Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Daniel Ruiz Aug 13
How boring it must be
To be able to wake up in
The morning and do
What you need to do.

I will dance around
My kitchen table
As dishes pile up.

I will lay on my bedroom
Floor as the laundry
Screams that it needs
To be done,

I would go into the bathroom
If it wasn’t for the person
In the mirror that despises
Me so much.

Oh but when I get that spark,
That little moment of clarity,
time stops,

I become a fraud and can’t write
Poems anymore,
But the way my hands move
Around the dishes,
How fast the laundry walks itself.

It must be perfect to live
Like this forever,
But oh, how boring.
Valya Mar 2022
I'm staring at the clock
Waiting for the 9 to become a 0
Checking how much longer
Until I'm out
I sit here in silence
Typing away
The only sound being
My fingertips on the keyboard
I look again, the 0 is there
But now I long for it to be a 1
A never ending, vicious cycle
Minutes away from a freedom
That can only be achieved
After 7 hours in this hell
When the day comes
That I no longer stare
At this digital *******
And instead enjoy what is around me
I will finally be at peace
Chelsea Rae Oct 2021
You make Tomorrow sound so beautiful baby.

The way that the false promises
Fall right off your tongue
So gracefully
Like silver waters.

I love the ways we're always waiting,

Waiting on Tomorrow.
Procrastination with a lil bit of doubt and fear mixed in and voila! You have a life unlived.
Syd Aug 2021
Despite my painting skills and the passion ,
Upon which my fate rests .
They have rejected me in a regular fashion !
It's life with its horrible tests .

I will redraw borders and the world map !
My motherland will no longer put up with crap !
Not me
Aahi May 2021
Is it the era of feeling down in a continuous way?
Wilkes Arnold Mar 2021
Depression is an overused word
It might make an easy rhyme
For poets who labor under the impression
That they can climb to the heights of expression
By showing no discretion with each and every
Narcissistic emotional self-obsession confession.

But of all the poetic depression transgressions
From the front of the procession
To the straggling indiscretion
The worst and least touched on
Is that it's boring...

Depression and talk of it
Leads to the inevitable compression
Of each and every tidbit
Or texture that prevents a poem from becoming a lecture

It flattens the curve
It scans the sculpture
A man of depth dwindles to a nerve

But depression doesn't let them see how it narrows their view
The circle it drew around appropriate questions
Ignore the censor and suppression
Be vigilant of the slightest dispossession
Starting to understand this oppression?

Don't let it convince you that you can see more clearly
From the bottom of a pit
You have no idea what you're missing
This became more of a psa than I intended. Written with the utmost compassion.
Avoid boring people - james watson
Next page