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Loke Houbo Nov 24
If you don’t believe
That anyone can take you serious
Why not just be a joke

I feel like a thing
Not much a poem, just needed to write it down, will probably edit it soon again. (Cried for the first time in a few years while writing that.)
Loke Houbo Nov 21
My House is locked
My Windows blocked
The Lights are dimming
The Kettle begin screaming

Ness boiling in the darkness
I’m searching for Loc Ness
The Ness is ticking
The Ness growing erratic
The feeling of your isolated self with hidden away worries and insecurities.
Loke Houbo Nov 20
My boat is broken
So it's frozen still
My boat is broken
So it only floats
My boat is broken
So I only catch fish here

My bait is cheap
So I just toss a net
My bait is cheap
So I just toss a bet
My bait is cheap
So I just throw myself at them

My net is flawed
So I strangle my prey
My net is flawed
So I let every soul away
My net is flawed
So I never catch one bit

I shiver
As I'm starving

I shiver
As I'm a bad fisherman

I shiver
As I'm cowardice

I shiver
As I'm so very afraid

I shiver
As eyes meet my affection

I shiver
As I ask them in curiosity

I shiver
As I face their Rejection
A flaw in my person based on fear.
The fear of showing interest in people.
The fear of people seeing my curiousity in a person.
In other words my Crippling fear of Rejection.
Loke Houbo Nov 20
As I sleep
My mask grows anew
As I must upkeep
How I am viewed

Throughout the day
It must be worn
I must not sway
Until everyone's gone

As your head grows grimy
As the days keep marching
The mask thickens
The mask brightens

Each day I suffocate
Suffocate in a toxic smile
Suffocate at the remarks
I gasp for air
As the mask wither away in isolation

Crumbling as I touch silence
It falls without delay
Closing in on everyday
And the mask grows bolder
The mask grows thicker
The repeated desperate and exhausting fight to hide off oneself, out of fear and compassion.
Loke Houbo Nov 20
The week is freeing.
All pleasure is fondling my being.
My senses are occupied.
But forget that, cos I lied.

I lie to myself.
I now see my health.

Because now we're back.
Sunday.
This empty day, my mind howls away.
No blanket of soothing ignorance.
No lens of a hopeful sickness.

Right now there is me.
Only me.
How I convulse and clench my teeth
in my selfhatred
empty pit of me.
The compact Sunday Depression of Selfhatred

— The End —