My poetry

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I've bruised too many fruit
I've got beauty here in my room
I am continiously happy
I am consumed by dream
we are machines - machines we are in
I want to be packed in ice
I never want to die but still be alive
coming up through the ground
an all too familiar sound
we are machines - machines we are in

Arrows:

I have difficulty looking you in the face
I find it so hard just to talk to you
So hard to take amphetamines, so so easy then
Am I pretty? sheltered child worrying

I live life with the volume turned down low
I can't complain I have arrows . . .

Can you help me mold a new self?
Suck out and swallow the needles in my mouth
"Medicine is for the weak", well look at me f***er I can't stand up
I am an angel, Gods lonely man

Everything I say is drowned out
I can't complain I am down now . . .

Fresh air could kill me
I probably have a garden growing somewhere inside my body
I don't believe in being ill, don't expect attention when you collapse
Just skin on bone, no one is made of stone . . .

I'm at home amongst shadows
I can't complain I have arrows




Any other writers on the site got any comments, tips, criticisms, whatever?

These are very fragmented and doesn't make any overall sense; it looks like you just thought about some shallow personal issue and typed out whatever words came into your mind. Proper spelling and grammar also helps loads.
Further, they neither entice any emotions nor are they clever in any way. In other words, they're horrible poems; you should just write a diary or something.

As somebody who attempts to write poetry I know it can be difficult. I am fascinated by words and some of the forms of poetry and perhaps my things lean to the formal too much. Please do not be discouraged by someone who doesn't like your work. All genuine effort is worthwhile and you should not write to please critics but for the pure delight of working with your feelings and with original ways to express yourself. Good poems are a rare surprise even for the accomplished poet and the important thing is to keep at it and learn as much about the pure craft as you can.

Emo Free Verse ... keep the day job.

THE PALETTE OF THE POET

There are certain colors
Very popular,
Like a child's strong reds,
Deep blues, elemental hues,
Strong shades of love, desire.
Sometimes young poets
Get stuck
On the sharp barb of Afuck@.
A strong splash of hate
Can be the tool
To concentrate the feel
Of language into steel.
But, too soon,
The disgrace
Dulls down to commonplace.
It requires more care
To ensnare the muted tones
Of subtlety, of evanescent
Momentary fancies
That float by like puffs of steam
Or thoughts from a recent dream.
Frightened mice
That dart in and away,
And are as difficult to catch
And snare in firm phrases;
Something that amazes
Even the one
Who fixes this phenomenon
Like a captured sun.

Thanks for the comments everyone,
Sand thanks for the words of encouragement
guess I've got a lot of practice ahead of me yet, especially if my poetry is so bad it can be compared to emo ( that was really low fnord )

This ain't directed to everyone who replied:
Guess reading into metaphor is lost on some, huh?
Guess these poems are angry, cold and unemotional because thats how I was feeling at the time I wrote them.
And I guess they make little sense because I was tackling the impossible task of trying to understand that shallow well of deep depression
Guess they were just too deep and personal
Or maybe they just weren't spelt proper