We all endure sadness. This is for the time when you just want to read sad poetry to connect and be well.
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars. – Khalil Gibran
There is a beauty to seeing the flesh split A beauty in the gushing blood A beauty in seeing the skin turn pissed red The pain dancing on the veins A peace in the calmness of the heart The silence of the mind A relief of the soul There is a beauty of knowing no one can hurt me A beauty in having the power to my own pain A beauty to my magic words Spilling as the wounds gush out violently A beauty in seeing the angels in my eyes When all I hear are demons in my ears It is sad not to do in open Sad that I keep the scars hidden When they are beauty marks worth praise Marks worthy of peasants' eyes, a curse to my charm It is sad they are condemned By the same people that cause them They have mastered an art An art of driving me where the demons crawl I live in their shelter They crawl at me, and when they do, I cut deeper
Who is Listening?
I stand on the bridge Silently screaming "Who is listening?" "Who is listening?" I look down at the calm waters Why am I never that calm? Why is there always a rage storm in my head? Why can't I just sleep? There is a calling from the waves Silently pronouncing their love to me Making my wish come true Making me crave a kiss from them Who is listening? Who is there?
Also read: Emotions: A Poetry Collection
I am in a prison, I have no cell mates It is a long hall in my mind It is filled with televisions It shows people spitting hate A weird hate for me And I cry I cry till there are no more tears left I scream and shout Asking for them to stop I rock myself, wondering when someone will finally hear me I cry till I have no voice anymore A red eye Bags under my eyes Frenzy hair Running nose I cry till I lose it Lose my sanity Wondering when death will come knocking I am depressed Depression is my prison But in my country Depression is a white man's disease that has no space in a Black man's life I am in a prison I shall never be granted parole
She sings out sad poetry, with a brave smile and dry tears. But inside, she has so many wounds that need healing…..
100 hours on the mirror I want to look like Sarah She has the perfect eyes Silk hair A glow in her hair Perfect teeth, adorned with perfect lips She is perfect A good size of her bust Petite A great booty She makes heads turn 100 hours on the mirror I still look like me Big dirty brown eyes Curly, hard hair With the standard, non-shiny teeth Standard! With the smallest bust And a large behind I live in the shadows I crave the wrong things But my mind is too big to stop dreaming
When my true love existed
His smile still haunts me in my sleep His eyes still shining like the sun He skips through, happy like a child on sugar high His spirits so high He looks happy, happier than I remember Happy before the pain hit him hard His bald head haunts my dreams The pain and sadness finally settling in his eyes The last touch, last kiss The last "I love you", the last time I saw his beautiful face He was my true love Before he cheated with death's lips His eyes still haunt me in my sleep Seeing them shine before the night fell on them
Tears come from the heart and not from the brain – Leornado da Vinci