What If

What if someone already wrote this?

What if I post too many things at once?

What if I don’t post enough?

What if my writing’s too generic?

What if no one reads it?

What if I made mistakes?

What if I’m not a good writer?

What if I just stopped writing?

What if they can’t tell what I’m writing about?

What if I accidentally offended someone?

What if I lose all my writing?

What if this doesn’t make sense?

What if I never become a noticed writer?

What if someone hates my writing?

What if… I stopped being paranoid?

Would I be able to write something that feels original?

Would I be able to post as many things as I want?

Would I be able to not posts things for a few days?

Would I be able to write something comepletly unique?

Would I be able to overlook how many views I have?

Would I be able to write something flawless?

Would I be able to not care if I’m a good writier or not?

Would I be able to never stop writing again?

Would I be able to write things that gave people meaning?

Would I be able to make someone feel good about themselves?

Would I be able to make my writing last forever?

Would I be able to write carefree?

Would I be able to become a well-liked writer?

Would I be able to write something everyone loved?

Would I be able to… be content about my writing?

What if I could stop asking myself these questions?

Would I be able to see through my strengths and weaknesses?

Monologue My Personal Life Poetry

Horse

Alone in a barn so close, yet so far,

A black mare stands ready to spar.

She yearns to race, but isn’t trained,

Her time to race is waned.

As a foal she was pampered,

Now her future has been tampered.

She was breed for greatness,

But has to start her life in lateness.

How great she would have been,

Of only her trainer didn’t sin.

Her sloth training for the mare,

Is leaving the horse with a future bare.

All she can do is wait for her,

Hoping it’s not too late for her training to occur.

 

My Personal Life Poetry

Ocean Waves

Some days they’re strong and others they’re not,

They can’t control their own plot.

Those ocean waves are but a marionette,

To what ever disturbes them yet.

The poor ocean being used and abused,

While not being able to punish the accused.

Her waves are never orderly anymore,

Always high or always low like a war.

Her want to be free from control,

Is overpowered by her inability to in a whole.

So she takes it all in,

The hurt and the happiness with a grin.

Forgetting the one who caused it all,

The moon which is too far to hear her bawl.

Emotional My Personal Life Poetry

Drip, Drip

Alone she kneels on the ice,

As liquid falls in groups of trice.

The piercing wind consumes her in it’s cold,

But it’s not the reason her emotions are so bold.

Echoes of a sound come from the icy hilltop,

Drip, drip, drop.

 

Clear and crimson circles in the snow appear,

The perfect blend of vivid and austere.

Her tears aren’t for the pain,

They are for the love she never gained.

She does this for the suffering to stop,

Drip, drip, slop.

 

A silvery blade in her hand,

Causes the blood to paint the snow that’s so bland.

Everyone tried to help her,

Except the one who could make her as she were.

Now her blood and emotions are in a glop,

Drip, drip, sob.

 

Her skin turns to the color of the snow,

And her sobbing begins to slow.

Her gray-blue eyes are hidden by her eyelids,

And her breathing is dull like her life is.

Her smile signifies her last yopp,

Drip, drip, plop.

 

 

Death Emotional Loneliness My Personal Life Poetry Twisted Meanings

Hunger

In my brumal world I have everything,

Except for the things that make me zing.

Those things one can’t touch nor see,

Mean everything to me.

I had them once before,

But now they are all like lore.

I hunger for them to be mine again,

So I can remember my zen.

They give me materials to fill the void,

But I want what they’ve destroyed.

Those things that make one feel alive,

The ones that would make me strive.

I hunger for those feelings,

I hunger for the emotions they bring.

Emotions like hope and happiness,

That kept away despair and vileness.

I’d ruin every material I have with a bat,

To once again feel an emotion like that.

Emotional Loneliness My Personal Life Poetry

Angels

I was told they watch us all,

Every year from winter to fall.

But I no more believe their lies.

Those angels in the blue skies,

Only watch for the sport,

Laughing as they thwart.

Teasing us with hope,

Then as we need them they elope.

Saving Graces they are claim,

But they won’t even save a dame.

Angels are as cruel as him.

Full of evilness to the brim.

 

 

Poetry Supernatural Twisted Meanings