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monique ezeh May 2020
The drip drip drip of the Nespresso machine keeps me company.
I watch the brown pool rise and rise, filling my cup.
I take a sip, flinch unconsciously. It is bitter and scalding.
The cool foam coats my top lip.
No one is awake. It is 4am. I shouldn’t be awake.
Still, I am.
I will be nineteen in nineteen days.

This is not how I imagined my nineteenth; though my birthdays never really go the way I expect.
This is not how I imagined this month, this year.
There are worse things than being homebound; there are also better things.
I am trying to reconcile the existence of the two.

I am lucky enough to be (almost) nineteen.
To be safe
To be healthy
To have a home
To have a stable family income

I am unlucky enough to be (almost) nineteen.
To be mentally ill
To be isolated
To feel useless
To have a family spread thin

The two can coexist. I am lucky (and unlucky) enough to see this.

In nineteen days, I will be nineteen. Few people will know unless I tell them. There are bigger things to consider in the world. There are smaller ones too. I lie somewhere amid it all. I am just a girl— a faceless, healthy girl— amid a world of strife. The sun will rise, I will turn nineteen, and it will set; I doubt I will feel any different. The world will keep turning, with or without me. I am lucky (and unlucky) enough to recognize this.
Quarantine has provided me a bit too much time for introspection, I think.

My coffee is finished. The brown drops on the cup’s bottom resemble a smile. I am lucky enough to notice this.
been thinking a lot about the nature of existing in such an uncertain time. the world keeps spinning, even when it feels like it shouldn't. I'm not quite sure yet how to feel about the constance of mundanity; I don't know if there's a particular way I should feel.
Novera May 2020
I can see the rest of my life
Stretched out before me like a vast, barren landscape.
An exquisite panorama of nothingness.
Day after day melt into one another,
A continuum of mundane activities.
I can close my eyes and pick out
Any day and it will not be
Any different from the rest. Looking back,
I can see the bones of my hopes
Lying behind me. Shameless in their nakedness.
All my mistakes scattered
here and there, monuments to my failures.
And there's loneliness.
Loneliness like a little child
Chained to my waist,
Keeping me company.
I dream it will turn into a balloon
And fly away from me.
But let's be real here
We all know that is not to be.

There the future awaits
In the distant horizon, hazy as a mirage.
If I follow the trajectory of history
I can see I've already crossed the highest point.
My glory days mock me from behind-
"It's all a downward ***** from here."
I can already feel my
Bones buckling under the weight
Of expectations.
So I lay down my weapons
And close my eyes.
Turn up the volume, turn off the lights.
I will turn this barren land
Into my utopia, in my sleep.
I'm hoping to submit this to be selected for an anthology, so any suggestions for corrections/ improvement are welcome
Esridersi May 2020
Hovering clouds by her face
La Lanae hides like a space

    Lazy and open she sighs
  Evoking grace from the skies

  Nothing perturbs her ocean
All she tries steals no motion

   Janell, a dry rain puddle
Moomin May 2020
In ancient times was born a day, for festival and joyful feast
Where all would gather eagerly, to pour the wine and roast the beast
And at first these new days, gave the people needed rest
Gave them pause from toil and worry, made them feel that they were blessed

But over years and under Eons, new days contrived were added on
Days to worship fellow men, or worship season, moon and sun
And soon this list of special days, got beyond all real control
And came to be under compulsion, and so began to take their toll

And we forgot the origins, the purpose and the why
And we embroiled with heavy hearts, with cost and groan and sigh
A day for Christ born and dead, on a day he did not choose
To self-indulge with merriment, and Christianity re-use

But soon became the bearded saint, and jolly man of snow  
Or chocolate feast and bunny hop, and mystic mistletoe
A day for thanks, a day for dads, a day for Saints and ghouls
And one for lovers and for mothers, and even one for fools

Remembering ****** victory, or the start of a new year
A day to gorge and one to fast, for fireworks and fear
And a day for every one of us, so we are worshipped too
To make us feel loved just once a year, cause once will have to do

And then the days become the law, and choice is left undone
Compelled to celebrate each time, or risk us being shunned
For who can deny a chocolate egg, for child or lover sweet?
Or deny a mother's floral gift, or children's spooky treat?



Who would dare to question these, and stop from living lies?
Who will defy these decrees, and in the face of pressure fly?
For we comply, against our will, while we incur the debt
Though the birthday boy be a loathsome lad, for one day he is the best

And children challenge strangers, for sugar under threat
And mum is glorified one day, then daily we forget
For if we are forced to love one day, when and how and who
How less likely all year round, do we tell them “I love you”?

Yet among these obligation days, one was left behind
A day given long ago, but one to which we're blind
Remember that day of rest that was, when families were one
And the world would stop and contemplate, and gather in the sun  

No more days like that for us, this world has gone beyond
Past truth and love and God above, to whom we once belonged

And so I choose to have a day, where no-one is adored
Where no purchase is required, one which we can afford
Where the corporates do not dictate, and sell plastic love to us
And the measure of our affection, is not how much it cost

And give no name, nor choose a date, but fellowship hold dear
And warmly tend to love and friend, on all days of the year
Blackenedfigs Apr 2020
I am forever
plagued by noisy yard work
when trying to sleep.


                                        Skipping class again
                                        because of anxiety
                                        I don't need more sleep.


                                                                
                                                                         It is my birthday
                                                                         I am crying in the car
                                                                         27 looks real rough.
Poetic T Apr 2020
We were in confided spaces before,
           in open air. Where we never mingled...
But at least we had company that we were
next to, now were in solitary confinement.

Now were 6 foot or 72 inches or 182.88cm
                from the nearest person, I don't know them,
they were here before me,
                                             celled up.
Slow walk, felt like a life time, so few steps..

But this is a funeral prosecution,
               is the one in front of me going to cough,
                                                                ­          sneeze..
Will they cover up or infect me, ME…
With there I don't know what's, could it be hay fever.

Could be me coughing in seven, to when I have a ventilator
shoved down my insides, I'm a breathing coffin..
        Just being buried slowly..
                                           they burn you now...
But I'm not there yet, I wash my hands.
                

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me,
        I hope I wash my hands enough to see my  
                                                            ­     next birthday.
  But I'm wishing my hand happy birthday now,
            So soar but I'm happy birthdaying all week.

We in an open prison, free but unable to escape,
               I look out my window and breath..
      The air is a lot fresher that it used to be..

Another week passes, I write lines on the wall
         of my incarceration, I'm in a cell of luxury.
But I've never felt so alone.
     Were all roses, wilting due to lack of sunlight...
Randy Johnson Apr 2020
Today is Talia Shire's birthday and she's turned seventy-four.
She starred in the Rocky and Godfather movies and more.
Talia Coppola was her original name.
It's not surprising that she found fame.

The Landlady was my favorite movie that she starred in.
She also gave great performances in Prophecy and Old Boyfriends.
When it comes to Talia, there are two things that I know for sure.
She is very talented and millions of people love and admire her.
DEDICATED TO TALIA SHIRE WHO TURNED 74 TODAY.
Jack Jenkins Apr 2020
It's funny how time and distance makes maturity grow.
Growing old is not as cold as I once imagined it to be.
I once felt like I knew you front, back, and center.
But retrospection showed affection as rejection.
The girl I knew I would torment with venting.
Of love, and life, and especially of death.
All the ways I'd scare her without ever,
Realizing I was comprising our last,
Love letter together, cold sweater,
I sweat her and swept her under,
Leaves of all these autumns,
Buried underneath our,
Fractured friendship.
But I was in love.
She was not.
so we got
smaller
small
just
a
.

then nothing
Happy birthday to an old friend, wherever she is.

Really debated about posting this. Thought I was done posting poems, but here I am.
Memphis Ghosts Apr 2020
Written March 12, 2019
Happy Birthday, Daddy 💙
You always said on your birthday to look at the sky. If it was blue and the sun was shining, it meant that it wasn't going to snow and we were finally going to have spring. If it was otherwise, it would snow again before spring finally came. It always held true. Just like you always held true. Today we had bright blue skies and I know you might of had something to do with that. It'll be a year next month, since you've been gone. It doesn't feel like it. It still doesn't feel real. I feel like I can just call you and hear your sweet voice and laugh, but everytime I turn to do it, I remember. Nothing can prepare you for losing a parent. Nothing can prepare you for the time it takes for that hole to heal. I don't think that that hole ever will, because I was your babygirl. And I was a daddy's girl from the get go. Between fishing, to riding in the truck, to listening to nickelback so much I burnt you out on it, to just enjoying nature, listening to your jokes and stories (even if you had already told them before), going to you when I needed you most, helping you when you needed someone, just everything. And it hurts so much, it gets so hard sometimes. But I stay calm and work through it as best as I can because I know you are beside me through it all. I just wish I could talk to you again, see you again. I miss you so much. I love you. Happy birthday. 💙
Something I wrote my dads first birthday in heaven
LGY Apr 2020
Do do so so la la so.
This melody couldn't be ever more boring.
and people expect the birthday dude or dudette to feel happy?
I CAN'T BELIEVE IT
Rite of Spring should be universalized as the new birthday song.
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