Ammar Jul 2
You've done this before
and all that came from it
was hurt & regret
in the end
the only place left to go
is home
and you know exactly
where that is
so don't burn the attic
or the walls
the hallway
or the lounge
there is fear
there is stress
but beyond that
is success
so stop
and breathe
there is a mountain of troubles
left to defeat
time isn't your friend
and health isn't mine
so there's no time for games
and no energy left to drain
and so you stop
there's misery where you're running to
there is grief
there is sadness
there is hurt
there is regret
there's a life where you run from
there are troubles
there are solutions
there is happiness
there is love

but if you run
you'll find yourself far enough
to never find the way
that leads back
you've been taught to run
but who showed you to fly
The Dybbuk Jun 15
Part of me died when I lost her.
Part of me died when she wrote the first poem. It's just so much pain.
Part of me died when she looked at me and said "YOU can't take anymore?"
As if the thought that I was in pain was foreign to her.
I am broken.
Part of me died, with a noose around its neck.
I was in the garage, a rope to my left and a hook above me.
There was no time to think.
That part of me will never return.
I don't think any of them will.
I will always love her. Perhaps she will always feel the same.
The part of me that has the strength to push on,
Shoot for the moon
miss and land among the stars.
Aimed for your heart
and never got a chance
to restart.
Erica C May 29
three times
one: i sit here on my friend's kitchen floor with a bottle of pills and a throbbing headache 'just take a few they're 200mg each you'll be fine'
i smile and nod, she walks out
i begin counting '200, 400, 600, 800, 1000...' all the way up to 2600
"what will 2600mg of ibuprofen do to me" i wonder
and i down the pills
hours later im fine
im not hurting
just numb once again as always
and i eat
then like usual, go puke it

~the summer before 7th grade~
just a little more dead inside than before
Frances May 26
With anvils for feet, the snails may have moved faster, for their noose of anxiety wasn't pulled so tight. They may have covered more than to that of which I see, though the entire existence of their species  may have been as long as I may had been looking. I would shoot arrows of curiosity without knowing where the target be.
  Just as another fairy tale, relief on my feet was seemingly unimaginable, far fetched and unattainable. Like old change, seeds of a variety filled my pockets. The soil and sun were the only things I trusted. Reaping a sow would be a blessing unto me. After years of crawling, discovering, and disappointing wandering with wide eyes, the hills and peaks had shown as a distraction from the lessening softness of my now calloused hands. The necessity of rest was as strong as the need of a newborn baby's mid afternoon nap, but before the seeds are nestled, work mustn't cease. By every stem, petal, fruit, and butterfly, in the center of the valley of a vast bed of wild flowers would I hope to carry this heaviness no more. The desire for this comfort and caress lead me to find a sweet place to rest. For uncountable hours of wandering, only this would be gratification. I came upon a large patch of dirt as dark as midnight. With every handful of soil wriggling of worms graced my hardened palms. Only the ground saw me enchanted by the romance of its potential. The seedlings would be sung; "As you cuddle in the soil, remember that's where your roots will prepare, unto you this watering will fall, as you are all so loyal, I will be loyal to you, the air will give you care, let me lay eyes upon your beautiful hue, as the sun is what you will see, don't leave the soil bare, set yourself free". In the troughs like dried moats, each seed received a adornment of a kiss like that unto a child by their mother. Every hole doused like that of a spring sunflower, and burrowed into the sleeping dusk of dirt with the expectation of an awakening of a blossom. There, as one expects the rising of the sun, I would await the flowers arrival.
I lay suspended by the freedoms of a remote forest. Within the untouched, unadulterated altruistic scene of remoteness, the skepticism let drained. Knowing my skin may not be slaughtered by reaching thorns, I undressed layers of tattered threads. Most of what would freely escape from my lips were the enticement of belief motivated by bliss and enjoyment. Where my skin remained blushed and dewy from the days after the solstice of summer, to the later days of leaves saying good bye to the trees extended arms, and grass frosted by the baker of autumn, like a lightning bolt strikes at random, as did a stagnancy. The seedlings were viewed upon as the old dark witch from the town: cursed. It was as though they had stage fright and the sun was their audience.
I ask, "why, Lord? Has though forsaken my field? What must I bestow?". Concealed, like a feral cat, was the reasoning for this. As ritual as the church goers Sunday excursion, was my ritual of prayer.
Clouding in my mind happened with contemplation of a new pioneering. I knew this to be only a sliver of land off of the plank of fertile country side. Simultaneous  to this fantasy, a shadow danced in the corner of my eyes. Usually trust worthy was my vision, though it became a mystery. Fear not did I, as I turned to follow the darkness, I saw nothing forthright. It's reappearance came as a spook, but as one would in a sword fight, I followed the elusive figure within my eyes. It was as though there was an unsuspecting solar eclipse at high noon. The figure didn't remain hidden, and the dancing ceased. As a knight removes their armor to cradle a loving partner, he opened his cloak to reveal a man with the most poignant essence of freshly mowed grass, smoldering ashes, and a thanksgiving meal. These things were the quintessence of my childhood. His eyes, not beating, but, like a baby's glare, soft and forgiving, unlike the folktales my father told me. Did my eyes deceive me? Ensorcelled, I had succumb to this. Uncontrollably my eyes repeatedly vertically gaze upon him. I met no gaze, but darkness. While the remembrance of evening tide pull you further if not in recognition of its power, without choice, or fight, I had succumb to this. Weighed down by rocks you couldn't see, as though I was called to my knees. His presence eluded to a parental guide. When I lay there, as I become sunk in the soil, He advised me. "This acreage will be your ball and chain for entering this land. With out excavation, Intentions of leaving your possessions have inhibited exiting though you desire continuation. You must water it with your tears". My golden hair became brown with dirt, and my pale skin so dark, as I wept till the sun grew cold, and the moon graced me like a lullaby with soft illumination.
As a once saturated sponge goes dry, by every last drop, drained dry were my eyes, and the ground enriched. After the clock hit twelve for the 10th night, The reaper spoke again. He said "This land was mine. I set it aside, so those who have evil in their heart may not reap what they sow here, so it may not be robbed of its nutrients for something unwholesome. Within it's enchantment, the soil may only be fertile by those who will enrich it with passion. If you wanted to leave you wouldn't be confined, but if your heart remained, as would you. You will stay until you may leave with something beautiful. This priceless soil belonged to me, as this is where my betrothed had lain. The tables have turned because it has been sowed by a someone who has surrendered to me. Your patients serves you. My dear, The wealth is in your heart." His encompassing gratitude, and cherishment remained, as he had left. The grandfather clock sung to the flowers, as did I.
I was always told only the sun could bring beauty in life. I wore a black veil of naive belief. The garden appeared to always have been misted. The sun kissed my plants so gently, their blooms were welcomes to this realm, and the wind would make them frolic together like a colorful oceanic wave, but instead of dolphins peaking the dense surface, you would see the makers of the garden. Relentless pollinators made the perimeter buzz. You could see the twinkle and flutter of every dragonfly, lady bug, butterfly, and bee as their fluorescent wings caught the sun. Almost as though my life depended on it, like a bear in a cave of constant hibernation, I would nestle myself in this secret garden. Leaving here with nothing but flowers intertwined in my hair, and around my heart.
Sam Hacker May 10
I've written dozens of poems,
       hundreds of similes,
millions of metaphors,
       in an attempt,
to share you with the world.

But I could write for a cenury,
       compose for a year,
rewrite and indite,
       for days and weeks,
but you can't put heaven down on paper.
Alex Apr 24
The hardest part of all this
is that when i stand on the edge of my roof and


i look at the stars and they make me wonder what this would do
to you


­the chemicals in my brain burn holes into my lungs
you put your hand on my shoulder and whisper for me to come inside
Özcan Sh Apr 14
Life is like a magic cube
Think, try and turn
It takes a lot of time to solve a puzzle
But by every attempt we make
Let us take a step closer to our goals.
Ben Fernekees Mar 26
I tried to talk to you the other day, you
        seemed distant and mind astray, so I
        faded away.

Falling into a space, a place, where I have no
        face, no way to mask what's inside.
Everything building and burning, trashing a
Emptiness of everything thatempowers the
        truth of all I hide.
Love that has been lost and left behind in the

All is forced out to see, unable to replace my
       mask and hide all I know.
Losing my sense of being, just a feeling, but
       one that fades fast.
Opening up, isnt as good as they say, when
       your secrets are disected from your mind
Nothing to stop it, no one to care.
Everything to lose.
Just spitting out thoughts..
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