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I once watch stars creeping through my nostrils,
A plant turning *** and breathing smoke through my mouth.

Today there are constellations colliding in my thoughts,
a battle of the gods, Sagittarius spending darts like bullets,
My life is named after a Roman ***.

There are far too many gods in this world,
Some shine and some are shy of the light,
We talk shapeshifters, mind invaders, soul suckers.
There are far too many gods in this world,
yet non saved me from being burnt by the city street lights.
Specs Sep 16
I’ve been depressed all week
But she‘s been too.
She shares her coping methods
And she’s praised and supported.
I share mine and I get a single
“Nice.”

I’m the one willing to take bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To make sure I haven’t drowned
While lifting others so they can breathe.

At this point it’s not even them.
I’m force-feeding words into their mouths
As I watch them go about their lives.

I know that
They’re busy.
They’re tired.
They’re taking a personal day.
They’re working on themselves.
And I understand that.

But whenever
I’m busy,
I’m tired,
I’m taking a personal day,
Or I’m working on myself,
I’m there at the drop of a hat.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that maybe, just maybe
I need help too.

Irrelevant.
The delayed introduction after the
“How have you beens?”
“Fine and yous?”
“I’ve been great, I have this story...”
Minutes pass before I’m even thought of,
And by then I’ve excused myself.

I’m the one that’s taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes.
I’m taking you out and bringing you in
But I can only take so much.

I’m so desperate to be important to someone
That I don’t know how to be important to myself.
Even the saying of “one is sliver and one is gold”
Is unintentionally excluding.
I’m surrounded friends and their golds
But there are so many golds there’s not room for bronze.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that I give more than I take
And that I’ve given away my soul.

A sick feeling in my stomach,
But if I bring it up,
I know you’ll have it worse.
So I swallow my bile
And stretch out a smile.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I’ve made it out
Of the burning building too.

I’ve laid myself out as a doormat.
So why do I complain when people wipe their feet?

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I am
Broken.
I’m tired of meaning nothing to everyone
midnight Aug 27
A 15 year old lad
3 men in blue
Gunshots

Dark skies.
Narrow streets.
Blue and red lights flashing.

A 15 year old lad, lying on the ground
Swimming in his own pool of blood,
His mom, shocked at the sight of his lifeless body

A note was placed on top of his chest
"I'm a drug addict, do not be like me."
But the question is, was that the real story?

The men in blue were busy discussing among themselves
Some were talking to the reporters, saying the boy pointed a gun
They said the boy tried to shoot them and so they shot him

15 minutes after and the crowd was lessened in number
The pool of blood's still there, the shade of red became darker
And victim's mom could only stare and whisper,

"How could you point a gun, and carry drugs in your pocket when we don't even have the means to have one?"
Part 1
Bleed out the pale blue you left in me -
Just a quick haunt back to your place
And we were at the beginning
To those secrets I laid into you where
The heart sang (withdrew).
Your words like ***** clothes
Scattered across the floor of my mind (rewind) –
White noise fingertips traced a frame
Where something used to be
Carrying swollen memories
Like bullets in my body.
Kora Sani Aug 15
You're a victim
a poor, helpless
victim
You're a survivor,
you made it through

Feel grateful
it could've been worse
you could've been killed
well
I was

I was shot

Right through the naive wall
that was supposed to protect me

I was shot

By a man who knew my vulnerability

I tried to dodge the bullets
With every "no",
I shielded my face from the bullets coming at me
With every "stop",
I ducked my head
And with every moment of paralyzed silence
I failed to defend myself

I was shot
cait-cait Jul 26
i hate you,
i think, as you shoot me to death.

standing above me with a gun in my face

you feel
rage like undissolved sugar in
warm milk -
and
there’s blood on the floor and
then there’s me
,
                          
                          dying and almost dead,
but
you left my eyes open ,
and i know
you forgot the ****** weapon:

so i’m going to take it with me.

one day ,

i’m going to heal ,
and i’m going to remember —

you took my gun ,
took all my bullets
                                too .

and i still won’t ever shoot back.
im actually in japan right now! Having the time of my life *****!! Staying in a suburb of Tokyo with my previous host family doing mundane stuff... it’s great! This poem is inspired by what my friend said to me after I sent her a happy pic of me... basically told me I looked out of place and was wrong for enjoying myself. It made me feel terrible and like ****. Anyways long story but something happened and she left our group chat and I didn’t notice!! But now she joined again and won’t tell me why she left and I think it’s because she knows she ****** up. Some people’s punishments are just being themselves. Sorry for the long description. Happy summer everyone!!
Saint Audrey Jul 15
Monsoon morning glow, glinting off another dying ditch
Littering, barely twitching instrument of compact destruction.

Noticeably different, near juxtaposed against the back light.
Noticeably strained, a coming age relegated to natural composition

It's hard to hold, memory, fragile fleeting
Slipped from its hold so easily, another piece shattering as it falls.

Repetition breeding more empathy than I can continually malign.
Forceful premonitions, until the choice to deny is taken from me.
All my thoughts, premeditated, actions, all deliberate
The illusion of choice shattered before me, as I take up my ill gotten arms.

Bolster myself with courage I no longer deserve.

And I get scared about just having to wake up sometimes.
Dumb
Rose May 31
This hallowed ground we stand on
was built on lies,
and I can’t pretend I don’t see it shaking.

There was more to me,
and more to you.

This was a gift,
a blessing to be treasured;
now all we’re digging for is rust.

I thought there was more to you,
but you’re just a plane jane,
wrapped in gold.

Should’ve know these lumps held lies,
but I pretended these holes weren’t made by bullets,
you unleashed.

My sacred love,
is now resting in its grave
as you carve out one more hole,
for me.
love can die so quickly, be taken for granted: when it should be treasured.
How do I write in a poem that I am
        S C R E A M N G
How do I convey how  f r u s t r a t e d I am
How do I get you to know how
      o              u       i          g
c         n              s        n
                  f
        my mind is right now
How do I explain my writings of a crumbling sanity as poetic licence
      It becomes easy when nobody knows your how much of concealed life you really have
    
           My mother can't worry, She doesn't have such terrible thoughts


The bullets I try to use just ricochet around my skull blending my memories, rattling my thoughts.
My personality has died with my will to live
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