Poetry

I used to not like poetry. I didn't see a point in it, it felt too fancy and seemed overly complicated. But then I read a few poems that really captivated me and now I'm addicted. There is a strange power in poetry that makes us want to listen and hear/read more. We somehow feel like we can relate to it more. This is my first attempt at writing poetry, feel free to let me know if I did it wrong. The thing is, so far I've only been able to write about me and things I feel, so this is me being very vulnerable. I haven't written a lot about myself because I want to be speaking to you and trying to spread hope. But for some reason when I try to write poetry I can only write about myself. My wish is that you can still relate to these words and find hope in them. 

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Underwater


I’m underwater
can’t breathe
floundering in an ocean of my own tears,
swept over by waves of people that don’t care
soaked to the bone with sorrow
weighed down with anxiety.
so deep that if happiness was the sun
I wouldn’t feel the warmth of its rays.
the current of life seems to fight
my every movement.
I am falling in
slow motion,
the pressure makes me dizzy.
the surface, my hope, growing distant.
I’m underwater.

the burdens I bear pull me deeper
like a millstone around my neck.
I hear only my own heartbeat
feel my scars washed clean
maybe there is a beauty here
in the depth.
dark blue sadness,
like water
surrounding me,
making me appreciate its color.
feeling the waves wash me clean.
there is a strange peace,
knowing He holds the oceans in His hands.
He holds me in His hands.
when the current tries to move me,
He is an anchor for my soul.
never have I felt this close
to the One that created me.
He cried drops of blood for me
His love for me is more than
the drops in the ocean.
a love so deep, so wide, I am drowning in it.



***



Seen


What if the one thing I want most
is the one thing I want the least?
What if the thing I hope for
is also what I dread?

my protests are always,
“they don’t understand”
my constant complaint is
that no one knows my struggles
making my greatest wish
to be seen.
seen for who I am,
what I’ve been through,
the struggles I overcome.
there is hope that one day
I will come face to face
with someone who sees
more than just my face.
one who looks deeper,
desires to know me for me,
hears my silent screams for help
that I hide behind smiles.
I want more than anything else
to be seen.


My fears and my hopes are aligned
what I most dread is the day
when I come face to face
with someone who sees
more than just my face.
one who looks deeper and sees me for me
my weaknesses revealed
fears and lies observed and understood
will my struggles be laughed at,
my pain be brushed aside as petty,
and my personality mocked as oversensitive?
life for me has been a contest
I must always be the best
so weakness is something to hide
and pain is disregarded.
for someone to see these hidden things
would be for me to lose the image I cultivate.
more than anything else, I dread
being seen.


I wait,
remaining seen
but unseen
always wondering
always hiding
I escape to my room with my thoughts
pen and paper are my constant companions
they know me
my story is written in their lines.
my room hides me when I write and when I weep
the walls I erect and the walls of my room
serve the same purpose
they keep me from what I want the most
and from what I want the least.
between these walls my truth is unseen.
If the eyes are the windows to the soul,
what would people see if they peered inside?
if the door was opened,
to my room or my heart,
maybe I would be seen for who I am
broken. ugly. scarred. afraid.
hopeful. loved. healed. brave.


Yet people don’t peer deeper
no one sees inside.
until the day when someone sees
my soul, looks under my skin,
peers through my walls
until the day when what I want
and what I dread both occur,
I remain
unseen.



***