I'm not a professional but lately I'm writing poems more since school ended. These are some I've thought of so far.

Boxes

Once there was a boy,
Nothing was wrong with him,
Nothing that made him deserve what came to him,
Nothing that made him...face the likes of a box,

The box hurt him, hated him,
Telling him things that the Devil himself couldn't say,
Telling him that he will never be loved, or was a mistake.
A mistake on the windshield of his car, where he drove him to a place called Heaven.
All because...of this box.

Not just any box,
This box was filled with misery and insults,
Taunting and greed,
It was as if this box was cursed to a life of malice

A life of suffering, but not for it, but everyone else around you,
A life that was so greedy for other people to torture, that it was delivered to others
The box went from person to person, blinding their hearts with its darkness
Possessing them to hate, to hurt,
Eating whatever good or love they had as its daily meal,
Keeping it inside for itself,
Because the box...had none.

Because in reality, the box wasn't filled with anything, it was empty,
It was clear of any love or goodness, so it loathed whoever had,
Whoever had true love in their lives while it had none.
But in truth, if you truly reached inside the box, you will find at the bottom...hope.

Hope that things can be turned around, that the box can and be loved.
That the box with stop its journey of misery and turn it into a journey of apologies.
It will say sorry to the boy it trapped with misery and a rope,
Sorry to the people it blinded with hatred,
Sorry to itself for letting it fall under false morals.

And creating new morals,
New boxes,
Boxes filled with with love and kindness,
Empathy, courage, responsibility.
Filled to the brim with whatever the box wished, whatever it let itself be filled with,
Because the truth to the matter is boxes are filled with what it let's to be filled with,
Be it hatred or love, or any other emotion,
Because we are the boxes.

Cracks

Cracks are everywhere,
Cracks in the sidewalk,
Cracks of a broken phone,
Cracks of light in the darkness.

Cracks in the mask you've trained your face to keep,
The facade that showed that everything was fine...on the outside.
But in the inside, there are cracks.
Cracks in your heart, that says to stop lying to yourself,
In your lungs, that has to hold your breath when you're lying,
In your bones, because words do hurt you,
They hurt your reputation,
Your pride,
But most importantly, yourself.

Because even if you don't flat out say it you take yourself for granted,
Because if you didn't you wouldn't hide who you are to the world,
You wouldn't make a plastic bodysuit to hide your true actions,
Waiting for the day to go by so you can take it off.
If you can't see how incredibly beautiful you are then look in the mirror for once,
Or at least take off those horrid glasses called doubt,
Because in your eyes you should see someone you are proud of,
Instead of what your insecurities see, so make them crack.

Crack your cocoon you've been hiding yourself in,
Break it so
                                                                              You
Can be free. You
                                                                              Are
Not a plastic copy, fitting in with everyone else.
Because your uniqueness is
                                                                              Beautiful

In every way. They are your wings, that cannot be...

cracked.

Red Light

At first you were excited,
Like a child finding their present before Christmas,
You were curious.
But the something you didn't know,
Was that you were driving at 100mph,
With no stop signs,
No care,
No red light.

You thought all these risks would be worth it,
Worth the trouble of hiding it under your bed,
From your parents, you friends, everyone.
And what's even worse you welcomed it,
Welcomed the downward spiral your teachers warned you about,
The wave of fatigue and the loss of money,
All because it's "fun".

Is it fun though?
Is it really fun to distort your insides,
Trust people who can't be trusted,
Moving a mile a minute,
So fast that you can't keep up with yourself?

You say it feels awesome,
Like Christmas coming early,
But you leave out the side effects,
And the secrets,
And the delusions.

The delusions you tell to yourself,
When in reality you are depressed,
Wanting to stop, but not knowing how,
Because even if your body is dying,
Your mind cries out for more,
Because it mistakes pain for pleasure,
Near-death for life,
Until it corrupts the rest of you.

This is why there's a red light,
Because when you go too fast,
There's something, someone, to stop you,
The little light in the darkness of your life,
To eventually light it up again.
Your red light.

Puppet

All I was to you was a marionette,
Binded by the strings you tied me with,
Sometimes I wondered if you were even human,
To not treat me like a human.

Sure, you fed me and bathed me as a kid,
I showed my dreams and you accepted them whole-heartedly,
You had a dream of your own,
But for my life.

At first it was just a suggestion,
Nothing harsh,
But as I got older it seemed as if the strings,
We're getting tighter,
And tighter,
And tighter.

Soon enough you were practically pushing me,
To go on this path I didn't wish for,
A path that led me further away from my own,
Because it wasn't yours.

I dreamt of creativity and self-expression,
You dreamt of money and practicality,
You made a stage and I was the main event,
A little puppet under you, that was all I was.

Sometimes I wonder if deep inside,
You had a heart,
Morals,
Fear,
Love.
But then I realized that I was not the puppet,
But you.

You're just playing with yourself,
A lost puppet longing to be on stage,
To want something it couldn't have,
You were broken,
But never stitched yourself back together,
So one day you decided in your imaginary heart of cotton,
You would control your own.

It wasn't you anymore though,
But a puppeteer that grew inside of you,
Full of vengeance,
And desperation.
The little puppeteer wanted to move to me,
To live out its dream for you,
But that can't happen.

Just because you're broken does not mean you can't be stitched back together,
Stop running away from the pain of a needle,
Because once that's over,
You can finally get on stage.

Your own show,
No puppeteer needed,
Cut those strings you put on yourself and go on your path,
Because just because you're a puppet,
Does not mean you can't cut your strings.