Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Roshini Pieris Jun 2020
Is there something wrong with me?
Why is that, you don't look my way?
Is there something wrong with me?
Because you have perceived me in a different way?

I m spinning around in circles
Thinking I would get a chance
But now it seems to have gone astray

Come to me, I won't bite
I just want to talk
Come to me, I won't hate
I just want to be loved

I m looking to you
i m looking for you
Should I be looking inside?
Should I be waiting for you?

Come to me, I m not looking for a fight
I just want to smile
Come to me, to dance along
I just want to laugh

Maybe one day, you ll see
Should I wait for that day?
Why am I asking this from you?
When I should be asking myself.
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2019
For one yesterday I would trade every tomorrow
Anyone if I could have you
Been looking for a way to make this exchange
No one seems to have a clue

I provoke sorrow with memories
They can make old wounds bleed
Choking them or stretching them out
Senses shakily blurred indeed

Stomach twisting from nostalgia
I watch pictures from the past
I'm left with traces of regret
Do I hold or let go fast?

These demons desire my surrender
Pretend I'm winning the fight
Straining muscles just to stand
Invited to wave a flag white

Feel cathartic
Nearly on the brink
Emotions high when I sink back
Was used to the ache of remembering
Failed being an amnesiac
Day 16: Write a poem in response to day 15's poem
I think the only way to truly live Forever is to die young and tragically; to go in some incredibly mysterious way; that would be superior and most definitely unforgettable and that could quite possibly be immortality.
M. Karrington
Sometimes we need to be careful at the things we're good at, because we might spend the rest of our life doing it.
M. Karrington
Writing is very cathartic for me,
In the same way,
Which,
Bleeding is cathartic for plague treatment.
After drenching a page,
I sit,
Corpse-still, Catholic cathedral still,
Feel!
Echoing off my abandoned adorned walls.
Connor Vibes Jul 2018
Blazing the sun,
Here I am living my life having fun.
The days go by in a world that never sleeps.

Despite my efforts in life of doing my best. Life to me feels like it is a test.
Sometimes I weep, I feel like I’m playing on a deck of cards.

Sometimes people ask, what’s the matter?
But my life’s just getting better.

My soul is like the ocean,
Strong, deep and wild.
Adventurous and creative to the core.

I find myself wanting more.

I’m surrounded in a world that’s just about vanity, but to me that’s just insanity.

Sometimes I feel down, I feel like a clown.
There are times I cry and die a little inside.

My head feels like it’s going to explode when I feel anxious, moments when my head feels like it’s on fire because I feel dire.

I walk alone because I’m wise. I avoid small minds.

Music and clarity are the only things that keep me away from insanity. They are the reflection of my aura. The definition of my life’s mission.
After all, I’ll always do what I can with my time just to be fine.
There’s no need to use my intuition.

A poem written by Connor Vibes.
(2018 - All rights reserved)
no emotionally ecstatic experience compares
   to the seminal instance
   whence spermatozoa
   (from profuse *******) beget

the miraculous propensity
   to procreate despite the steep odds
   female fertility fosters potential impregnation
   fusing the hereditary debt

of feral, fiery, fomenting friskiness
   fueling fancy free footloose fornication
   prior to seminal fertilization union
   sans ova doth induce fret
full ness in tandem with

   diametrically opposed exultant sensations
   (biologically, embryonically, microscopically,
   et cetera) seismic shocks inject  
when deliberate intent arises to disregard

   applying prophylactics choice
   plying reproductive roulette let
which analogous fruitful uterine plain
   bastes the "cooking" egg omelette  

which impregnation upends cessation of "self"
   first and foremost asper desire to breed
wrenching role of "me" as operative
   of webbed world de jure upon
   consummating that most miraculous deed

necessitating yet for the fecund female relief
   from messy menstrual cycle
   she becomes temporarily freed
that perhaps a novitiate (or even a gal practiced
   in the euphoric family, she instinctually
   abides prenatal signals that heed

without feeling debased, harangued, lectured
   pedagogical, polemical, puritanical, et cetera blast
assessing copulation enjoyed gloriously,
   ineluctably, kinesthetically
   lectured by elder, especially cast

in thee reel life drama, that nine months
   til offspring utters initial whimper
   elapses exceptionally fast
emitting a radiant golden halo wishing

   to bottle confluence of hormonal secretions last
ideally fully awake to the birthing process,
   when juiced the first stage of maternity past
cuz every moment thee inconsolably

   (perhaps colicky infant)
   gets first dibs to suckle,
   which round the clock nursing
   consumes moments many vast.
Next page