Poëzie, mijn uitlaatklep

[Destruct!]

Hier deel ik mijn gedichten

[Destruct!]

'Live, laugh, love', they say.
It may be that simple.
It leaves no pimple behind.
What if that is all taken from you?
Death, sadness and hate.
That is the only place for me left behind.
I don't mind, I am crazy inside.
The unending fight in my soul and heart.
Leaves no space behind for self-love & peace.
It seems like I am all hindering behind bars.

[Destruct!]

What is happiness?
Do I have that readiness?
I wish I could feel, I wish I could smile.
For once, I have no clue who I am.
All is filled with darkness, pain, and regret.
The feeling never goes away.
I am awaiting that day.
The day where I can be finally happy.

[Destruct!]

I feel outplayed, outnumbered.
Yet, I am here.
I am here, for what reason?
Can I really commit treason?
Society moves, I stand still.
Maybe I should kill...

[Destruct!]

Dreamland is the place I would love to be in.
No more suffering;
No more pain;
No more...
All I am observing is my own lore.
When these gates open,
I see the wonders of dreamland.
The place where I can be whomever I want.
I land in a small ville; fictious, but an astounding place.
I could wander there for days, forever I could.
I hear an alarm bell ring...
And that is when I open my eyes.
Realising it was all, but a stubborn illusion.
The stubborn illusion I would love to live in.

[Destruct!]

True love.

I wish I could get more. More of that weird, but fuzzy feeling.
I loved someone double my age.
I thought we were on the same page.
But things changed quite quickly, sadly.
I am experiencing the same neglect I experienced from my mother.
Maybe I was searching for someone to pick up that role and nurture me.
Someone I could share my achievements with, talk my problems to, and love with.
It felt like I lost my mother twice.
I am getting a step closer to that dice.

[Not for Sale]

Ik had op mijn 18e ook een emo Engelse poëziefase. Later toch maar overgestapt op Nederlands.

[Destruct!]

Not for Sale schreef:

Ik had op mijn 18e ook een emo Engelse poëziefase. Later toch maar overgestapt op Nederlands.

Het cirkeltje is rond

[Destruct!]

True love?
Was it true love or was it my own illusion?
I fed my own poison again, why did I fell in the trap of limerence then…
I can’t believe I was so naïve, I thought it was true love. I thought I loved you, but it seemed…
It seemed like it was my own poison.
The poison of limerence.
I regret, I regret, I regret.
I lost myself, I lost you. How am I able to love someone when I cannot love myself?
What is true love?
What is it, what is it, what is it?
Why was I obsessive, why were you a drug? I don’t understand.
I wish I could truly love you, I wish, I wish. But I am unable to provide you it, I am mentally ill.
I am ill enough to not give myself the love I need.
I am ill enough to not be able to take care of myself.

Some day, I try to get my life together. I don’t want to happen it again.
I wish all the pieces matched, I wish I could lead a normal life without psychological issues.
I don’t want to feel the horrendous pain of living in a fantasy. Not this time, never.
I want to be happy again.