05-22-2017, 08:08 AM
Hey guys, it's just a little poem I wrote. I was trying to make a "spoken" poem, but the format and rhyme is kinda foregin to me. I'd just like to ask what do you guys think?
The Time Before
I remember from the time before he showed up.
I could dance around words like a dancer,
Sewing words in a seamless rhythm,
Hitting every question with an answer.
I was the star of my own show,
Bliss in the spotlight.
Attention was mine to command,
And I thought I was the writer of my story.
Until he showed up.
He goes by many names,
But sometimes he’s misnamed “shynessâ€Â.
No, that’s not his name. He’s something worse.
His notoriety known to us all.
I like to call him “Anxietyâ€Â.
He was quiet at first,
A faint whisper that you could never quite hear.
If you focus on the here and now, you can barely notice him.
Sounds easy right?
No.
Because he knows he doesn’t need to be loud.
In the darkest hour, the whisper is all you’re allowed to hear.
Because he knows all he needs to do is for you to say yes.
Yes, just once.
“You’re not good enough.â€Â
“You can’t do it.â€Â
“Your dreams are a lieâ€Â
"You will die alone."
Yes.
I am the extra of my own life
I fear that spotlight reveals my flaws.
Attention scorches me with it’s claws.
And I’m at the mercy of my story.
His sickly green vines suffocate you,
Until you can’t even move under its weight.
Each time you say yes, it grows even stronger,
Using your words in friendly fire.
Remember the last time?
I was right. You were useless.
Remember the time before that?
Right. You were being foolish.
The vines sends you deeper and deeper,
Unless You learn to fight back.
The trick is this.
His powers works in reverse,
Each time you say “noâ€Â,
He speaks a little softer.
He speaks a little kinder.
“No.â€Â
“No.â€Â
“No.â€Â
The Time Before
I remember from the time before he showed up.
I could dance around words like a dancer,
Sewing words in a seamless rhythm,
Hitting every question with an answer.
I was the star of my own show,
Bliss in the spotlight.
Attention was mine to command,
And I thought I was the writer of my story.
Until he showed up.
He goes by many names,
But sometimes he’s misnamed “shynessâ€Â.
No, that’s not his name. He’s something worse.
His notoriety known to us all.
I like to call him “Anxietyâ€Â.
He was quiet at first,
A faint whisper that you could never quite hear.
If you focus on the here and now, you can barely notice him.
Sounds easy right?
No.
Because he knows he doesn’t need to be loud.
In the darkest hour, the whisper is all you’re allowed to hear.
Because he knows all he needs to do is for you to say yes.
Yes, just once.
“You’re not good enough.â€Â
“You can’t do it.â€Â
“Your dreams are a lieâ€Â
"You will die alone."
Yes.
I am the extra of my own life
I fear that spotlight reveals my flaws.
Attention scorches me with it’s claws.
And I’m at the mercy of my story.
His sickly green vines suffocate you,
Until you can’t even move under its weight.
Each time you say yes, it grows even stronger,
Using your words in friendly fire.
Remember the last time?
I was right. You were useless.
Remember the time before that?
Right. You were being foolish.
The vines sends you deeper and deeper,
Unless You learn to fight back.
The trick is this.
His powers works in reverse,
Each time you say “noâ€Â,
He speaks a little softer.
He speaks a little kinder.
“No.â€Â
“No.â€Â
“No.â€Â