved you
even after nearly 2 years
I like how I still write you poems
when I have a boyfriend
and a life
and synthetic serotonin
see you took away my need for serotonin
you were my serotonin, my oxytocin
and so 2 weeks before Christmas
I'm writing you another poem
not a Christmas list
because all I want
is you. Not more serotonin
In my worldI live in a world of constant headaches, fears and liesIn my world by OnceUponAWinter
A world of one good day followed by so many bad days
That the good day was a dream
A world that recognises getting out of bed
Is a bigger achievement than winning gold
I live in a world where you see colour only when
It’s your own blood
In my world we all wear long sleeves and keep our eyes downcast
So no one questions our future
I live in a world where tomorrow is inevitable, but regrettable
Where no one wants to see the dawn.
Where all of us know, it’s your world, or death
But no one returns to your world
Nostalgia of happinessIf I was sixty years olderNostalgia of happiness by OnceUponAWinter
They’d call what I have
If I wore black
Didn’t get out of bed
They’d call what I have
But I have nostalgia.
If it hurt me physically
If other people saw the pain
They’d find the problem.
But its only nostalgia
For those whose salve is lonely painThou hast bequeathed meFor those whose salve is lonely pain by edgarwhitmanwilde
A Monster of iniquity
Where comedy and tragedy
Form themselves upon
The rhythms of my life
One that is not
Impoverished of ridicule
A letter in a cemeteryVandalized ink stainsA letter in a cemetery by edgarwhitmanwilde
Where my feelings
Were washed away
if I cry it is for help
If I'm sick it is a love song
Written on the soul
Where help is wanted
For emaciated corpses
You know, yes you know
Where the dead eyes are
Down among the leaves
Watching, watching, watching
neverlandi'm giving myself ten minutes to grow up,neverland by estallidos
and with every minute that passes i am remembering
balloons and party hats and streamers
and the second star to the right,
straight on 'til morning.
every year i write myself a poem for my birthday,
but this year i think i'll write a poem about
peter pan and he'll die in the end and everyone
will be sad. i'll be the saddest though,
because there comes a point in your life
when you realize that you're not peter pan,
or wendy, or even a lost boy.
(how sad, i think, to be lost but not a lost boy.
it doesn't matter though, because neverland isn't
real and now look, i'm another year older, and what
have i even done with my life?)
today i'm twenty-three and peter pan is dead.
my ten minutes have passed and i still haven't
grown up. people around me forget how to talk
to mermaids, and no one claps because no one
believes in fairies, or flying, or themselves.
today every birthday candle looks like a bone
and i still have so many wishes left to make.
I bet you cut"I bet you cut yourself," he says and it takesI bet you cut by xTintedlullabyx
All of me and more, and there is nothing to take. I laugh
and cry a little inside. Die a little more and smile
"Of course not."
He stares at me and it's like one of those dreams where you're
Naked and I want to shove my guts in my mouth and burn in Heaven,
rip my scalpel through my thigh, throw my skull at a window and let the
Pain in my body overwhelm the pain in my heart.
"I'm joking," he says and I think I should feel bad for him, instead I
Hate him a little. He's grinning and I think about how I'd love to
Carve his face into the Joker.
"I know," I say and I hate myself a little, too.
He's gone back to me, front to his friends
and you'd think this was to become a nice old love story but
Happy endings only happen in books.
"I do," I whisper and I laugh because it sounds like a wedding vow and I
don't think I'll marry and I don't think I can. I'm scarred and eventually
my scars will have scars
and there will be no amoun