Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Amanda Jan 2019
On a road, I don't know where it leads
I don't care that I am lost
Feet are burning but I continue on
Determined to escape at all costs

I will keep going until my knees buckle
Regret following with steady pace
Broken dreams viewed in my periphreals
Cannot be fixed, salvaged, or replaced

Mile by mile, distancing myself
Unable to fully outrun lurking past
Almost is as good as I get
Have the lead for a moment but always come in last

I travel at a safer pace
I'm already immersed in danger
Desperation grows as I lift legs
Lengthy journey stretches riling anger

There is no detour to avoid my confusing thoughts
Maps behind eyes I'm striving to chart
I stumble but I still advance
I'll always follow my heart
Follow your heart but don't forget to take your brain with you
K Balachandran Oct 2018
In arrow form storks,
Wing towards the mountain at dawn;
It’s one at the tip!
Do ,do ,do

The baby says "Do"

The cats do, they do

The dogs bark do

The wolves howl do

The lions roar do

The play means do

The all creatures do

The God advices "do"

You must also do

Don't ever stop it

Do not say "that is bad

Comes ever with my luck"

You may do your luck

You do your chance

Look to the baby look!

When he tries to walk

He fails times so that

One feel that he can't walk

He may cry from hurt

Or feeling of frustrate

He tries times and times

As seeing the hope in eyes

Of all around as he tries

Do you see the ants?

They may fail for times

Of transport foods to lands

But they try many times

They can't get frustrate

Or can't ever stop that

They do their hard

To get what they want

Do you see that bird?

When he is gotten from egg

And the feather covers him

He tries to fly over spray

He may fail downword

That he might be killed

The viewer said he can't

Till he could do it

Do you see the calf?

After born, he tries to stand

His mother helps with that

Pity appears over her face

He gets happy and a hand

To be power fear all world

By his scream all are dithered

Do your best

Work very hard

See all around

Read all about

New of science

News that causes

You will be in eyes

You may get hard

You may hear worst

You must not stop

When you do your dream

When you get your wants

All point to you

All want to you

To learn them the do

How to be as you

How to advance their know

All will make you

As the star over the all
to be good must do hurt
dina Jul 2018
i'm a hard worker
i've been a hard worker
almost all my life

i get good grades
and i get rewarded

but i feel as i advance
my hard work
will not pay off
and my hard work
will not be enough
Mustapha Olokun Jul 2018
For now,
the call aching.
small sips in the womb
in advancement.

the earth hardens,
hidden hands
refusing to pay,
open hands wasting.

all must end.
the devil's polishing,
the lazy heart,
silk to the narrow punks.

millions are wasted,
to ones which don't understand.
so I bundle in the pocket,
showing nothing in the hand.

take your green,
flourish young king.
I sing the bridges meet,
and unto it I tread upon.

leave your message.
there forms an epic,
an incredible excel,
in the life ahead.

your mark of curse,
crosses not even the pond,
as I pray to the day,
I cross the sea.
Lord, raise a son to success.
GussE Jul 2016
To Whom It May Concern:

I have been an artist since birth
but clearly not genetically.
My mother was a dentist’s apprentice,
while I was in the womb.
My father was a quirky astrophysicist
and still amidst the devils,
he is yet to find himself.  
I on the other hand make sandwiches.
I make sandwiches,
I take photos,
and I write the things that I sense
or that I think I know.
Very simple.

I have never been one to understand the American dream, but I do respect my need for it.
I knew the idealistic trend of the Internet very well,
as I was raised in Silicon Valley,
but the phrase “From rags to riches”
never really penetrated my questioning soul.
I found that the world was my oyster
and I gregariously lived my life in the pursuit
of one-dollar oysters.
I have watched the seasons change.
I have known the plight of love
and I’m even wise enough
to lead my heart by it.
Elisa would tell you.
I have gawked at knobby shadows
falling on a wall traced out by a winter tree
and then been entranced by the odds
that I might be the one
who sought out that beauty
having been there to see it too.
But more so,
I have seen births.

I have seen the vibrancy from which life unfolds.
And I have seen the clenches of deaths fingers
wrap around the neck
of my most honored and beloved people.
I’ve seen beautiful cities fall prey to oversaturation,
I’ve watched the crashing waves
of the Pacific Ocean **** in pollution,
I’ve seen fires blaze through
the mountain sides of Santa Barbara,
and I’ve watched the shoals bats that fly
at the twilight summons from underneath bowels
of South Congress Bridge,
which is never bad.

I’ve made friends,
and I have made enemies
both of which I love.
I have been sick
then been healthy
and respect the values of their lessons.
Some of the other things I’ve seen
I’ll admit are unimportant.
But I still watch the trickling patterns of rainfall
and ponder at their stories.
I still squint at the gleam of the ocean
and beg it to tell me its origins.
I will always gaze at the sky
and I ask for a gust that might make the hairs
of my arm tingle with delight,
or nostalgic sorrow,
or anything at all.

I’ve questioned everything but what my mother told me.
Not until I turned eighteen, did I start that.
I’ve built batteries out of vinegar, aspirin, pennies
and copper wire.
I charge the insight of my peers
by poking and prodding.
I can braid hair,
I can hop scotch,
I can play the juice harp.
I fight for the underdog.
I fight for the tormented.
I speak for the scolded,
the hated,
the sad,
the abused,
the forgotten,
the forsaken,
the foolish,
the sinning,
the begging,
the beaten,
the overworked,
the shy,
the lost,
the hungry,
the bilious,
the old,
the gruesome
and the dead.

I feast on alcohol
where there is no other sustenance.
The rhythm of chagrin bounces in my chest,
as a drum would beat
in a symphony of regret.  
But I strive on
as if it was a sacrifice to the holy aliens
that made the Maya sacrifice too.
This is my blood.
It gushes from my blue veins
as I apperceive the meaning of that throbbing pulse.

I know the consequence
of the truth behind our movement.

A world founded on humanity,
imperfect and failing at all.
Life in this universe must be special.
It’s the stardust in our physical,
human elements that makes this magic true.
We ooze with the likeness of nothing else.
Our ancestors welled up with stardust
and DNA from somewhere else.
Our sweat, made up of passing galaxies,
dripping tears of organic thought
into the trickling river of time.
That alone must be something
to capture an imagination.
Kasey Lee Jun 2015
I apologize in advance for all of the following:

**-Being scared to love you.

-All the times I'll cry in front of you.

-Anytime that I am selfish.

-Anytime I don't listen to you.

-Wanting to be with you all the time.

-Getting clingy.

-Getting too attached.

-Being moody all the time.

-Sometimes pushing you away

-Not wanting to hold your hand.

-Wanting to be left alone.

-And did I mention being scared to love you?

Author's note to you:

I've been in love before.
With a guy that reminds me of you.
There are so many similarities.
But that ended badly,
And I guess I'm scared to fall again...

But no matter what...

Its scary being in love again
George Krokos May 2015
Something really great doesn’t ever come about just by chance
but is vouchsafed by divine decree for humankind to advance.
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Louisa Coller Feb 2015
It's simplistically the most painful baring ever,
the world is rotating slowly alongside that time, we grow.
I sit here not amused with myself, in every form of way,
I honestly want to be grateful for everything,
but it is never enough for me.

I look at the clock going off in my mind,
ticking every single second away.
I stare at the walls which slowly decorate themselves,
but realistically always look the same.
I feel myself slowly urging to advance yet never seem to do so.
I see myself crying inside,
I want to let out yells and I don't know why.

A woman can paint her life away, staring at the same objects happily,
yet I am here sitting here writing the same **** things over and over until they satisfy me.

Why do I stress out on being so perfect to the eyes of others?

— The End —