Hey guys! Just looking for some feedback. They're just random poems I wrote before going to bed and whatnot, but I really enjoy writing and wanted share them with some people who would appreciate them! =]

02 May 2013:
My closet is full of clothes --
My comfiest pants and old tee's.
You're shoved back in the darkest corner
Beyond the Halloween costumes
Prom gowns and memories.

I'll find the light and turn it on
But you're still cloaked in shade.
Collecting dust like the boxes beside you
I can't remember why you stayed.

Don't you miss the days I'd wear you?
Pair you with my favorite sweater
Those days are over and long gone
Your colors have dulled and faded
And naturally, my wardrobe looks better

I'll find the light and turn it on
But you're still stuck in that same space
Collecting dust like my stacked antiques
I doubt you'll ever leave this place


21 May 2013:
She loved him. For a really long time.
Even through all the sad and terrible things
They did to each other over time.

She felt betrayed.
And their end lead to many other damaged relationships
She used to easily maintain.
He crushed her spirit,
Took her faith,
And left when she needed him most.
It emptied her, almost completely.

The shell she became clung onto a few friends,
and abandoned the life it previously knew.
But it's trying to find her again.


24 May 2013:
You're a splinter.
A dead battery that can't be reused.
A blackout.
An empty picture frame.
A loveless home.
A wilted flower with weak beauty.
A boring novel.
A hangover.
You're a reoccurring nightmare.
And now I can't sleep.


YELLOW DAFFODILS (28 May 2013):
I used to see pinks and greens.
Now, only black and white.
Like blobs. That hardly passes as a picture.
Yellow daffodils fade to grey.
A solid mass -- rigid, lifeless.

They no longer dance in the breeze.
Or ignite a smile.


9 July 2013:
If my finger was a pen,
I'd write all day.
I'd draw lines all over your face.
Your beautiful face.
I'd write endless stories on random walls.
You'd be able to find me anywhere.
As long as you follow the ink,
You'd trace my soul,
And hear all the things it yearns to say.


21 July 2013:
I lost you.
I lost the part of me that loved you.
I lost so much of my heart.
The part that lets me love things.
Things like people.

I lost the part of me that likes doing things.

I don't know how to be a person again.
I don't remember wanting to do things.
Important things. For myself.
For other people. For anyone.

I lost every ounce of decency I had.
I lost my cheeriness.
I lost my ambition.
I lost my head.
I lost my identity.
I lost you.

---------- Post added 08-05-2013 at 11:28 PM ----------

2010 (HS Literature Assignment):
The sun runs away
From a persistent, pesty moon
Vibrant pinks and yellows and oranges
Following closely behind
All take shelter on the other side
Of safe valleys and towering mountains
Warm colors of the day are replaced
By comforting blues and purples
Littered with perfect speckles of yellow and white
Like a synchronized dance
The moon creeps toward the Heavens
As the air cools and the chirps
Of thousands of tree frogs harmonize
Fireflies flash in the shadow of time
As the laughter of children crescendos
Until dreamy thoughts and the memory
Of your mother's sweet lullaby
Plague your eyes with darkness

15 November 2012:
A pastel pink shining in a sea of pale sand.
It catches my eye.
All that I see is gorgeous – pure, unbroken, untouched.
So smooth, almost porcelain.
I wrap my fingers around its soft edge and gently pull.

A fragment.
Cracked, empty, partial.

It’s a sad reminder—
Nothing can be intact—
At least, not forever.


11 August 2009:
As certain as the sunrise
That last flickering flame
That final burst of useless energy
The puff of smoke after trying so hard
That helpless moment when you need to cling on
Not amounting to anything
But nothing

It started so bright
So much potential, fed with oxygen
That flame needed so little to light up the room
As time went on
Its sources slowly depleted
Until nothing was left
But a hope that was as dim
As that flicker itself
Such a pathetic spark it ended with
And only the bones and dust
Of a burned out wick
Remained