Write It Right

She said, write me a story
Paint me a picture of pretty poor me
Bring words alive to describe my demise,
As a slip in and out of the disguises I hide

She said, don’t hold back go hard on me
Describe all the dirty parts of the mask you see
Show them the ugly truth that exists at these parties
The beautiful lies we painfully believe

Raise the questions that don’t get an answer back
Because were too busy answering back
Raise the voices we’re armed with to attack
But we won’t shout for the answers we lack

We just get high off the night, sleeping with strangers
Drowning our morals, concealing our angers
In midst of the angst, our war wages on
The storm calmed by the clouds it rages from

She said, tell them I’m a fighter, I called her a liar
What are you fighting for? Her silence denied her
I’ve never seen you break the cycle, fight the fires
Just keep ranting to the choir, screaming you’re tired

It’s your life and they left you no chance to succeed
How it has been, that’s how it must be
Just quit now, prove the doubters were right
Is that how you want me to write about your life?

You are the reason I write, but you need to end it right
Let me write for the hero inside you that fights
Stands up for the rights, changes dark to light
You want to me write your story, let me write it right

 

Write Again

How did it happen?
I use to grab a pen and create images
What happens when the magic diminishes?
When you write but you can’t finish it
When you begin to doubt the title of lyricist

A self-proclaimed master of words
But you can’t string a sentence together
When the pen used to calm roaring weather
Every line wrote, took you on an adventure
Eased the pressure now you can’t reach the letters

You’re stuck in a rut
When you’ve lost your grip, let it slip
Hanging on your thoughts, the fire in your belly
But now your thoughts aren’t worth a penny
How did you let the burden get so heavy?

Let it go
Take a breath and let the tears rain
Take a seat and let the beer drain
Take a notepad, load the pen and take aim
Find the voice deep within and breakaway

Whatever happened, happened
Now it’s time to fight, it’s time to write again
It’s time to bring your ink back to life again
They took your dream, now make nightmares repent
There is no wrong way to make it right again

Just write again

Write Another

My best friend, he loves a drink
Oh how it must be a lovely thing
To forget how it feels to think
But with every sip by a toxic alcoholic
I sit and I look across the table at him
And write another poem with alcohol in

My ex, loves a male’s attention
I wish I could feel all of her affection
Instead I live on, in her rejection
A shadow of the life, she exited
As I sit in despair, with the thought of her
And write another poem as lonely occurs

My best friend, dissects the weekend
Nothing provocative or mildly interesting
And I try my best to appear interested
But mostly I sit in the corner depressed
Debating with myself, with no one to test
And write another poem about missed connections

My ex, is out seeking her next love
As I watch on, secretly in disgust
Trying to repent from the dark side of lust
Trying to forgive the past for my trust
As I try and shake the thought of us
And write another poem about the unjust

My pen likes to repeat itself
I have a wealth of information to help
But I can’t shake the burden of hell
As I continue to delve into whisky and girls
And I write another poem, about how I felt
When I wasn’t trying to write as well

 

Tricolour

Do you have a favourite colour?

I have several, or none, I discovered

 

Red, is the love, the passion I hold

A hopeless romantic in everything I wrote

With a slight hint of danger integrated

Or could it purely be football related?

 

White, is the hope I don’t rely on much

I’m not the purest of souls to judge

I’m not sure what makes it a favourite

Maybe it’s half the colours of my nation?

 

Black, represents that darkness I lived

That hardship, I was forced to exist in

The death of innocence, the power attained

Or maybe the points in snooker relate?

 

I don’t really have a colour preference

But I have tricolour that I love to reference

 

Space

i wrote a poem today
and i realised i don’t need the fame
i don’t need a fortune
i just need stories to fill the page
add colour to the white space
break the stray jacket as i escape
the invisible white walled cage
a broken writer, addicted to pain
love me or hate me,
all i need is this space

Last Night

I tried to sell my soul last night,
But the devil, he didn’t want it
He said, it’s too black and tarnished 
But the light inside you I can’t abolish

I reached out to God, last night
I told him I can’t find my way home
He told me, you can’t follow my lead
There’s a darkness, you must let grow

I spoke to my dead nan, last night
And asked for the beauty in the truth
She said, you won’t find answers here 
Because the truth is buried inside you 

One Hell of a Story

Behind every cover lies infinite amount of realms
In the library of life where I learnt about girls
Laid down roots but ventured around the world
Finally understood the tragedy of fairy tales
Rocked the world with a force off the Richter scale
Saw where the end begins and success fails

Poorly bound, faded title, fragile spine worn
A second-hand copy with a few pages torn
But the design isn’t what the author wrote it for
You own it now, so let the book open doors
Let it show you more, it isn’t broke or flawed
It’s the reason stories develop a character for

You are an author, write your story
I need to write mine, no one will write it for me
Who’s going to portray me, heroically?
Paint the perfect portrait of what I thought of me
I am the book with a broken spine, I’m not faulty
I’m flawed, some might consider design important
But inside these covers, there’s one hell of a story