Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Meadow Aug 21
Summer is coming soon to an end.
A bittersweet summer.
One that has aged me to wise. Solemnly, I stand welcoming and allowing.
Loosened grips, blood returns to white knuckles.
Numbed fear, but wild excitement.
Random 1 minute poem: raw
Henessy J Beltre Oct 2018
Observer of the Universe you call yourself
Because you see the moon and the stars
And you imagine the galaxies far beyond
Just a reminder
Wherever you may be reading this
In a coffee shop, in a bookstore, or under the covers
We are both wrapped around with blankets of water and mountains
We share the stars & the moon
The sun & the earth
And with that being said
We are closer than you'd ever observe

- Henessy J. Beltre
© Henessy J. Beltre - 10.29.2018
Samreena Lodhi Aug 2018
silence will be best for me,
no attachments,
no atonements,
no enchantments,
no blandishments,
no chastisements.

and that is all!
AnxiousOcean Aug 2018
these barriers offer isolation
these boundaries provide protection
these walls put everything in chain
because attachments often lead to pain
Because what if Rapunzel wasn't locked up by a witch in a tower but she chose to isolate and protect herself from everyone.
Anivel Aidan Sep 2017
i don't think you can unlearn somethings
like how to build walls around your heart
so that no sword will find a way through it again
like how to choose meaningless people to obsess over
because you know if they hurt you
the blow won't come as hard
and there you are
with your patience and kindness
slowly coalescing your presence
into my life
slowly getting me attached
to your presence
i don't think you realize
how special you are becoming to me
i'm so confused about how i feel
vea vents Jun 2017
I saw myself sitting on my knees, hunched over, clinging to a pile of rugs beneath me. Precisely three. Each rug was much like the other; slightly different in shape, but all of the same tone and texture. 

One by one, each was pulled away from underneath me…

My dad came and stole the first rug. I hardly expected it to have been snatched away. In my innocence, I thought I could somehow seek comfort there. Somehow I thought, I could feel it’s warmth for the remainder of my life not knowing much of the past, nor the future. With its displacement soon arose great fear. My mind started to alarmingly ring. What if all my other rugs are taken too? What if I have nothing soft left to lie on anymore? And what if all I feel is the bare emptiness of the ground below me? An emptiness, in which I am nothing? Inherently nothing…?

I clung to each rug that followed in dire fear of unanswered questions. In dire fear of all unknown. 

A few years thereafter, another rug I had grasped was snatched from underneath my base by T–. He did so in such an insidious way, I hardly expected it to have happened either. He had such invisibly cold hands that he told me were warm – a series of lies masquerading as truth. When T—’s rug went missing, I fell in much the same way as when my first rug was taken. Except this time, I fell to a position I had already felt so keenly, and so now, fell much more intensely. Doubly hunched over and in pain. A feeling of dejection and despair so intense from having already carried a previous stain; a previous memory. 

The next rug I encountered, I thought to be real. Actually, I thought it to be the most genuine I had ever encountered in the universe. It had seemingly inexhaustible warmth. I could hardly help but cling in ecstasy, though also in hidden agony, in cognizance of how transient all my other rugs had been. Finally, perhaps I had a home for me to lay my head upon? A home which would grant me stable rest? But here too, I was mistaken. Like each rug that came before, this rug was indeed transitory and full of uncertainty. Perhaps more soft, perhaps more real, perhaps more warm and embracing – but he too had to go. After all, he was another rug I had clung to; an attachment like all the rest.

When this particular rug was pulled, I was so terrified of soon touching the ground below me, that my body contracted in a frenzied, desperate agony. I tried so hard to make whatever warmth remain; strenuously clenching with all my might to staple it down in place. However, as hard as I did pull to hang on, an unknown force pulled away at a greater intensity. I found myself in a tug of war I could not win and sooner or later, the weight of my frustrations gave in. Mournfully, I failed to control its inevitable movement. My last remaining rug, yes, he too, went away.

And so I had nothing left beneath me… 

The cold floor exposed bare was the hard reality with which existence presented me. In the past, I had tried to search for other rugs to hide in. I thought to myself that other rugs would do, that perhaps I just needed a different few. I clung to some alternate variations; some made of others’ skin; half-hearted relations or validations, some of money, others of drugs or work or pastimes and pleasure. Despite all my attempts however, I could not evade the emptiness of the floor beneath me. I had felt it repeatedly with my own body. Its coldness had visibly scraped and scarred me. And I knew; each rug I had clung to was a cover-up so transient. Despite their initial warmth; each stood porous now – exposing the cold, and digging holes in any of my attempts not to feel what lied beneath.

Upon these realisations, the floor which held me and my previous rugs soon started collapsing. With its fall, I was taken into an empty, dark abyss; seemingly endless and all-enclosing. Seemingly perpetual.

Mid-fall I was so catastrophically uncertain, I wanted to close my eyes and no longer wake. I berated myself for continuing to be conscious and pleaded for existence to **** me in my sleep. How dare I still be alive while falling in such suffering and sadness, I lamented.

I lacked the courage to feel the thud of my final landing and its location.

From past experience, I was almost certain that what lied beneath was infinite pain; dark abandonment of course, for miles without end.

To be continued (as I learn how)…
A short story I thought of on the train after a painful break-up, months ago.

On a side note: I had tried a few times to articulate a happy ending, one in which I was able to transcend my dark night of the soul. I had a vague structure in mind, but I just wasn’t feeling what I was writing. I realised that I couldn’t really write the ending sufficiently; at least not until I’ve had more permanent experiences of being more free of the ego.
Julie Grenness May 2017
I have found some weird things in my time,
I went to a footy dinner along the line,
The young lads were flicking peas,
And all their vegetables, if you please,
When home, my hair was full of carrots and peas,
Never went to footy dinners again, you see,
We do learn from experience, dodge them peas!
"Boys will be boys!"  I ponder so wisely......
Feedback welcome.
Chani Bhate Mar 2017
The aroma that the breeze gave ,

The soil that then sailed ,

“Me” was not found any where ,

Found and lost was the game played .

& that is what I then prayed ,

for you to be with me some where ..!
Next page