SUBMISSION: Poetry by Mackenzie Rogers

The poetry I speak is a gateway for my pain 

I put the words onto paper and allow you to feel them as if they were your own

Let my whispers echo through the tunnels of your heart 

You feel each line as it glides through your eyes

For in reality the words go unnoticed by all

Until you are set free

Set free of the worries which trap you in your bed at night as the demons tie you down by the compulsive thoughts that fill your head

You scream in bristling cries but the only thing that comes out is silence

This silence becomes a voice to an empty notebook for which you write your tormentors that have no name

You tell others that they can finally see the virtue behind reality for it hides it behind your fears that call you while you dream

Dream of tomorrow where your sorrow is a  butterfly with wings that flutter the words you feel so deeply that you spill tears onto paper to help those buried in the caves of their mind and the only thing they can hear is the echo of your cries


Fear dances around my mind

Anxiety is my lullaby 

Black lines scatter the sky

Worries of sickness  

Cries of death

My blanket chokes at my throat

The burns in my stomach comes as waves

Crashes as my heart beats to the whispers of the demons for which I write

Locked away by a pen

Cold chills fill my warm body

Games they play with me

Only to be set aside for night

That’s when you awaken

When my eyes meet for sleep

Closing as a new chapter begins

Only I want this one to end

To be ripped apart and thrown away

Only I know I will never see that day

For the pills you give only dull the roars

But still they cause the side effects of fear

Anxiety is the watcher of my night

She reads stories of what makes me creak 

What drives me mad only when my head greats my pillow to say 

“What a great way to end the day”




~A sarcastic cry



Depression crowed me in a space too small for us

Too small for us to hold hands while he whispered my skirmish demise with reality

All this was a picture I painted when I slept

You weren’t real

Only a figment of what my pen wrote

Your soft skin was only the blanket I wrapped myself with as “you” protected me

Only you weren’t my soldier 

How could you be when you were just an apparition of a defeated dream


Who’s heart ache of colorful hugs with butterflies kisses of the days to come