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Mary-Eliz May 19
what is happening

has the earth fallen
off its rotation
leaning on the edge
of oblivion

has the sun died
burnt out
like an exhausted
light bulb

has the moon imploded
crumbled
fallen to dust

I realize not

and yet

the world seems askew
out of sync

I can't find an answer
it's out of reach
beyond an eternity

my mind can't fathom
can't comprehend

my thoughts are confined
within this realm

and so
it continues

the earth spins
the sun shines
the moon exists

and I wonder
nadine Dec 2017
i am
a confusing person.

i may
love things
that i hate;

i may
hate things
that i love.

sometimes
i adore the sun setting
and i close my eyes
as the sun drapes itself
with dust and memories.

then
i despise the way
the sun rises
with false anticipation
for children chasing them,
desiring to touch
even a glint of gold
and sunlight.

but i try not to love
the way your crooked smile
makes everything look
endearing.

because
i am afraid
that i will soon learn
to hate it.
please do not make me adore you.
Tamsin Gray Jul 2017
So.

Here I stand,
alone,
a tall, awkward pole in the vast,
echoing desolation that used to be
us.

And I wonder,
Bewildered,
what the fuck just happened.

And the answer rings like a bell -
clear in the silence:

I was not enough.
We do our extensive research
But yet, we still may not come up with the right solution
In a state of bewilderment
With lots of frustration and confusion
We feel incomplete
Because, we are often left in darkness
Fear and anxiety sadly appear
Some of us would rather keep in silence
dillon leehe Oct 2016
The road darkens quickly;
it turns and sways
and tapers off into an unseeable zenith.
The gravel cracks
and rolls underfoot.

This road peels skin off of knees. This road
rips palms to shreds

but I've traversed it many times;
I can recall each boulder and each
protruding limb.
I nestle between the crags and

I bathe in the starlit puddles. The water is
murky and littered
with bottles, with pens, with Barbie dolls.
It is lukewarm.
I revel in my shivering, pruning skin.

I walked along its path
yesterday.
I closed my eyes but
I listened well.
Unholy silence.

I lifted my foot and triumphed a
broken branch that always exists. I could run
this road blinded and gagged.

I dipped my toe in a puddle. Time
wouldn't let me
bathe.

Darkness fell beyond my eyelids and chilled
these fragile shrouds.
I leapt over a crag. It has grown
since I've been gone.
I fell into its depths. It isn't a crag at all:
it is the end.

This road has broken off and it
dangles children's toys
off a precipice.
I am still falling. The wind lashes at my eyes
and dries out my tongue.

I am blinded and I am gagged, but
I do not know this road at all.
D Lowell Wilder May 2016
Visiting my parents I learned
that I am being played,  a game
in which I am board and piece and murder weapon.
When a picture of me sulky toddler evokes “You always hated me”
roots uncurl hibernated spores stored
through my salad days and youthful spring.
Broach the soil as I weed, ankles grabbed,
leg-locked planted firm reaching.
What do you think grows down there? Digging has
turned up rotted fibers, matted hairs and husks.
Family secrets are sensed.
Sourodeep Jan 2016
Why do I feel lost I do not know.
In middle of an ocean in a boat I cannot row.
I have been passing my days in slumber
did not care too much apart from hunger
for I know, time is what I did swallow

Lonely in this room I grab my pen
But I am no Lion, resting in his den
golden rays roar from behind the cloud
when the sun shall set, was always a doubt
for I know, love can never happen again
some random thoughts and blabbering, dunno what caused what in life
Sara Jones Jan 2016
What does one do when they have no inspiration?
How does an artist stay an artist without a muse?
How does one lonely poet write her most beautiful piece yet without the heartbreak driving her nails?

How can a beauty stand alone,
No lover or wondering eye,
How can she love herself when no one is around to hold her up,
When she tears herself down?

When does inspiration strike?
Is it holding your lovers hand or avenging your fallen warrior?
Is it lying alone in a large unforgiving bed,
With the sounds of your sobs as your dying lullaby?

What is inspiration?
When does it strike?
Maybe at the end of this poem,
I'll find mine.
I haven't written in a while, I figured I'd think something up real fast
K Balachandran Jul 2015
On a crazy high, I share whole of  myself with you, gladly
your melting heart I took over fully, do you feel it as a loss?
when love makes us so insane,  we go berserk like wild fire,
avaricious kids, now we are,  usurping each other in parts,
where will it all lead, my love, baffling it is, but elating all the same
would we be just the same ,or less; perhaps more than what before?
Jamie King Jul 2015
We have defiled her
She screams silently while we claim we have refined her

She grew up inside roses,
a single dress with footsteps of needle sets.
Her thighs now smothered by ropes of skirts, each embedding it's mark, these are the scars she must bear.
Her parents are skeletons, pendulous in coat hangers, dressed in old leathers with jaws fractured.

have we refined her as we claim?
Silently she screams
We have defiled her!
I promise you it's not what you think!

I do Apologies for being gone so long
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