My day one Collection

5th March currently exam week My first day writing poetry from what I've learnt in poetry and anthology lessons ​By B. D. Pevreall-Marshall ​ I. Realise Real Eyes ​Feeling alone in a happy "home," With nowhere to go besides the place that you despise, But can never seem to realise The emptiness behind the eyes of the man you once idolised. ​Yet, continuing to fantasise about the hidden lies Behind the cries inside, Praying you'll make it "home" alive. But the pain inside that you seem to hide Confides behind home’s deceiving eyes. ​In fact, no amount of butterflies could help you Realise real eyes. No matter how many times you decide to deny The evil behind those eyes, You will soon come to realise That all it was was a disguise, To hide the evil eminent inside a home That was built "purely of lies".

II. I Hear the Vision of Grief

​The clock is a hammer and the silence is too loud, Yet I always seem to lose myself in the midst of an empty crowd. Like a clock, my mind spins ’round— Not lost, but yet to be found. ​and I know that sounds profound, But with my mind beneath the ground, And above what is considered soul-bound, That is how I perceive the sound. ​The sound that shakes all that is on the ground; It’s like hearing all that is lost, Which, different from before, Will never be found beneath a layer of sound.

​III. Can You Relate Relations? ​My mind is a radio stuck between two stations, Never reaching a destination. And yet, they have no relation; Relation between two things can be a switch between two scenes. ​The volume that sentence screams, You will not seem to see. And yet, I leave it be, Because it is all about what you perceive. ​ ​IV. Maybe It’s Not OK to be Okay

​I am a ghost haunting my own hallway, But it wasn't always a small way to the right doorway. Today I prayed that I would make a big change, And not put myself in harm's way. ​But it’s as if my arms are always in the way— In a bad way. I can’t seem to control myself; It’s as if I’m going insane. ​But is that okay? Is it okay to not be okay? Maybe. But it’s definitely not okay that I think it’s okay on a daily. It’s as if I’m a trainee to my own name, And afraid of winning against my own brain. ​At this point, maybe I’m already insane. But I promise I think I’m okay being in pain, With not a sliver of personal gain to name.

​V. The Echo of Empty Old He

​I’m a hollowed-out box, a vessel of time, Lying awake for a ghost of a chime. No one can carry this weight that is mine, Left in the dark where the sun doesn't shine. ​A chime, you say? How hollow and pleasant, I sit in the rot of a stagnant present. Waiting for ghosts, for the past, for the future, To stitch up the gap like a rusted suture. ​My time, my woe—oh, watch how I go, Down to the silt where the black waters flow. I built this fever, this ache in the brain, Numb to the pulse of the coming insane. ​I didn't just fall, I went completely insane, You'd expect me to have issues controlling my brain, Like I can't seem to tame that which made me insane.

​VI. Realise (Haiku) ​All eyes can be "real", Most choose the path of the fake. Realise "real eyes".