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Courtney O Nov 2020
Bored - of all this ****
Please God free me
Give me what I need
I'm on my toes, you see?

I am tired of waiting
Of nervously pacing
around the house
around my head
I have marks in my wrists
still I break the chains

I am bored
I am ready to burn
in a free release
form
Let me break
Let me become

I am bored
but not ready
to give up
Doy A Nov 2020
There she stood
still
despite the chaos
despite the buzz
despite noon time rush.

Placid alongside
the humdrum
the mundane
the same thing
over and again
over and again.

Day in, out
she seeks for reason
some meaning
some place
someone
something or other
to faze her
to move her
to take her
back to living
and not just
breathing.

She asks herself:
What good is surviving
the the struggle and pain
if she spends her days
for nothing
but ceaselessly hoping
for anything to happen
or at least,
to once again feel?

This is what I told her:
Sometimes the way out to depression
feels like becoming a whole new person
but this phase will come
and go
and so
embrace the process of healing
take your time and believe in
yourself and the waiting
will soon be over
and you will start over
another day
another chance
so wade in this circumstance
this inevitable consequence
of losing yourself
and then finding it
again.
Noemi Amorphous Nov 2020
beyond the glass wall
clouds float by, birds fly, I sigh.
are we there yet? No.
Kyle T Oct 2020
Fluorescent uplit lights
Throws no shadows
Shows no life
No vestiges therein

Monitors' frontward glow
Radiates no future, no past
Well lit death
No matrix destination

The rows and cubes behold
A conformed neatness
An oppression
A regime built against creation

The soul flutters above
Unseen but seeming
To hold life
The inexorable dullness of life
Had to write this while sitting in my office trying to find the beauty in modern things.
Påłpëbŕå Oct 2020
But brought-up.
They are the adopted children of boredom and free time.
Nothing.
Unpolished Ink Oct 2020
On a blue Sunday
Grey rain seeks out my window
White noise fills my head
Seranaea Jones Sep 2020
-


ticking is a solemn arrest, a faded white wall,
and a pattern of blank stares, all ripe for a bold
occupation, affixed to space-taking suggestions
that lie upon linoleum in small paper snippets.

i heard the hoot of an owl by the window, maybe
it was something to do with the mismatched feather
dusters hanging side by side, or perhaps the noise
i was making with the scissors.

it then spoke to me in a broken beaked English—

let me help you burn that bland confetti,
we can slip off to a place where fast boats
await careless operators,

i have so many reckless gifts of debauchery  
packed for delivery to those "Whooo" wish
to entertain the sharps of my talons—

Share with me, your most
Malignified Thoughts !


— my head split wide open and snatched down this
creature with one swipe of a dry tongue, the taste
of it was that of winter leaves and —probably— the
discarded cigarette butts from a public walkway,

it itched a little on it's way down,
concluding otherwise yet another
unremarkable event...


"boredom eats foul"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
Hiraya Manawari Sep 2020
The summer sun spikes at noon and makes people uneasy and uncomfortable for the next three hours. As I start my long vacation for the unexpected pandemic, I feel the sweltering heat of the angry sun that shines like a glowing ball of butter. I usually spend my lazy afternoon underneath the shade of our little coconut tree. Still, a shaft of light passes through the small openings of the leaves, illuminating some portions of my body.

Out of nowhere, in the middle of my lazy summer, a cool wind blew, in the seemingly dehydrated atmosphere. But, it quietly faded away.

I listen to the birds chirp melodiously on their nest, feeding their hungry newly hatched ¬babies while some unfamiliar birds with strange colors of feathers pirouette their delicate feet on the dried grass to search some food. A couple of bees races towards their hive chases one after the other. Their stomachs are bags full of sweet nectars and pollens after a busy day collecting them in the row of roses of my Mama’s garden. An occasional growl of my dog and the loud chirrup of my cat, who are fighting over a place to rest and sleep, awakens the solemnity of my afternoon.

From where I settle to relax and comfort myself, I can hear some children who cackle and burst into loud and solid laughter. I can already paint in my head their gleeful faces with wide stretched smiles, exposing their white and yellowish teeth, as their big and round eyes fold into an almond-shape seed.

I scan the sky with the hope that it might rain today. But I am greeted with a vast sea of blue, clear sky with no single clouds dare to float around. As though, the cloud-bearer forgets them to hang like how my sister hangs our dresses on the clothesline. There is no hint of rain to downpour to quench the parched land. With a huge disappointment, I sighed heavily. Not today, I whisper.

Things like these lessen the boredom and mundane moments I used to feel almost every day. The hands of the clock keep on moving but circles itself into the slow-paced motion to which I patiently endure. It seems like I am inside a box – a compartment box controlled by time and space. A train of happy thoughts arrives like a bullet and transports me in my other world.  
The carefree, unbothered wind blows once again and it grazes on my skin.

I rummage the memories of my summer last five years ago. It is still warm and vivid as if I can touch them as though it only happens today. I bask myself to the words that continue to linger in my heart for all these years.
__________________

I remember you sitting on my bed as you carefully watch me sleep overnight. As I open my eyes, you formally utter words I unfathomably understand which allows my spine to shiver. You say the barest and rawest line on earth. It is divine and glorious when those words escape onto your nervous lips. Your words and breath coalesce to blow the dying embers in my heart and set a raging wildfire.

I am never the same person that day. I am walking in the clouds, riding on the lemon-sliced moon, and floating on the universe all at once. Like I come out in my mother’s womb, strip naked and innocent once again. It flutters my heart, throbs my heart back and forth against my chest.

In that split-second of my life, where everything is a blur. It is just you and me. I think that it is time to aflame the love into this deep slumber. I am brave enough to stand tall on the morning light.
“I love you too.” The world becomes silent as it witnesses the first sprout of love growing – full of promise and hope.  And at that moment, it is the briefest yet longest summer of my life.  

_________________­_

But just like the summer wind, carefree and unbothered, offers me a warm invisible hug like my old lover that tickles me for a moment. Then suddenly, in a blink of an eye, it is all gone.
I miss you, bb!
Kaitlin Sep 2020
The rice cooker broke
because I turned it on
with no rice inside to cook
And its empty clay
couldn't take the heat all alone
So it just cracked, all spiderweb
Almost pretty.  Useless.
And I hated myself for that.
I felt pretty useless for that.

What's funny,
I think it's funny,
I want to think it's funny,
is that it's been years
but I remember, and I still,
and I am still pretty useless for that.

Once Upon A Time
Pressure cooking was exciting
It was Hot,
It was Tense,
Leading tone to tonic
Tugging me towards...

But I'm bored with that now.
I'm bored of stress.
      (but I'm stressed when I'm bored.)

I'll just go to sleep.

And in the morning

I'll remember to add rice.
sparklysnowflake Aug 2020
she finds that time is not linear
in the gospel-like gold and amber
that glaze the green poplar leaves
in her suburban summer evenings

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
but with legs in tired atrophy

at dusk the water ripples with silver-toned echoes
whispering mythical adventures and heroes
and the words churn and boil in her mythical blood
"I would rather be ashes than dust!"

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
but with legs in tired atrophy

every night still she stargazes through her ceiling
a coward's tears on her cheeks slowly peeling
courage like corn husks from her ancient soul
leaving her core shivering in the dust and dusty cold

what is she left to be?
she with a warrior's heart
freezes
with legs in tired atrophy
"I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.”

– Jack London
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