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sushii Mar 2019
maybe i am here.
would you see me?

the door is open--
you can walk on out.

see all the teenagers
jigging about.

i don't think it's your scene
over here with me.


maybe i am there.
could you hear me?

the capitals are low--
turning sentences inside out.

see all the thoughts
hanging around.

the vision is blurred
over here with me.


maybe i am no longer.
could you sense me?

don't misunderstand--
that's not what this poem is about.

see my blank stare
midnight all around.

the time is all gone
over here with me.
Arisa Mar 2019
The ones with blurred faces
Knocked down my door last night
And tugged at my limbs with such desperation
- A rigorous exercise.

Their hands, rattling in a sharp neon glow
Stole away many things as they held me down
And shone the bright lights into my eyes,
Turning my pupils into hollowed colour:

Trust.
Potential.
Innocence.
Friendship.

All gone.
All taken.
All dead.
During the break-in.
All I see are faces I could not recognize. The strangers we face today are the people that break our hearts in the morrow.
Stark Mar 2019
i like it when my vision fills with color
kaleidoscoping into hybrid hues

or when skinny fine lines
grow into weathered wrinkles

i like it when borders border on nonexistent
and everything blends together
unseparated
unsegregated

i like it when lines grow bold
the strokes of a paintbrush gaining confidence
with every motion

i like it when lines are crossed
over and over
into a tangle of yarn
everything connecting
dissolving
into
a ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff

i like it when lines are blurred
and reality breaks down
letting my imagination roam wildly

i like it when things don't make sense
because i always know
that i can find that line
that leads me back home
just a poem about lines, guys.
David Hutton Dec 2018
Just imagine if I disappeared,
Would your memory of me be blurred?
Rusting away in your mind,
Leaving me behind.
A face you had known, a name you had heard.
Rayne Victoria Oct 2018
What does one do when the lines of the meaning of love are blurred for a girl at the age of fourteen?
When a girl is pinned down to a bed even though she said
No
No
No
But let it happen because she thought that was how relationships were supposed to be.

Maybe he didn’t listen because I’m wrong
This is meant to happen
I’m his girlfriend.
I should be okay with him groping me.
Stop being so uncomfortable.
Stop squirming underneath his grasp.
Stop trying to pry his fingers off of your breast as he laughs at your struggle.
He’s your boyfriend.
He loves you.
This is okay.

It must be okay
Because the pattern continued.
It must just be love when your boyfriend tries to touch you in untouched places while you’re trying to sleep
At the age of fifteen.
I’d never been touched there before
I’d never even touched myself there before.
And I had never felt any more uncomfortable in my whole life
But who was I to say
No.
It was love,
Right?

And it wasn’t assault, right?
Surely I- a young, normal girl- didn’t become a victim of ****** assault
Right?
I didn’t say no.
I was too scared to say no.
I was too scared that the words
No
No
No
Became lost in my mouth
And my eyes were stuck shut because they were too scared
Too see the kind of  love he was giving me.

And I wanted to leave but I couldn’t
Because love is supposed to be this way.
I never had a physical experience showing otherwise.
This must be love
The lines are not blurred.
This is how it is.

For a moment I thought that maybe
I wasn’t wrong.
That this repetition of touching
That this lack of approval
Was wrong.
My body is my body
I’m not found strung on the shelves of *** shops
Or delivered in a package with a bow on top
Spread across the table for a man’s full course meal.
No.
I am a person
And just because I have ******* and curves and a vulnerable physique does not mean I am up for grabs--

He told me he loved me
But if that was love that was no love of mine
And I told him
No
No
No.
I exposed him
I may have been in tears but I told him I knew everything that he had been doing to me and I called out his love

And he
He
Did not apologize.
He did not explain himself to me.
He just told me that
It was okay.
I was okay.

Because that’s right.
I am nothing
I am nothing
How silly of me to think otherwise
How silly of me that I almost forgot that I am nothing more
Than an object for you to touch how you please.
Who needs sleep
When the man can’t wait
For you to wake up
For consent
For you to yell
No
No
No.

Because who am I to say no?
Hard times, good times,bad times,high times
How many times, did we talk about this?
For I commited crimes upon your eyes,
And how many times was I forgiven?
I believe a couple of times,
Lies the thing that,
I'm used to be good at,
Which made you cry and freightened,
Forgiveness is not what I ask,
It's the presence,
That's all that I'm yacking of,
But it seemed that you're either deafened or muted, but I'm certain that you have not been polluted,
Defiant of Christ, somewhat Agnostic?,
But in the Kings eyes it's all translucent.
How I see things nowadays, is just like looking through a film no matter how bright the light is everything is still dark.
Over thorns I have seen flowers lying tonight
I have seen moths near lamp dying tonight

I can see my vision getting blurred enough
Before me, I can't see you crying tonight

My speech is rambling on a prayer rug
And each wish from heart is flying tonight

Ever seen frozen eyes of a dead beloved?
Then, likewise my eyes are drying tonight

In the Imambara of Kashmir, Mirza! ***!
Ask your wish, why are you shying tonight
When flowers rest over thorns, and moths burn before lamps, and when all this happens tonight.
Lizzie Nov 2017
Disconnected is black blurred into white
making grey;
He smells like black licorice coffee,
And tastes like an old piece of candy corn,
Forgotten... Left to go bad... Unwanted...
His mother is as light as the sun on a warm summers day;
His father is as dark as the moon on a solar eclipse...
His best friend is like summer rain,
blurring everything around...
He carries black spotted white roses in his pocket,
faded blue converse on his feet, his toe sticking out the end...
His hair, jet-black hangs past his ears and falls into his eyes
like tangled ropes...
He eats dispaire for breakfast and forgotten dreams for dessert...
Disconnected loves lost and broken people...
His dream is to dance in the night away from the light and out of sight...
He moves stealthy like a wolf;
Watching... Waiting... For his next victim...
I wrote this while I was in the hospital going on my third week.
unknown Oct 2017
it gets blurry, it gets wavy,
sometimes things really gets crazy,
tears flow as the rain does,
don’t let everything have rust.

it gets blurry, it gets tough,
some things aren’t really enough,
turn of events may happen as the tape roll,
but don’t let everything fall.

blurred love may be complicated as it seems,
but complication is what love screams,
a love without complication is already dead,
like a body who doesn’t have a blood anymore to bled.
ig: seluriing
twt: seluring
fb: seluring
follow meeeeee!
Blu3moth Jul 2017
Today I got lost while staring up into the popcorn ceiling
Being surrounded by family wasn't enough to hold my attention
Instead I paid a few precious seconds to the ceiling
I can't find the words to help me describe the feeling
I felt whole
The emptiness inside disappeared
For a few seconds I felt what it was like to let go, to let my mind cleanse itself of any emotion
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