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Seeking answers is a hobby I've taken
as seriously as a heart attack at Walmart
giving myself a ******* headache
taking everything as meaning something
because reality has to be real somehow
How do I know if I'm a good person
how do I know if life has purpose
if I have purpose or if my nervous stutter
and the peculiar way I stare into things
until I'm convinced I understand
means about as much as I'm assured
there's a higher power at the helm
overwhelmed with all our pedantic prayers
I don't know if I want everything
or if I simply want to survive
wondering why I have this instinct
fighting with overloaded stimulus
I dream of success as if it were a reflex
a response to the hammer tap tap tapping
at the back door of my mind
I'm kind to everyone because I know
what it's like to feel hatred for
all the sacred magic wrapped in plastic
but I've never learned how to be presentable
preventable scars blind me to the obvious
while pretending to be religious
and worship at the altar of typical
predictable and perfect *******
with a pretty bow and then everyone
will know that I'm a good person even though
I've got nothing to show for it
Acceptance, charisma, charming extrovert
perverted by societal norms
but it looks good on paper
tigers with no teeth, no claws
rage and pace around their cages
looking for an opportunity to ascend
transcend the mediocrity of being ordinary
Maybe there is no lesson
it's just a bunch of stuff that happens
and everyone but nobody is special
until we find ourselves
Pavel Rup Sep 23
Хрустальный день слезою чистой омыл притихшие леса...
Прозрачен воздух — чистый, чистый! Цветёт осенняя краса.
Был дождь ночной. Земля сырая. Желтит поникшая трава.
Есть в сентябре пора такая, пора земного колдовства!

Всё замирает — словно в сказке... Такой возвышенный покой.
Играет свет... Играют краски! Лес очарован красотой!
И — в алом цвете бересклетов — горит рябиновый пожар.
Идёт спектакль — и бабье лето подарит нам последний жар...

Кружатся листья в тёплом свете, среди задумчивых берёз.
Осины трепетно вздыхают — «Как время быстро пронеслось!»
Умчалось лето звонкой сказкой. Пришла осенняя пора.
Но всё воротится на круги... Идёт таинственно — игра!

И серебринки паутинок лица коснутся невзначай...
У осени особый запах, он терпкий... и его — впитай!
Душа наполнится блаженством, — душа напьётся красотой.
И в этом царстве увяданья есть удивительный покой.

Мерцают клёны красным цветом, летит и кружится листва.
Златятся в нежном цвете липы под покрывалом колдовства.
О! Осень — в праздничном убранстве, ты — как невеста — хороша!
Кружится праздник в бальном танце. Душа твоя обнажена...

Как скоротечно «бабье лето», как скоротечна красота.
Пылают жаром бересклеты, златит у Осени фата.
Хрустальный день слезою чистой омыл притихшие леса...
И льётся солнце тёплым светом, и голубеют небеса.
Hanny Sep 23
My heart that was full of love for you
Is now suddenly empty
My head that you live in rent free
Now, you are nowhere to be seen
If this isn't falling out
Then maybe I didn't fall at all
Infatuation was a curse
That disappeard without a trace
Hanny Sep 23
A writer with no talent
A writer with no fame
Someone who writes her thoughts
With pen and paper

In love with words
But its all mediocre works
No real creativity
Just a hatred for reality

When the night falls into silence
And its her mind that races
She takes her pen and paper
And vanishes away

To disappear between the lines
Was her goal each night
Writes until the pen falls
And the paper turns to scratch
If I were only to write,
Something nonsensical,
Filled up with passion
And half-baked metaphor,
If only, I would give up
My perfectionism
And logical poetic applications.
Why must I overthink?
Why must I think at all
About something
That is so simply,
Meant to be felt?
- C.c
Kezexxe Sep 23
Try me tomorrow,
When i am over it,
This is my sorrow,
I behold it.
Usha Sep 23
✍️ Usha Maniar

Today, on my way to work,
a sudden dizziness stopped me.
I sat quietly on a chair at the bus stand,
watching people rush—
to offices, to markets,
to villages, to temples,
and some, perhaps,
already on their journey to eternity.

For a while, I felt weak,
but as I sipped water
and watched the world run by,
a strange peace filled my heart.

I realized—
life’s truth is not in running,
but in pausing.

Like muddy water stirred by motion
becomes clear when it rests,
the restless mind too
finds clarity in stillness.

Life is too short—
why waste it in endless chase?

If we can quiet our desires,
control our needs,
we will no longer need to run after life.
Instead, life itself
will come to rest in our hands.

🌸 Pause… and life will unfold its path. 🌸
This poem reminds us that in the rush of modern life, we often forget ourselves. True clarity and peace come not from constant chasing, but from pausing. Just as disturbed water clears when it rests, so too does the human mind. Life is short—live with calmness, not constant race.
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