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D Awanis May 26
growing up feels like i turned five two days ago
i've been fifteen for years
wasn't i twenty just a few weeks ago?
all my friends and i are still ten
the week is going by so slow
an entire year has passed

this year i'm turning 25; tomorrow is 30

i hope i remember to breathe
julianna May 14
as a child,
i didn't know
i was lonely
but now,
as a woman
sitting in a
quiet room,
i am reminded of
all the monsters
my mind created
to distract me
when i was
all alone
B Apr 27
20th birthday
I've forgotten when to breathe
and my mother is my only friend
the last one yet to leave.
I am feverish skin
to the first of March's chill breeze
tripping over, again and again
afraid to pull my hands from my sleeve.
20 years old now
a full on woman in sheep's clothing
but I don't know how
to live life without loathing
love, and bills, and here and now's.
Myself, pulling on a window that's already closing.
Do you remember when you were a kid?
You laughed at the simplest thing
Now you don’t even try to find things to make you happy
You just avoiding something that will hurt you
And that’s good enough
Zywa Apr 16
Nowhere can it be

safe anymore, look: adults --


too can cry a lot!
Novel "The time of the angels" (1966, Iris Murdoch), § 20

Collection "Unspoken"
Sky Apr 14
There's this constant feeling
of relentlessly being dragged
through any number of things;

cold snow chokes my airways,

cold water fills my lungs

dirt dances on top of my eyes

and mud leaves its messy mark.

I can't cut loose, this attachment
is just life;
Time pulls and tugs and does not care
if you wish to stop here or there.

The untameable beast, taking bites
from our bodies
Pulls me forward and through
raging seas
It doesn't try to drown me,
just expects me survive
Even as I choke and gasp,
even as I beg and cry.

I wish to rest, just give me a breath–
the passage of time
will pass me by

Meanwhile,
where am I?
Anais Vionet Apr 8
We looked at the world through rose-colored glasses,
sped through the night under blue moons,
parked in cars and gave boys the green light.

Explored gray areas, dreamed of golden boys,
painted the town red and got caught red-handed.

We saw adult freedoms and were green with envy,
we experienced blackouts (I’m talkin’ to you 151 ***),
swam in black water alone and talked to strangers,
told little white lies, yet somehow, we didn’t die young.

I think of college students as dyed-in-the-wool adults.
The grass always looked greener on the adult side,
and we’re tickled pink not to be infantilized any more.

We’ll show the world our true colors  
and pass college with flying colors.
Life won't be handed to us on silver platters,
we’ll get white collar jobs.

Of course, as adults, we’ll have to deal with red tape,
and we can’t be yellow-bellied or try to whitewash things.
We’ll stay out of the red or sing the blues.
We’ll stay off the yellow lines, seek golden opportunities,
attend black tie events, obey the golden rule, avoid pink slips,
support our men in blue and look for silver linings.

Adulthood sounds exhausting.
On the positive side, I’m told adults practice safe ***.  
Practice means what it’s always meant - right?
Is that why adults go to bed so early?
Besides, as adults, we won’t be kept in the dark anymore,
and we’ll get to chase rainbows!
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Infantilize: treating someone like a child
Carlo C Gomez Mar 19
undefined spine
so close, in lordosis

will gravity win tonight?

swayback
around a fountain

she's curving toward
rebirthing cisterns
about the recesses
of her question mark

(?)

privately electrified
in beautiful confusion
the brain is lost

innately she takes
another drink from my hands
m Apr 23
the fan on the lowest setting
still disturbs the decade of dust
enveloping the books that formed
my adolescence;
the disorganized organisms and
******* that have dissolved
in these sheets and these short days
haunt my dreams;

how do i sleep,
knowing that the past future present
perpetuate the block universe of
betrayal and boredom and
baby cries, my mother's eyes,
the abdication of adulthood
and absolution in the absence
of harrowing hope.

i broke my own heart
three states over and now
working and waiting for the
answer to be revealed;
my teenage self says that
sadness is my truest form,
but my soul knows there is more
Carlo C Gomez Feb 23
How did we settle for so little?
When did we migrate back
to the sea floor?

At one point I saw
our last days as children,
at one point I saw starfish
shored against the ruins,
drowning in ten directions.

In the empty space
we used to breathe,
something other than remaining:
a life in tides less current.
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