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Lady K Milla Jun 21
The tears speckle off my chin
As I look up at the skies
to question my own calling
The stars shine amongst each other, twinkling in their wordless conversations as I wait for their response.
The moon stares at me in silence.
With a radiant half smile/half frown, as in to find both happiness and sadness in knowing something that I don’t.
The constellations, unmoved and spilling no secrets, thirsting to be understood, showing themselves in both pattern and maze, become the reflection of my soul.
Is my life moved by the moon, by the stars, by the constellations, I wonder.
I plead in soft whisper, “Please help me, I don’t know where to go”.
Yet the complex sky having nothing to say, points to my heart and says, “that way”.
People’s feet are hurting,
dresses and shoes are a size smaller than theirs.
They’re taking chances, and going to dances
and the truer selves are calling for help.

They’re dressed in their nicest,
their inner screams are the quietest.
Under the gleaming smiles,
their broken, imperfect selves are quietly calling for help.

The smoothest white marble floor lies,
in the reflection they seem to be perfect
while they’re numb inside.
Living corpses are calling for help.

They’re breathing slowly,
to cope with the swift dancing.
The masses are strategizing and scheming
on how not to call for help.

All is calm and feelings are suppressed.
Chandeliers are falling,
glass is on the dance floor
and hoofers are calling for help.

I am losing myself to art

Spilling the chaos on the canvas

I may not remain a whole

For I maybe draped in a hand skill

Stroked with animal hair

Lost in the heat of colors

Seized in an imaginative capture

Transfixed in time

The remnants hard to characterize

Mutilated for an inventive victory

Woven in a verse of triumph

Sometimes discreet in absurdity

Sometimes molested in modernity

I may not remain a whole

Dashes may surface

In exhibits,

It may surround your gaze

Exist as a description

Limited just as a name.
Heidi Johanna Nov 2020
Death is coming out of me
Every memory of pain and mourning

I’m bursting with light

Despite the dark I’ll come forth with
Roaring hope and fulfilled longing
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2020
If you can hear me

To feel life
One needs to feel
The breath
The only sound
One needs to hear

Here, I'm
To the celestial testimony
Blanketing the warmth
With dopamine trinity
Stimulated harmony
Tender affinity
A yang to a yin
That's what
I repeat
To the believers of possibility
Love is synchrony of
The Minds
And consciously submission of
The Souls

Looking forward
Step your way
In search of your tribe
Consoling resistance
Living your dreams
In a new abode
And you'll find me

That's what he/she said
Genre: Almost Romantic
Theme: Promising Endeavour
Every step I take towards living,
I'm stepping away from my calling
I'm stepping everywhere
end up getting nowhere
in search of stepping stones,
to move up the ladder
without grasping the idea
that these stones,
in due time,
will be steps I climb
up the downstair.
Am I trying to climb the ladder to nowhere?
Am I stepping up or down?
Am I kicking myself around?
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2020
My poetry are not of
Literary greatness
They are
Not to ponder
Not to memorize
May be
Not to read twice

They are
To touch
To smell
To taste
To feel

So that
One can find
The real essence
Genre: Experimental
Theme: Relatable
Janna Orpa Nov 2020
I am so sick of it.
All the self-pity.
All the self-esteem issues.
And all the pretending not to care while it’s tearing me up inside.
No one understands. No one tries.
I don’t want or expect them to understand either.
Laughing about it doesn’t help.
Yeah, during the day, I cover my issues with humor,
but it’s scary at night.
The moment I put my phone down, my thoughts consume me. It’s 5:07, and here I am, again can’t sleep.
I don’t like being alone with my thoughts.
I guess I shouldn’t have had that coffee.
But now I am no longer afraid of the monsters under my bed;
I am afraid of the demons that live in my head.
It’s consuming me.
I want to be happy.
I want to be good.
I want to let things go.
I can’t.
I try every day.
It’s not working.
It’s not about being good enough.
I am so lost.
I used to be someone. Who?
I don’t remember. When I look at the mirror now, I see a lost girl who is tired of being broken.
She isn’t waiting for anyone to come by with a roll of tape to fix her. She wants to heal.
No one understands her.
All the overthinking and doubts creep up on me.
I wrap my blanket a bit tighter on a hot summer night to feel safer.
It’s not okay. What am I so afraid of?
Why can’t I find my calling?
I don’t know who I am.
I want to find myself.
I want to heal myself.
I deserve that. I do!
I want to look at a sunrise, knowing it’s a new day where I let go.
Rickey Spence Oct 2020

One against the world.
Fighting your change.
Would anyone care if you made it?
Wouldn’t they rather you fail?
Oh, they’d feel better about themselves.

One against yourself.
Fighting His change.
Would you care to let go?
Who are you even working for?
Your progress has to be between you and God.

One against your past.
Fighting your change.
Would it make a difference,
If you turned the boat around?
Could you even find your way back?

One against emotions.
Fighting their change.
Doesn’t the anger feel good,
When it wrecks your life?
Don’t you think you should hate hate?

One against a soul.
Fighting the change.
They need you, you know.
You aren’t what you’re meant to be,
It’s about time you changed course.

You’re almost ready,
So I’ll give you more time,
But I can’t promise it’ll last forever…
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