https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confessional_poetry
Poets whose writing is classified as confessional (it has been argued) use writing as an outlet for their demons.
Untitled I by petrova, literature
Literature
Untitled I
I sat there anxiously prepared to rip my skin off
- to bare my life to a stranger,
doodling on the paper in front of me,
a paper with all the information to remember,
I could feel the sweat in the armpits accumulating,
and I tried in vain to steady my breathing,
hand gripping hard around my phone not to shake.
The happy on hold music played relentlessly
- on repeat, every note stabbing me
leaving me gasping for air to its rhythm,
This was my final life line which I had fought against
- for months, years, holding it off in a naive hope
that life at some point needs to get better,
as everyone said it would.
Liars.
You are like an illusion,
a hologram trying to hold my hand,
you fade away into distance,
I slip through the fingers of time,
there is nothing real,
maybe it all is just a dream,
something to wake from,
you fall into pieces and melt
into thousand puddles,
a breath and you are gone,
but I remember you inside,
you are on my cornea
until the wind takes me
like the leaves on autumn trees,
and then we will be gone,
be a memory from yesterday,
with no footprints in the snow.
How can one person make you feel so small,
make you feel like you evaporated in that instant,
like your gasping for air doesn't matter,
how can that person you want to comfort you
not care when you bat your lashes like a madman
just to not let your tears escape,
how can you let another person make you feel
like your existence doesn't matter,
how your feelings and your plans can be set aside
for other things, for other people
when you're supposed to be important,
how can that very person you've entrusted your life with
just crush it without thought
like it was the easiest thing in the world -
when at the same moment
it crushed your hear
It drips along my vertebrae,
dark, smudgy, reeking of
disgust,
it find the holes, the bones
downward,
it feels itself forward like
nervous hands on a nude body,
I can sense it: tingling,
falling, cascading, ruining
along my vertebrae,
It spreads like a fire in a dry
forest,
the animals flee in panic,
the vegetation screams,
nothing is left, only barren land,
It drips, like oil down my back:
the hate, the anxiety, the thoughts
of not being enough
slithers around my vertebrae
and break them,
one
by
one.
It was like any other day,
regular, a bit foggy,
the leaves had flown,
it was night, dark
and I sat in the lamp glow
talking to you,
you asked:
'will you be my girlfriend?'
and everything lit up,
cleared away,
my heart fluttered,
my lips parted
and I said: 'yes'.
Everything is so unclear,
I don't know anything,
it's limbo land,
a still stand, moving
nowhere,
not even the snowflakes
fall,
silence. Play and pretend:
breathing, living, sleeping,
maybe eating,
such a dreadful existence,
forward slowmotion, steps
backward,
but still
a slice of hope
for something more.
I'm made of poetry
it runs in my black veins,
circulate,
mumble fair words into my ears,
like tinnitus,
I dance round round
to the poetry lullabies inside,
clucking in my blood
like the waves against the shore,
I know...
the poems will take me one day,
run me over, swallow me
and I will go with them,
take them in my hand and laugh,
because...
I was never made for this world,
I was made for my own,
a world with castles made of
poetry bricks and seams,
I am poetry. I am a poem.
I just don't have a name yet.
I am free poetry,
I will never be constrained,
versed, rhymed,
I am a flow of words
combined on a theme,
a though
You're not here
and my tears are falling everywhere,
I need you so much closer,
my heart aches, I ache,
I want to wake up next to you
when the sun rays stripe your face
but haven't awaken you yet,
I want to walk in the fog and rain
holding your hand in my mittens,
a sensation of getting lost but
being home,
You're too far away,
my heart is in need, rocking,
trying to get out and fly to you.
How can you break the chains
that hold you down,
how can you untie the knots
on the ropes,
when you really want to
but is just so used to
being captured
that you don't bat an eye
when it suddenly constrains you,
how can you make yourself
take that giant leap,
how can you force yourself
to dare and trust love,
when you're buried deep.