Posted in poetry

Young years

Late night drugs are no good.
It doesn’t ease the pain,
Like it said it would.
Bodies on the floor,
But we crave more.
The higher we get,
The more we regret.
Sleeping with strangers,
Like we don’t care for danger.
Mom I’ll call you later.
What’s the use of goals,
If all we do is make more?
We fall in love,
And we’re left on the floor.
Bottles up just once more.
Our young years.
Our wasted tears.
Make us better or worse each year.

By A.J.

Posted in poetry

The one

I thought when you meet the one,
It would be the last one.
You know the soulmate,
The one for you that was made.
I thought it would be sunshine;
No rain.
I’d get rid of all heartbreaks
Get on the horse and ride away.
Into a world of love and care,
But loving you made it clear.
It ain’t much sunshine,
It’s rain.
No white house and picket fence,
It’s pain.
Laughing and crying,
Is a part of the game.
You have to be strong to not walk away,
You’ll have you learn to communicate.
Swallow your pride, say sorry,
That’s the way.
It’s no fairy tale .