The raindrops on my windowsill

Gently paint a breeze

A colorful array of black

That would drop you to your knees

My shady breathe now grows cold

I feel my body weak

As my body trembles

I feel insolent, meek

When my heart does shiver

It creates a gentle pain

Extremities in breathing

A major hurt that drains

But to focus on the raindrops

Is to focus on the real

Not what I wish to be

Or how I don't truly feel

I don't anticipate when they fall

Or where they're going to land,

This way, I don't get crushed

Cradling in another’s hand

If I’m weak but for an hour

I seem to suffer but a life

I retell myself I’m worthless

As I line up my wrist with the knife

I slowly pull away the knife

And cry upon the floor

Decide that I will be a bitch

And those who don’t like it, there’s the door

I hear the bicker from myself,

"Why are you doing this?"

My response is simple,

"My ass, the world, can kiss!"

"Oh angel of death,

my past of glory..."

"Hush not you speak,

my laid upon ears,

I shall not reason,

nor sympathize tears."

Quickly interrupted

one movement of hand

my eyes now shutter

the passing of sand.

If my demons always chatter

and my mind is always beat

will my room truly become shattered

when I stand upon my feet?

for my demons tell me things

though I don’t know what to believe

and my mind it sometimes rings

to drown out what they conceive

they think that they're so funny

always laughing at me so

but just you wait till it gets sunny

oh damn they never go

they tell me to do this and that

they come put marks on me

they cut me deep and taunt me fat

ignoring them is not a key

if I do just what they say

they wont bother me as much

but they always bug me to come out and play

threatening death to me and such

Heightened by darkness

silky passions float

subconscious creatures form

as the future they tote

my mind it drifts

as the wind blows wonders

full of life’s mysteries

questions, answers, blunders

a painted picture perfect

form a canvas clear cut blue

where everything you are to see

will be what they do

they reflect all pigments

up so high above

with feather like appearance

that reflects that of a pure white dove

where true emotion forwards

imagination thrives

they aren't as thick as they appear

they're the clouds up in the skies

when you look at things different

people look different at you

they don’t see you as the rubber

and they don’t see you as the glue

they see you as you see they

in your own perspective proof

where everyone it seems

makes conformities form them aloof

a poet holds the key

to the mysteries within their poem

but the nebulous meanings to readers

may send them in a dome

for they want the meaning clear

for their words to gently flow

so they may be appreciated

before underground they go

they want people to comprehend

hat they mean to say

for everyone to know how they think

and to matter at the end of the day

Have you ever felt

your safety ripped away

and felt so weak, confused

as you cry away the day

have you ever wondered

why no one values your mind

like we're some type of mutant

where no one is like our kind

have you ever believed

that adults punish you out of spite

especially when they refuse to know

that you are really right

have you ever noticed

that they don't take you seriously at all

but crack down hard, unruly

when you seriously fall

have you ever gotten the feeling

that you're a teenager lost,

and eternal torture on Earth

has got to be the cost?