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  Sep 2014 Monica's poetry
alxndra
why
must
we
rely
on digital stimuli,
and
insist
on
disappearing
into a simulated screen?
  Sep 2014 Monica's poetry
Juhi Chavda
I like it.
I like being here.
With my face down lying on my stomach.
Breathing.
Feeling.
Listening.
Being.
There could be a storm outside.
I wouldn't care.
As long as there is silence inside,
There's nothing I can not bear.
I ran and ran                                                
from the unknown and                          
I found a broken bridge -                                  
an exit                                                
from this land                                    
full of fears.                              

I looked down                        
it was deep                  
I couldn't see                  
its end                    
my legs grew stiff.            
Shaking,                                    
I sniffed                                
the courage left                      
in the thin air              
and exhaled                    
a short loud shout    
releasing from my mouth      
a huge amount                  
of thick, black smoke              
of which I assumed                              
was the remaining fear        
which my guts              
have been aching    
to let go.

and then I bent a little -          
focused every energy                            
left in my body,                  
every drop of hope                        
left in my heart,                                  
every courage                                              
left in my lungs -                                  
to my legs                                
to my ankles                                      
to my feet.                                                  

Hoping to reach the other side,                                                                          
I closed my eyes                                                                                                

and *jumped.
where do our dreams go after we wake up? do they just vanish and be forgotten? i wonder.
I'm scared.
I don't know what I fear.
The walls are scaring me,
Like they did last year.

I'm scared.
I just want to know
Why something is still so painful
Though it happened long ago.

I'm scared.
My eyes water, my chest is tight.
You know something's wrong,
When all day long you dread the night.

For truly, I am scared of the dark,
Of it's voices, its talent for decay.
I spend my long long nights,
Praying for the safety of the sun,
And the comfort of the day.
I wrote this about one of those nights, when you can't sleep because you can't stop thinking about something miserable, and it makes you feel genuinely scared and alone in your own bed.
  Sep 2014 Monica's poetry
alxndra
too much upkeep
all I dream of is sleep
these social standards
are temporary cancers
only dissipating
when I count sheep
days fleeting
without eating
still I'm always choking
on repeated scenes
only relying
on things that aid in dying
it is no way to live
being so set on ending
when I didn't even begin yet
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