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lonelywriter Apr 2023
I wish things had gone differently
That I’d no longer feel lonely
But that ringing in my ear
Oh is it killing me my dear

And why is the silence so loud
As sharp as noise heard in a crowd
Here staring blankly at the wall
I wonder, why can’t I be whole

The answers I have no yet found
To these questions stuck in my mind
Or maybe it’s that I am blind
And to all ‘ them I’ll remain bound
Solaluna Jul 2022
I was not kidding when I said I love you.
I meant it with all my heart,
All my soul,
With all of me,
For I am bound to you,
And that's what my love will ever be.
My Dear Poet Aug 2021
Chained by the rage
Enraged by the cage
Encaged by the gage
Engaged by the chain
Enraptured by the senses heightened,
Sight stolen by blindfold,
Mobility hindered by bands of silk,
Forced into placidity by restraints.
Blinded abruptly,
Aural faculty's amplified by the loss.

Still, I hear nothing.
Silence so thick it's tangible,
Heavy, weighed down by an anxious nervousness,
Attuned to very vibrations permeating the atmosphere,
Breathing in sync with the pulse of my blood,
Harsh and quick,
Thunderous in the stillness of this contemporary plane.

I'm almost afraid.
Fear exacerbated by acute vulnerability,
Naked to criticism, to contempt, to desecration.
Offered as repast,
Meal to sate invisible mouth,
Chocolate sin to tantalize his tongue,
Displayed and arranged for his feast.
I long to be free.

Wavering between the excitement begotten by thrill,
And a desperate need to escape,
I hang. With nothing to ground me.
Held aloft at another's will.
I long to be free...
Don't I?
Anais Vionet Jun 2021
Oh, you swamp me with charm - get out of my head.
There’s something about you - a warmth - like the comfort of home - that pulls at me.

I study your landscape of attractive surfaces like a star chart - logging my weaknesses - to strengthen my emotional firewall. I WANT you but my “wants” just seem untrustworthy after recent deprivations.

To be honest - I can’t afford you - not now. You’re a delicious pastry - with strings - and I need to cut all my strings.

You’re something younger me would have wanted - before the pandemic, when scandalous thinking was uncomplicated and freedoms taken for granted.

Last year simplified my reality.

Over time, boredom melted me like wax but a new me crossed some threshold of certainty - that to flourish - no, just to survive - I must become more than I am, or find I’m less than I hoped.

In 2019 goals seemed way, way someday things - far off reference points to seek out - like an inchworm. Social details occupied me like an unfocused dementia - there was an unacceptable level of childish thinking.

But now I’m an escapee on the run who won’t be taken back alive. Old attachments must be stripped down and the old world made disposable - if I’m to achieve escape velocity.
2021 - my year for post-pandemic escape  =]
Nylee May 2021
Why bind me to my own words
You are free from all the strings
I am not moving in years
But you've been flying ever since.
Harley Hucof Apr 2021
Back in my village, in the middle of a pine forest, I walk for hours radiating yellow and green until the earth swallows me and spits me out as a mystical bird-like being.

Like a peacock, I spread my shimmering, resonating feathers and bow to the giant raptor in the sky.
I can only be obedient to his emanations.
I fly back to my children, to my nest on a magnificent cedar tree. We entangle our necks and feathers in rapture knowing that soon, the earth shall reclaim my original nature.

By the sea I sit and patiently wait  to remember why I chose to forget.
The wind moves the waters, and the waves cast the sunlight onto my forehead. I feel the heat increasing as my structure dissolves. I gain back consciousness in an aquatic atmosphere taking a turtle-like form with a shell and humanoid hands. I swim down following a series of glares and vibrations until I reach what is seemingly an immense turtle temple. I feel a sudden danger and crawl back into shell. I open up my eyes and find myself sitting by the sea again.

Life is a journey of appreciation.
I can only surrender and be grateful.

Words Of Harfouchism
Heavy Hearted Apr 2021
a small group of individuals
bound by the intersectionality
of their detriments

and although alone we stand
in head and heart and hand
together the mind and the heart gave birth
to something each of us forgot were worth:

when we are together, a real person is born
not through the perceptivity of gore and of ****-
but of virtue and strength being visible not
to anyone other than us 3 who forgot.
for Irving and Morgan
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