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 Feb 2019 Quixotic
fearfulpoet
“only” the lonely know (my special sign)

{=}

an incurable silence

the meaningless, wasted touch of a hand,
attached, directed by them from them
to them
a failed reassurance

a classroom, a stadium, cornfield or grove,
so many nutted fallen solitaries fallen to rot
midst a globe of trillions never noticed,
never missed

the silly conceptual that the lonely,
special unique, blessed with a curse,
a specialist status, “only” they afflicted;
with a ken that isolates and yet feels elevated -
oh! I am special

show me one, just one, human who doesn’t truly believe,
they are the onliest loneliest and you will vision
each and every
lonely person who
secret sighs and whose first thoughts are only:

god spare me one more day of being,
fearful of achieving
my very own knowing,
in the invisible place,
the incurable silence award,
reward of another purple heart,
“only” the lonely service ribbon,
my Cain marker

~my special sign~
WOW

what a wonderful reception to my first poem!

thank you,
less fearful!
 Jan 2019 Quixotic
alexa
you say you’re not a poet but
with a girl like that,
how could you speak
anything less than
the stars?
-a.c.b
 Jan 2019 Quixotic
Robin Lemmen
There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk
 Jan 2019 Quixotic
Wanderer
Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art
 Dec 2018 Quixotic
Elizabeth
And when the time comes my tears won't be falling like rain for it will be warm tea and fresh honey streaming down my cheeks.
I hope one day I will bathe in sunflowers and new love - I'm tired of the dead leaves that burden my body, they soak in like fresh coconut on my skin.
I sit underwater where time stops for a second, and I am at peace. I hope one day I can run into rushing waterfalls without begging for that moment of altered reality. I hope one day I bathe in roses instead of my sorrows.
What do you hope for?
 Dec 2018 Quixotic
Madisen Kuhn
why do i crumble
fall into pieces of
oats and sugar
something beautiful
in a white bowl, but
a mess on the floor
when i wake up
in an empty house
why do i wither like
brown leaves
under brand new and
borrowed boots atop
autumn sidewalks
when i’m alone,
i’m alone,
i’m alone
it is not enough
to eat breakfast
however small
to wash my hair with
coconut milk
to not step out into
the busy street;
i freeze before the ice
touches me
i do not allow
the chance to warm
my own hands
i lie down, on
***** sheets,
and wait for someone
anyone
anything
to awaken me
 Dec 2018 Quixotic
aphroditez
Have I already told you?
that I always miss you
on a day to day basis

Have I already told you?
that I want to hold you
in this cold, lonely night

Have I already told you?
that you're all I see
in this myriad crowd

Have I already told you?
how you look so cute
when you wear that smile

Have I already told you?
that I'm slowly falling
out of love; it's driving me crazy

Have I already told you?
how lucky I am that I've found you
my one and only comfort zone

Have I already told you?
that I'm hurt with words you've said
I thought it was me all along.

But, I was wrong.
that's why I didn't tell you
what I feel about you.

Have I already told you?
how lucky that person is
to be loved by you...
I read a quote somewhere that said,
"I don't know how many times I have survived myself, without telling anyone else."

And I felt those words shoot through every nerve in my body. I felt them so deeply.

And I wonder how many of us feel the same way.

How many nights we fought off the suicidal thoughts, the urge to cut, the urge to purge, the urge to run or to hide out, alone, too afraid to worry or bother our friends and family.

How many days and nights have we all suffered in our own darkness alone?

People like us fight a battle no one can ever fathom because it's a battle no one can see. And we don't let them.

I've fought myself and survived myself alone so many nights.

There were nights I use to lose my own battle. But some how still came out alive.

I guess that's how we keep going. Because every time we give up we come out stronger.

You fight yourself and beat yourself up for so long that eventually you become a master of surviving a war.

We're warriors.

"I don't know how many times I've survived myself, without telling anyone else."

Tonight, I'm telling all of you.

I survived myself.

And if you're still here and you're reading this, you survived yourself too.

It's not easy but you did it.

And I'm so proud of you all.
The original quote "I dont know how many times I survived myself, without telling anyone else.", which triggered the whole poem was written by @deadwatered. A talented poet I follow on tumblr.
 Dec 2018 Quixotic
Kaity
this isn’t going to make sense
cause it’s not supposed to
and if I’m being honest
this isn’t for you
it’s not even for me

I’m stuck
I’m trapped
I’m lost
I’m every other word that describes people who feel at a dead end

I’m typing on a ****** phone
That’s connected to a ****** connection
That could possibly be a metaphor for my life

I’m writing
Because I don’t know what else to do

I’m writing
Cause that’s what they told me to do

But they also told me that what I think isn’t always true
That I’m special and I just don’t see it

But that’s the thing
I don’t see it

And if I don’t see it then why should it matter if anyone else does

And if I’m thinking something why should it matter if it’s true

What matters is that it’s in my head
What matters is that it’s always there

But here I am
Stuck in the same place
Back to square one
No progress made
The same questions, whether true or not

Will I amount to anything?
Do I really help?
Am I really worthwhile?
Do you actually care?

I see these people
When I’m online
They smile and post
They edit and pose

I can’t help but wonder

Do you really smile, or do you just do it to look happy like me?
Do you really feel happy, or are you trying to lie like me?
Do you understand what I feel?

Or is it just me?

I’m not trying to be selfish
I don’t want a lot
I just want to be happy
And I want others to be happy with me
But neither is happening

So instead there’s a poem
That doesn’t even ryhme
That makes no sense
  I’ll try harder
A blink of words
That can't be said
Or even be written
She is poem of thousand words


She is fierce and gentle
All at once
She's a song
An unending song


She is a sparkle
She is a shine
She is the only thing
That i want to call mine

She is my everyday
And an everynight
She is every morning
And an every twilight


She is all i know
She is all i see
She is a sweet melody
She is an  unmatching rhythm
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