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  Aug 2019 Stxlle
Rup
I try to show love,
But people don't see.
I try to be strong,
But I am weak.
I try to be there,
But I fall on the way.
I want to be happy
But inside I am sad.
I want to live,
But inside I feel dead.
I look in the mirror,
But the reflections not me.
I see a face
But know its not mine
I cry to myself,
But know I must stop.
I have so much to live for
But losing is my fear.
I know it will get better,
But I just have to wait.
I know, I know, I know.
Stxlle Mar 2019
Sitting in the far back.
Just waiting for the time to pass so you can go home.
You ask yourself, "What am I doing here?"
"Why did I even bother to come?"

Alone in a room full of people you know is a different kind of loneliness

They are the faces you've talked to, laugh with, and loved. The faces you've created memories with.  You called them your friends

but to them, you're just someone.

At least you're someone.
I no longer know what friends are. I don't know if I'm being to demanding when all I ask for is real love and support. I've been receiving wishes of happiness and love only because they have to and not because they want to. It feels empty to have friends like that.
  Mar 2019 Stxlle
Hannah Christina
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
  Mar 2019 Stxlle
Vale Luna
(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.
Forward: from the victims perspective.
Backward: from the murderers perspective.

This TOOK ME FOREVER TO WRITE
  Mar 2019 Stxlle
Tanya
always             forever
              means

                     and            are
                              we            mortal
Stxlle Mar 2019
Let me be someone
to her, to him, to me
Let me mean something
to someone, to anyone

Take me somewhere
where I can find myself
I've lost who I am
without really knowing who that was

Probably because I left

I walked away from everything
I walked away from the people who hurt me
I was afraid they'd see me
so I built a wall

A wall even I couldn't break
Now, I no longer know the person behind it

The wall made me forgetful and cold
I've been to places I don't remember
I've created memories I won't cherish
I've looked in the mirror and saw someone else
I've hid so much that I've forgotten who I was. I've changed myself so much just to please and fit in with people that now, I'm really lost. I'm still asking myself what I need to do to change that
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