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Karly Codr Oct 6
I'm tired of getting thing pushed onto me.
Karly, write this essay so you can get this scholarship.
Karly, apply to this college.
Karly, why aren't you going to this college event?
Karly, make sure to decide what you want to do right now.
Karly, this college invited you to a choir rehearsal.
Karly, make sure you get this done by midnight tonight, but don't stay up too late.
Karly, make sure to get 8 hours of sleep.
Karly, you listen to music too much, take out your headphones, they're warping your brain.
Karly, why are you crying?
Karly, are you okay?
Karly, you have nothing to be stressed about.

REALLY? I HAVE NOTHING TO BE STRESSED ABOUT? YOU KEEP PUSHING THINGS ONTO ME, AND TELLING ME THAT I'M MESSING UP, AND YOU REALLY WANT TO TELL ME THAT I HAVE NOTHING TO BE STRESSED ABOUT????? *sobs in my bed, wrapped in blankets, hugging my stuffed animals, not sleeping because I'm thinking to much
Everyone keeps asking me to do all of this stuff and it's wearing me out, to the point where I hardly get any sleep because I'm too busy laying in bed and sobbing into my pillow and thinking about everything that I have to get done :(
Alice Oct 4
I am sitting in a pool of my own confliction
wondering if losing you
is worth gaining the love I desperately crave

I've spent so long
debating on taking the leap that
I haven't noticed the water
has reached my mouth

now I am drowning
and unable to say anything at all
we could have been extraordinary
Ken Pepiton Sep 14
In any future this is instant,
in real life these thoughts once fitted into words by a mind,
fit into the spirit of Christmas in 1984,
I am betting my
cred -- wagering my very defined sould idea
it was the real 1984
eleven days after my first born child…

-if I yet have credit, having spent all my own attention on
finding the evil
lurking somewhere in today, waiting to pounce,
seeking with legendary,
fabulous, monstrous civil strife level pride events
reason to call
provocation to devour
my soul, my unsouldout soul, my held
breath of life,

waiting for this surface to break, patient as any
app attempting to become
Gibsonian ICE!... in your patience you possess…

Ah, cotcha. This quote is from a stream of words -emanating-
in the global pool of streaming
news of bygone days. Dec.23, 1984 on accusing voices…
Satan the idea…
A message:
The people who will experience the fullest meaning of Christmas on Tuesday
are the people who know and feel that there is something
in them that needs to be destroyed.
It is true, as John said (John 3:17), that
"God sent the Son into the world not to condemn the world,
but that the world through him might be saved."
But he saves by destroying.
Like a doctor who amputates a foot full of gangrene or cuts out a cancerous lung.

From <>

Right. So far. Now. Who whets the edge?
I care less if you guess my name,
works; if you find you may entertain a stranger with no sense of pending danger,
afore mentioned cutting,
was mistaken instruction. A missed meaning,
hamartia aitia sort of glitch in the interpretation, privately,
by the muckety mucks,

(by the hair on my chinny chin chin we must shave away the fungus)

The torn flesh
of realities with actual purpose was, intending to repair it self,
using, right, a single stitch.
In a word.
Yet, wait…
Usury found a way to own the story of the act. So,
early autumn, fires raging, smoke obscuring meaningful
right observation of the arrival of Christmas Decorations at Walmart,
in the memorable year,
2020, I heard a sound,
bah trumpa trump trump,
in September,
the one all connected minds shall never remember not
we made up our mind to act on the original anointed mind idea,
let it spread,
like calmin' balm on truly chapped hide.

We all got our differences, 'n' all, viva la

la la la
but we all have right use, too. The idea is not so hard to imagine,
unless you mind is broke, I get stuck in first person,

being broke and woke is a zeitgeistical joke.
We see our neighbors on Hulu,
even in Beijing, if we have the proper world citizen VPN.

Do you hear what I hear? Is this that brat with the drum,
again? Bahtrumpatrumptrump…

merry anointing message, may it trickle through your beard,
and tickle little ears with hope unimagined,
before 2020 made mental time travel so common.

{go tulsi, go, go, go}
Joke. Ok. A joke yoke. As I have no other thing to think about at the moment. Neither did you apparently, if y read this far. Right, thanks, it helps/
luneforgi Sep 14
it's funny how
every drips of our memories
makes myself more away
than actually is
can we just
back to we were used to

a hint for heartbreak
The daily letting go of a life
resembles waiting for birth,
only with birth
there is a specified length
of time for the arrival.
In dying,
there are no specificities
only vague estimations.  
There can be so many “almosts”
before the event.
There is no welcoming,
only a short or long goodbye.
And it hurts and it is hard.
Yet, as I wait I begin to think
that death is not an enemy.
Perhaps it is a release
from a space grown too small to confine,
like a womb out grown.
Curiosity lingered the atmosphere when I saw you the first time -through gathering of all faces, you were there, sitting in the comfort of your own, gazing too. There was a sign of a ******* in you, and I had this distinct impression that you make out with several girls you met in PNR since you’re a hot looking guy and outgoing who found solace in drinking and that I won’t be your conquest, simply we won’t vibe. But you’re a typical college student-athlete summoned by workouts every mid-afternoon at the field and college demands at night, yet a happy go lucky who never puts exertion pretty sure in class. Our first conversation just revolved around math and how much of a fool I was to flunk my first term exam, I was worrying if I could still be a college scholar but you believed in me that I could still make it. You believed even at the most times I’m in doubt.

You stared at me oftentimes, a smug taming look peeking on your face (probably your way of getting someone’s heart) and me being timid, I could not stand a second of it that I had to look away or hastily whip my rosy face from your sight. It became my habit giving you a gently squeeze to your hand, which honestly my favorite thing to do. And even though you wanted it intertwined from mine, you still let me do it because you also loving it. I could almost see your soul, guaranteed to pique my interest every time we express what our hearts yearn, and with that, it filled me with wonder. We both knew that we were temporaries and that our eyes we got lost into connects us to the moment so, we make the most out of it.

You are terrible in singing, you embraced the fact that you are only good at it when you are drunk, and your voicemail had honestly scrunched up my eyebrows right after the dilemma of hearing it. The taste of cigarette haunts you, it became your five-minute escape but I never see you hold a paper stick filled with tobacco leaves around me, perhaps you didn't let me to, but your mama would certainly scold you if she finds out your ***** little secret. And have  I ever told you that your smile reminds me of Ryan Gosling?

We had the same standpoint to some, but also differ in many ways. It appears we won’t like something just because everybody else does; we had the same antipathy over the things that the majority of the population seems to be fond of. We despised immaturity and entitlement- to us it is shallow and toxic (that we frankly knew it was the past relationships we were referring to). we were overwrought in hanging out idly, it brought us refuge and my space had always been our rendezvous. I was thrown into fear of opining because somehow, I don't think this world is worth hearing them yet, on the contrary, you are confident to speak up and use your voice since you got plenty of words in your pocket. You found pleasure in sports and numbers whereas linguistics and arts is my cup of tea, yet it never ceases to marvel one's wit ( I have been a mania of minstrelsy and I remember you were astounded through my montage that was written 2 years ago before I had my writer's block) When my tongue loves the taste of coffee, yours is in the tang of alcohol (you never heard me ask you to quit your vices because those are part of you.) and while you have the habit of tearing someone into pieces, I let people take my pieces to let them whole.

We were both lost, wandering through the crowded people and only happen to be two strangers caged in one's abyss. We were trapped by a gaping orb and convenience but perhaps we are something ephemeral; it all happened so fast, it doesn't last. That was early summer and it was vivid, I never heard anything about you since then.
chea Aug 8
𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡,

can I spend tonight with you?
where we free the pain
we kept for years
and let our hearts feel

where we don’t fear the time
that's going to be taken away from us
where every word & promise
can't **** us

so for the last time
can I spend tonight with you?
Ginger R Aug 7
I got
So ******* hung up on you
The highs, the lows
Everything was you

So far
I was completely smitten
Every word was lyrical
Everything was you

And I
I thought I had moved on
From all the pain you left me with
But still I saw
Everything was you

Do you remember, how my friends
Were your friends
And our friends always spoke of how
Great we were

Do you remember, how my friends
Weren't your friends
The second I said it was over

They still say how
I can do so much better then him (you)
I'm a thousand times better then him
(Everything is still you)

But in the aftermath
Before their questions were answered
They still spoke of how
Wonderful we are
We were

So I'm sure they're lying to me
Do your friends lie to you
About me too?
Do you still have friends, after
I took our friends
And made them mine?

I called it a
Mutual ghosting
That neither of us wanted us
But I really thought you wanted us
I still don't know why you let me go
But I said I wanted to let you go

My friends asking me who I like
And I Have moved on from you
Surely I'm done with you by now

I've started seeing girls in the street
God they're beautiful
(Like you were
Two, three years ago?)
Girls are pretty

I thought you were pretty
I thought I was done
I thought I was fine with the way we left us
I still write about you
Surely I'm not done with you

Sometimes I wonder if I ever really liked you
Or if I just wanted to be your friend
And my friends called it affection
I'm not really sure

I know I could've loved you
We were perfect in every way
Except I didn't have any trust or love
Because I was scared of going too fast
We were comets
If we got to close surely we'd collide

I want to be done with you
There's empty pages in front of me
I'm ready to write on them
As soon as your ghost leaves me
Please leave me
I want to be done with you
I want to move on
We were barely an us
How does that warrant this obsession
With how beautiful it was to talk with
A collection of scattered thoughts about the only person I've ever solely written multiple poems about.
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