Psychology

Pills

Poetry

One pill, two pill, three pill, four pill,
For broken hearts, there are no pills
Yet I keep popping them in,
Hoping that they somehow heal,
Painkiller for broken hearts,
There should be something like that,
But as it hasn’t been invented,
I take the stuff that has been marketed,
Ibruprofen, morphine, codeine,
Do some magic, please heal me.
Five pill, six pill, seven pill, eight pill,
I know I should really stop it!
Yet I continue swallowing them,
My need, I can’t tame,
It’s risky, and I know it,
I’m trying to stay in limit.
Nine pill, ten pill, forget counting,
Oh yes, I keep swallowing.
If these pills can’t heal me,
Can they at least kill me?

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. Don’t worry!

Featured image by: freestocks.org from Pexels

The Waning Moon

Poetry

Even the moon needs a day off,
Away from the stars,
To start afresh, 
To start anew.
So what are we, darling, 
Always trying to be seen,
Putting our masks on,
Being our best selves?
Let’s wane a little,
Take a tiny break,
Away from everything,
That demands our presence.
Where we love,
No one, but ourselves,
‘Cause believe it or not,
We too need time to reset. 

Featured image by:  Veerendra from Pexels

Slapping Your Kids

Poetry

Do you think it’s alright,
To slap your child, once while?
To teach them wrong and right,
And bring them back in line.
 
While it’s crucial to correct them,
Beware, you’re harming them.
Destroying the bond you could have,
Creating situations very grave.
 
The fear you instill in your kids,
Keep them from approaching you.
It’s like a slow corrosive acid,
Your relationship, it will screw.
 
You can make many excuses,
For this old parenting technique.
But understand the dire consequences,
Ones that shall make you shriek.
 
Here’s a seed you have sown,
Slaps are how love is shown.
For your kid’s abusive relationship,
Can you take the responsibility?

Find me on Instagram: Wild Scared Crazy

Featured image by: Pixabay

The Pedophiles

Poetry

Eww, ugh, disgusting,
Damn! They are monsters.
That’s what I’ve been saying,
For as long as I remember.
 
Well, who wouldn’t?
They make my blood curl.
They have sexual fantasies,
About tiny little babies.
 
But a teeny bit of research,
Put me in state of shock.
It’s a mental disorder,
They are sick for real.
 
Damn you, pedophiles!
As disgusting as you are,
I could never imagine,
You are the victims.
 
Of a mental disorder so vile,
Your judgement, it spoils,
Your humanity, it kills,
Your dignity, it strips.
 
The world is judging,
And I’m no different.
So, forget us all,
Visit a psychiatrist.

Featured image by Donald Tong from Pexels

Men don’t cry

Poetry, Writer life

Son fell and scrapped his knee,
Bawling his eyes out, he called his daddy.
Daddy wanted to kiss the boo-boos away,
But ‘boy’s don’t cry,‘ is what daddy said. 
After all, that’s what he was taught,
Men are to be strong and emotionless. 

Sick wife struggled cooking for the family,
She wished her husband would give her a hand.
Husband’s heart broke looking at his wife,
But all he did was sat and stared.
After all, that’s what he was taught,
Men don’t do the household chores. 

Daughter wanted a bicycle,
Broke father couldn’t afford one.
Heavy-heartedly he got her a Barbie doll,
But ‘girls don’t ride‘ is what he said.
After all, that’s what he was taught,
Men can’t be vulnerable.

Sister got her heart broken,
Poured her heart out to her brother.
His brotherly heart broke too,
But ‘why were you involved with him‘ was what he said.
After all, that’s what he was taught,
Men are to be Stern and tough. 

He hated the way he behaved.
Each day his heart ached,
To be there for his loved ones, he craved.
But he just watched their pain.
After all, that’s what he was taught.
But wasn’t he a human too?

You might also like:
Slut

Featured image by: Foundry Co from Pixabay

Death wish

Poetry, Writer life

I wanna slit my wrist

And stab a dagger through my chest.

I wanna feel the pain

As the red liquid flows out my vein.

Empty my mind slow and steady

As I drift into a forever sleep.

I want close my eyes

Never to open once again.

It’s a beautiful life

But death seems all the more pretty.

Image by Robert Balog from Pixabay