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Isaac Oct 18
It may seem like you are lonely,
but you aren't.
Written 19 October 2018
Why should I even get up?
I know I'm meaningless.
I know life is a pointless endeavor.
I know I'm unlikable, unloveable, and pathetic.
So why do I get out of bed?
There is no reason.
I should just stay right here and never leave.
Left with the only person who can hurt me now.
But even I don't want to stay here completely.
I'm still telling myself,

"elizabeth, you need to get up."
I never loved you

You held my hand, called me baby
almost made me feel and do things
but I never loved you

I never said I loved you too
despite you saying it over and over
you gave me a home, presents.... you.
it didn't make me love you.

But you were mean, didn't fear ***, or trust me
cared less for what I wanted or preferred.
so I couldn't love you.

Yet, I feel mean, for not loving you.
flowerheart May 2017
It’s April, and I
have everyone fooled,

that my passion is gone,
the fire has cooled

that my eyes don’t expand,
when see you around

that my thoughts stay intact
when you’re there.

that my mouth says its words
not for you anymore,

and my heart as gone back
to its beat from before.

that I’m angry at you,
but i don’t know for what

that I’m more independent,
and happier,

the new “him” in my poems
doesn’t shatter my ground

I’ve forgotten the meaning
of how to astound-

of how to surprise,
or be fearful of loss

of the things that are mine
and the things that you toss

but everything's fine
and you’re nothing divine

and it’s april,
and I am a fool
even though now it's may
I ******* miss you.
There. I said it.
I hope you're happy to know,
if you came back,
I'd pick things right up where you left it.
mw Sep 2015
sunsets on mountains and poetic weekends.
“if you write about me, i will blush when you read it.”
playing my guitar.
playing with my hair.
playing with me.
“do you want to get something to eat?”
“are you tired?”
“let me in."
holding me down, in the best possible way.
approved by my mom.
poetic texts and the reason i’ve been clutching my phone.
too good to me.

what you appear to be, you are so much more.
what i expected.
sure about where this is going, neither am i.
a manic decision, although you may seem like it now.
III Aug 2015
A dash of dust
Unwilling to settle
Coats the pink insides
Of my lungs
As the butterflies
In my stomach
They want to get out and I don't know how to let them out anymore
Because I threw away the key
Thinking it was tarnished and needed polishing
But really the only thing
That could polish a rusty key
Is to keep it in the door,
The door I so foolish locked
And slammed shut
Without so much as saying goodbye.

And now here I sit,
Dazed and confused
By the flash of my fingers
No longer taunted by inhibitions,
Trying to scream the butterflies cries,
For their wings so same
Are cutting me up on the inside
Like no butterflies before.
GGRamone May 2015
I'm the anarchist judging all those hypocrites
You're the hypocrite judging all those anarchists
There is a thin line between guys like you and I
We share a...Similar scene, though
Filled with...Sin-ful Misfits.
Clean cut suits, or ripped jeans
Baby, it doesn't matter to me...
No time to flatter, its time for the crime
Of justifiable homicide.
Holly Feb 2015
I wonder if
Teachers ever realize
That some of
The students sitting
In their class
Have serious
Mental  Illnesses
And are collapsing
Under pressure they
Put on them.
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