And I Never Asked To Be A Poet
and I never asked to be a poet
but when I don't write
I always make a line
it's just a quick decision
whether I cut it
or snort it
and I could make myself bleed
or I could make a living
writing these sad lyrics
and shouting at strangers
doing both is working out
for how long? guess I'll try
to find out, and hopefully
make it out alive
"lyricist" - zero (me)
[it's yet another song draft rather than a poem but ayyyy writing block!!!! ]
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echoingflowerfield liked this · 1 year ago
More Posts from Zeropoems
some time ago already, a month maybe
a cold night and a blue apartment
just the kitchen lit up and just me inside
the buzz of the microwave
and the holler of the wind
and the shake of my hand
and the poorly executed confession
"it's not back, not really. it's just
my brain is a scumbag and it just
wants me to go down, and i just
can't tell it to shut up every time,
you know"
and you didn't before
but you tried your best in the moment
you told me you will be there always
and I appreciated it, like no other
I swear I did
and you told me
"please call me if this ever gets worse"
no idea why, it came back like a curse
you still don't know, noone does, actually
I'll tell you the truth only when you ask for it
because you don't need this in your life
on another cold night, in a lit up apartment
I'm telling you goodnight, far too early
• "tonight I'm going to sleep hungry" - zero [me]
apparently I have 100 likes on this account, which is not exactly a lot considering how many things I posted but I'm still happy about it [:
there aren't any words in which I could put the purest act of your love that is sitting with me at night and listening to me complain about writing poems and songs
I hope you realise all the love in them is for you
I'm sitting at a bus stop almost alone and I haven't been this calm in months
The same bus passed three times already but it's not what I'm looking for
And this should be it, this should be reason enough to write
but it's not
For I've been tired to my core and all I've wanted
Is to be held by the one adult person I let myself be known
For I need something bigger than my name. For I need someone who knows better than I do
But it's all futile and I can't bring myself to ask her for kindness
But it's all without point and I can't write anymore
"Nomen Omen, just like Moliére" - Zero (me)
how am I to write of things so beautiful by themselves
there are yellows lights outside and blue fluorescent lights
there was a man on the bus who was so obviously an addict
he's found a teenager's phone by his seat and told his every move to a woman he didn't know for
"he's had too many problems already to steal anything really"
there are yellow nights of laughter and blue strangers who weep in churches
there is a part time job of mine at a flower shop
and I can't explain how throwing out stem cuttings makes me the happiest I've been all week
the world's poetry writes itself and I feel useless in my craftsmanship
"poetry in breathing" - zero (me)
you improvise a home by street lights
act like the dark is welcoming enough
leave at the same hour day by day
noone really knows what you're doing
you don't really know what you're searching for
your sister calls it running away
you try to say it's anything but
who are you trying to convince
your sister calls it running away
your mother says it is alright for
you get back when it's getting late
your sister calls it running away
you don't think it's a run if noone's chasing
zero (me)