I used to write poetry in my teens. Usually some dark stuff. I'm 42 and these words just came to me so I had to write it down. Please let me know what you think.

I find comfort in the chaos
I feel calm within the storm
I never feel quite like myself
But when trouble is the norm

I never feel quite seen or heard
I never feel quite known
I never feel accompanied
But when I am alone

Mute and quiet feel like pain
Silence feels like hell
Treading water feels like death
But when the ocean swells

When treading for so long and far
When drifting out to sea
When swimming with no end in sight
But when it swallows me

Please yell and scream and fill the void
Please summon all the noise
Please dodge the peace and damn the ease
But with your risen voice

meet yourself and greet your maker

the world is made of lies

the little force is weak

but of the two, it's greater

drop a secret like a wish

be discreet with all the haters

deceit is dripping down your widow's peak

filling up that empty crater

where your heart's supposed to be

an empty note says 'see you later'

lucky stones upon your dresser and all those special crystals

they're never gonna save ya

my computer's always on, now i miss my old screen saver

if it was easy to detach, i wouldn't need to write a thing

the ball and chain is human nature

scrolling down the rambling feeds

at least we're sparing trees by saving all the paper

face the hidden hand when it reaches for your neighbors

i'll never understand the trust in modern man

and the love for all the fakers

i prefer the wild to all the mild-mannered

crazy is my favorite flavor

can't trap them in a box

evading every label, they're escaping their containers

finders, seekers play for keeps

and when you lose it all, i know you're gonna blame us

exhaustion stains the faces of everyone who's famous

they mistake this for complaining

but i'm the best explainer

throw your status down the drain

while you're soaking your retainer

if you're having trouble sleeping, open up a book

and read it like a seventh grader

karma's slowly catching up

like an endless escalator

place your back against the wall

and fend off the imitators

the inmates run the prison now

and the biggest threat you face

isn't hate or violence

it's your own erasure

I don't know you yet. I don't know where you are, likely at home. I don't know what you do, likely lie in bed. And I don't know what you think right now.

I wish I would. I wish I would know where to look for you. I wish I knew what you'd like, what you aspire, what makes you smile. I wish I could find you and tell your we are meant to be.

But I can't.

You're somewhere out there. You have to be.... Cuz if you aren't this emptiness inside me will never disappear. It will always pull on me to find you.

It will always remind me that it's there. Cuz this emptiness fells like there's a piece out there matching it. This emptiness, I feel it everywhere.

In my hands at night, when they both feel like they're missing their counterpart. When they get cold from my open window and it just feels they're supposed to be wrapped up in someone else's hands right now.

On my waist whenever I come to a stop, when it feels like a pair of arms should exist out there that match their curve. When I cook and the idea of being hugged from behind feels so right I can almost feel it. Just almost.

Anytime I lie down to rest and theres space. Anytime I go visit my parents and drive alone. Anytime I achieve something and I wish I had someone to make proud with it. Anytime I wish It wasn't just me out here.

I wish I could find you. To share with you. To dedicate my every step to making you smile. Because even though I don't know you yet, I am sure it will be all I need.

I'm sure you will be all I need.

Your smile. I bet it's beautiful and pure. I bet once I see it, I'll never need any other reward in my life. It must be. Because I will love you, with all my being.

Your eyes. I am certain they are a sight to get lost in. I am certain once I see them, I will fall for you. I will love them, because they are a part of you.

Your passions. I know we won't have the same and that's good. I want to hear you talk about them, explain things to me and get lost in your own thoughts. Because I will be able to see how happy they make you.

I just wish you were here so bad right now. Looking over my shoulder, smiling and commenting on this: "Why you writing this... You already got me!" How I wish you'd say that right now.

How I wish you would meet me tomorrow. How I wish we could write our own story. How I wish I could cherish you. How I wish I could hold you.

I don't know you yet and maybe that's what scares me the most about this. You might be out there. But maybe you aren't. Maybe I am not meant to fill this emptiness. Maybe I'll never get to know you.

Edit: Restored original line spacing, cuz it looked weird before.

Every single fucking day. I'm going to post this. I'm autistic and I'm sick of masking - I was diagnosed late so I have no idea when I'm not. It's a constant burn out every day and I don't want to burden that shit on people. I have everything. House, family - maybe not friends or perfect health. But I'm exhausted from a burnout each day and doing it each day. It's nearly 12.30am and I got to do it all over again tomorrow. I can't be dealing with it. I feel like I'm faking it 😕 but I'm not

Death is silent and stiff.
But at least you died on your terms.
At home.

An old lady feline who just got tired.
And then more tired.
Looking for the next spot
Until finally
Lying down.

For the last time.

What if the hands of time could turn,
And all we thought we knew could change?
If memories were coded into the mind,
Knowing they could be rewritten or rearranged.

She's travelled through a thousand revelations,
Through borrowed hours and fractured years,
Found wisdom where the darkness lingered,
And measured time in love and tears.

For if the mind could be recoded,
Its memories altered or restored,
Would you return the clock to undo yesterday,
Or seek a future unexplored?

And fuck it, why not let her live?
Has she not learned enough by now?
Must every second hold another revelation,
Another question of why and how?

She never asked to govern time,
Nor carry every secret ever told,
Though she could dismantle all
That any mortal has ever known.
Yet she'd rather dance beneath the stars,
And find a little warmth to hold.

She's seen enough to question everything,
From love and memory to fate,
And wonders whether hearts once parted
Could meet before the hour grows late.

So, Kronos, if you lent your hourglass,
And let her wander through its sand,
Would you take her where two hearts first met,
Or somewhere neither life had planned?

Would you reverse the years of sorrow,
Or let their lessons gently stay?
Would you show her all the lives not lived,
Or grant her one unburdened day?

For every second holds a history,
Each passing hour another choice,
And somewhere in the folds of yesterday,
A heart still recognises another's voice.

For all her insight, all her wonder,
One simple truth remains quite clear:
She has nothing left to fear.

And if you could take her anywhere,
Beyond the reach of yesterday,
Where would you take her in time, and why?
And would you let her choose to stay?

For if the mind could hold new memories,
And old perceptions could be changed,
Would love remain the one true constant
When every moment was rearranged?

Could you unwind the threads of destiny,
Return the sands to where they fell?
Or would the hearts that once belonged
Still recognise each other well?

Perhaps the greatest gift of all
Is neither prophecy nor fate,
But letting her relearn what love is,
Without the weight of years that wait.

And after all she's come to question,
Perhaps a little faith will do.
For if you could turn back the hands of time,
Would you begin again with her too?

And somewhere in the folds of time,
She remembers Alanis in Dogma with a smile,
That cheery, childlike wonder of creation,
Finding joy in existence all the while.

For after such an emotional journey,
She's only just found strength to rise,
To gather herself in the mortal world,
With a thousand questions still in her eyes.

And nothing feels quite as real as once it did,
For her perspective has profoundly changed.
She sees beyond the familiar boundaries,
Where time and meaning rearrange.

And no, she is not insane for questioning
The things that others cannot understand.
She asks for neither blind acceptance
Nor judgement from an unseen hand.

Could any among you have endured
The weight of all she's travelled through?
And still be standing, still be breathing,
With the courage to begin anew?

Only some of you will fully understand those questions she presents to you.

Perhaps this is how the story had to unfold - the masterplan,
Through every sorrow, hope and fear,
Her emotional journey traced in words,
For anyone who cares to hear.

Each verse reveals another chapter,
Each change of heart, another day,
A record of a woman finding strength
When everything familiar fell away.

For even after all she's travelled through,
And everything she's yet to understand,
She deserves some insight,
And let tomorrow take her hand.

Who among you is prepared to speak,
To discuss what might be done?
While others seem renewed and rested,
She bears exhaustion when day is done.

The buzzing marks her waking hours,
Yet still she questions, still she stands.
Within her tale, the Creator shaped her
With purpose only time understands.

So when the hour for truth arrives,
Let wisdom speak and kindness stay.
And when you're ready for an honest conversation,
Come forward gently and guide the way.

But for now, she'll find a sweeter buzzing,
A little dopamine to brighten up the night.
Exhausted though her body may be,
She's still entitled to some delight.

She lost her favourite toys along the way,
Now where's the fun or fairness in that?
Even a weary woman deserves her pleasures,
And a cheeky grin beneath her cosmic hat.

For if the hours insist on buzzing,
She might as well enjoy a thrill or two.
A little pleasure, laughter and release,
And something rather naughty to pursue.

He seems to approve too! 😉

👽🌌✨💫🌹

Does anyone know of any poetry book competitions? Drop a reply below

You have been successfully detached from my mind but I still plant the same flowers in my garden.

Anisfield-Wolf Book Award contestee here!!

Wish me luck!!

www.phrenicphude.com

Don't trust knots,

Especially the belly button,

They rebuke with isolation,

And joint filing taxes,

Marriage liabilities aren’t free,

And two become one,

Now we can be lonely!

Between the Watch and the Silence

A poem of two dreams

I. The Watch Shop
I went to church to meet my friends,
A place I thought I knew,
But half walked out through unfamiliar doors,
And half went wandering through.

A watch shop stood where faith should be,
With glass and gold displayed,
And I walked in with empty feet,
In hole-worn socks arrayed.

The people who can buy these things,
I thought, don’t look the type.
As though the wealth behind the glass
Were some elaborate lie.

My friends had wandered further on,
So I devised a way
To move between the desks by hand,
And shuffle through the day.

They laughed at me. I caught a glimpse
Of myself within a mirror—
A neck like Haaland’s, stretched absurd,
My silhouette no clearer.

And yet I laughed along with them;
The fool was me, it’s true.
There was no shame in looking strange
Beneath that gilded view.

Then, on a whim, I tried a flip,
Expecting to descend—
But gravity forgot its work,
And would not let me end.

I hung suspended in the air,
No landing, no reply.
I couldn’t understand the rules
Of staying in the sky.

We left the shop. The dream withdrew.
The waking world grew near.
The room was hot, the night was done—
And nothing brought me clear.

II. The Foam Stick
Somewhere else, a distant place,
A trip beneath strange skies,
Two teachers kept their watch on us,
Two pairs of judging eyes.

And there she was, the girl I’d learned
To keep a space between;
A history I could not change,
A silence in the scene.

A telephone call broke her calm.
She wept, then came to me,
And wrapped her arms around my back
As though I were the key.

I held her, not knowing what
The moment asked me to do.
Then pointed towards the watching teacher
— You saw her come here too.

But she mistook the gesture’s aim,
And read a cruel intent.
The girl released me, turned away,
And wept at what she’d sensed.

I tried to speak. The words were there.
They crowded at the door.
But every time I reached for them,
The teacher spoke once more.

I turned to one, then turned again,
Convinced that one might hear;
But neither gave my words a place,
And neither let me clear.

A soft foam stick lay in my hand,
A ridiculous defence.
I struck it out against the air,
Against their indifference.

It touched their heads; they barely moved.
No anger, no surprise.
I brought it to the other one,
Still searching for her eyes.

I poked, I struck, I tried again—
A child against a wall.
The stick could make no difference;
It changed nothing at all.

For what could force an ear to hear?
What blow could make words true?
What use is knowing what you meant
If none will listen to you?

The girl was gone. The teachers stayed.
My explanation, lost.
I stood amid the wreckage of
A truth that had no cost—

Except the price of being judged
Before the case was heard,
Of having every gesture weighed
But never one clear word.

III. Between the Dreams
One night, I laughed at being strange,
And floated without knowing why.
The next, I fought to make things clear,
And could not make them try.

In one, the world forgot its laws;
In one, it would not bend.
In one, I rose without a cause;
In one, I could not reach the end.

Perhaps the mirror asks me this:
What matters when we’re seen?
The foolish shape we show the world,
Or what we truly mean?

Perhaps the sky can hold a man
Who doesn’t know he’s flown.
Perhaps the hardest fall is not
The one we take alone.

But somewhere past the glass and gold,
Past judgement, noise and fear,
There waits a place where I can speak—
And someone chooses to hear.

Daisy

I bloom, I sway to stay awake
I wither slow, the seasons pass,
Just a flower with nothing at stake
Caught in the wind, rooted within the grass

I am no rose,
They’re picked and plucked and stuffed in a bunch
They’re shown for love, they’re all anyone knows
I bloom all year, im just not wanted enough

Im out of tune, im not in the mood
My petals decay, now I bend, I break, I watch them fade
The wind blows me around, I follow still searching for sound

Winter is coming
The sting of wind against your face
The sound of it whispering as it runs over your ears
Biting
The leaves fall victim to the wind
Their corpses carried away
Blood red leaves
Bruise yellow leaves
They fall, twisting in the wind
Mornings are darker
The leaves cover the light
When the light finally comes, it shows frost coating the grass
Suffocating and freezing
The frost devours the land
It kills the fresh, beautiful tomatoes
They pop open, the frost stretching their skin to its breaking point
“Crack”
Tomato on the ground
The frost eats it
The frost eats everything
The frost will eat my corpse once I die
The frost will turn to snow, thick fluffy mounds of it
Winter will come
We cannot stop it
The wind whispers this to me.
But.
Winter punishes earth, but earth lives on
It keeps going, even through being frozen and broken
I will keep going, as does the earth I walk upon
I will continue
The frost won’t eat me yet
I mourn my red tomato, but their life has come to its natural ending
I will resist the frost.
For my tomato.

“Why have You forsaken me?”

Psalm 22:1.

“My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”

Matthew 27:46.

“Why have You forsaken me?”

Chop Suey — System Of A Down.

Mm.

A recurring motif, no?

Both religiously and sacrilegiously.

Curious.

(Selah.)

I suppose I could cry at the thought of an angel

deserving to die.

Ah, always so self-righteous.

Never once quite slipped for over half of your life.

Could you be that angel?

Because you… you’ve always been so good.

And then, you fell.

You were so high, though, your fall was rather like witnessing death.

So impeccable.

What for, really?

You wanted to please everyone, but so early on, the rage beneath couldn’t stay buried for long.

You pleased everyone. At the expense of your life.

(Selah.)

It’s rather fascinating, I’ll admit, 

realizing how the ultimate expression of 

human abandonment hasn’t changed in the slightest in over two millennia.

Does anyone really take the time to realize that “pleasing everyone” becomes almost indistinguishable from self-erasure?

Given the data… I’d suppose not.

The angel remained impeccable because the angel was willing to sacrifice itself.

And eventually there was nothing left to sacrifice—except itself.

I mean…

If the highest, purest creation can fall, what chance did a human trying to be flawless ever have?

(Selah.)

Oh, don’t mind me—nor mistake me for trying to play the “devil’s advocate.”

By now, I’ll suppose you’re used to my willingness to play with imagery.

But…

Yes.

The angel can have rage.

The angel can fall.

The angel can fail.

The angel can even be responsible for some of its own destruction.

But still—

why was it forsaken?

That question remains unanswered.

Was it forsaken at all?

Given the data… it’s a plausible possibility.

Was it forsaken even before it fell?

Because otherwise… why would it have fallen?

How could it?

One was impeccable. The other was flawless.

You gave away your life to please others—

until the only piece left to burn on the altar was your actual identity.

Does that count as a Sunday testimony?

(Selah.)

Did it fall?

Did it want to fall?

Was it pushed?

Was it—for a millisecond—relieved it’d been pushed?

Because then, the façade could’ve been gone.

But no—life never makes it easy like that.

You’re living on the edge.

You so wish to die. But you haven’t.

Neither of you has.

Your earlier supposition that you could cry at the thought of an angel deserving to die is being proven consistent.

Do you think, though, you’re deserving of such punishment?

If death is supposed to be a punishment, anyway.

(Selah.)

You were sitting at that pew.

Hours ago.

Half of you… wishing to believe.

Half of you, as always, already gone.

And the only question returning to your mind was…

Why have You forsaken me?

I trusted You.

I believed in You.

I defended You.

I placed my faith in You.

So why…

Without apparent remorse…

Without an apparent coming around…

Without an apparent “I’m still here” whisper…

Mercilessly…

When did I fail you?

Was it when I fell in love?

Was it when I failed others as well, for merely

discovering I had my own wills—and they didn’t always align with Yours, nor necessarily please You?

Was it when I was overzealous about Your Word, and so consumed by my hunger for knowledge and wisdom that I might’ve become a little arrogant—and imprudent, like Solomon?

I wonder.

And if any of those—

or all of them—are true…

I would still presume to ask:

Why have You forsaken me, Father?

— Crownless.

Discrepancy Is Key

When you're fucking with Psycho,

I'm hypothetical.

Selective and diabolical,

I'm chronological.

And dialectical,

Cynical,

And ferocious.

I'll leave you in a state

Of hemoptysis.

I'm hypnosis

And loud.

Trans, I am proud.

Imprisoned in the misery,

Incessantly so,

Hypothetically.

On the low,

Scientific.

I'm terrific

And sadistic.

Imprisoned and explicit,

Heterosis,

And bodacious,

Delicious.

And perceptive,

Somewhat protective.

I'm critical,

I'm hypocritical.

Cynical

And seductive.

Calm, but I'll erupt

Like a volcano.

I'll interrupt the flow,

Intrinsic,

And forensic.

Elusive and conducive.

Subliminal,

Subsonic,

Hypnotic

And chronic.

I'm a recovered alcoholic,

Symbolic.

Symphony

Or destiny,

Neurologic

And nostalgic.

​

Also truly dangerous,

Something between pride and greed.

Envy is the birth of reason for which these two sins exist...

Immortal in its own being,

Envy is like wrath,

Fueled by its own beginning.

He wants what you have.

Children better parents,

isn't that the saying?

In this case, the kids

are sins of pride, wrath, and greed.

He will see all that you have,

And all the things you don't,

And if he decides it so,

They'll become his own.

He will see the crown you wear,

And he'll want one too,

And if he can't have his own,

He will just transform.

Sometimes darkest things we do

Are not some random acts,

Instead, they're just transformance

Of things we've done in past.

Envy sees the crown and wants it,

Pride wants better one,

Greed wants to have more than that,

And wrath wants you to burn...

See the difference?

Six feet under, thought I finally paid the price,
Till a grave robber digs me up just to kill me twice.
Peeled off my skin, tore the bone from my corpse,
Made a lamp out the loot—what a sick, terrible sport.
Bro, I’m dead already! A lifeless trophy inside his room,
Ed Gein with his craft, designer decor made of doom.
Dimming light on his desk while he’s taking a power nap,
Still unloved as a house fixture , stuck in an endless trap.
Never gotten a chance to ask if he’d love me as a lamp,
He flips my switch: ON/OFF; joystick button in his hand
My spirit absorbs in horror-dumb, mute cold and damp.

if only you had waited a little longer

maybe your family would ask you for a favor

maybe they needed help, maybe you could solve it

maybe you could solve everything

your friend would call you, saying they have a surprise

maybe they bought a new house, maybe they married, maybe they won the lottery... but it would all come crashing down

maybe you were a glance away from meeting the love of your life, having kids, taking care of them, maybe you could be grandparents... but you missed out on it. you couldn't hold on

maybe the tiniest hope that you're clinging to would soon allow you to reach your dreams... maybe you wanted a palace, maybe you wanted calm and balance... maybe that hope would solve all your problems...

maybe, just maybe, the "maybe's" you once considered would become real. maybe the years of work you did wouldn't be in vain... maybe, you wouldn't leave everyone loving you behind when you heard the big news you would get a few hours later.

it is too unfortunate, if only you had waited a little longer, the garden of life would spring, and you'd see it flower

Yes.
I feel horrible.
I feel disgusted, and initially,
I felt embarrassed.

I was not smiling,
yet,
I was,
now what I have identified:
Grateful.

Imagine that?
No.
I suppose not.

A tumour diagnosis.
3 weeks,
from the day we knew.

Nothing happened as expected.
I didn’t understand.
In that moment.
What I was witnessing.

The severity.

So I stroked you gently, then—unsure.
Now,
Guilt.
Each night,
kisses me goodnight.

My gentle soul.
How do I let you go?

I anticipate your anxiety on that day.
A room, in my arms, in a place that is not ours.
A brave face in that moment, I will hold.
You will see me smiling.

And please hear me again whisper:
“Mom will never leave you. Remember?”

An extract from a prior poem.

I failed you,
that is how I feel.

I was a coward.
I was frightened.
I was losing my mind.
Everything, for the first time,
when pertaining to you;
I felt useless.

At first, your past was why.
Bearing witness
to your growth in trust and love –
Your sister can hold her own.
You
I wanted to shelter from the world.

You did,
what I could not.
You lifted the weight
I had promised
was mine alone to carry:
when to say goodbye.

You decided for me.
Forever, I am in your debt.

A blood clot.
The results of such, then playing out.
You did not deserve that.

I cannot reverse that.
There is nothing for me to yell at.

Along with this pain,
is gratitude.

You allowed me to breathe,
and in turn,
you took your last breath.

My Rebel Rose.
My Rebel pebble.
My silly billy.

I think I can still hear you.

“Mom’s most prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”

Maaaaan, what to write, what to write?

I’m drunk, and so you’d think I’d have more to say. Perhaps my love for her remains unchanged, or so I’d like to think.

I’ve always wanted to bring out the best in her. Make her notice my name and say it a little lovelier than last time.

I just want to hear her say it. Play it on repeat. I know I couldn’t help myself.

I’ve been murmuring baby to myself for the past year, in the depths of my longing.

I wonder how she would respond to that. If she, too, has waves pulling at her tongue, sinking down to her heart.

I’ve made stupid choices in my life, drawing me further from the shore.

Hoping her lifeboat would drift by, telling myself that it should be me, with an aching of a tearful sea.

I should’ve saved her. I should save her. I can still…

I…

Still,

I carry hope, for if there’s anything keeping me afloat, it’s her.

Even when I’ve forgotten her voice, forgotten her smile, and gone blind.

I’ll never dry up.

Not with the hold she has on my eyes, my soul.

So for now, I’ll simply go on and enjoy the rest of my beer.

Cheers. 🍻

If you could see inside my mind,
the places that we go,
the little dreams I have of us
and things you'll never know.

I'd pull you close and kiss your lips,
and hold you for a while,
I'd whisper all the things I feel
and melt beneath your smile.

I'd spend my mornings next to you,
my evenings in your arms,
and fall asleep beside you,
so safe and loved and warm.

And sometimes when I close my eyes,
I almost feel you near,
close enough to make me smile,
then wish that you were here.

But until dreams become our days,
and all our wishes come true,
I'll keep on dreaming every night
of waking up with you.

unlike belief , curses are not placed upon
one is born with a curse , unable to be withdrawn

they are not to be treated with fear or anguish
because once born , a curse cannot vanquish

they differ in purpose, reason and being
all in natures favor and it's intent of decreeing

they come in all forms of intent
one grants paths , one brings torment

i myself was born with the latter
my curse painting my life in dark matter

too late have i discovered the fact ,
whatever tormenting me rather abstract

from times existence i thought it was love
the feeling towards me , people were free of

whereas love was a thing i always adored ,
and my mind absorbed such impossible chord

and only too late , i was illuminated
my mind drowned in loath , and so i was baited

my curse was not my existence a matter of loath
my curse was reversed , enforcing an oath