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Poetic T Jul 2017
Claustrophobic lullabies
collecting in the tear ducts

             He silently exits the chapel.

Her white is transparent of her regrets


He texts:
              *"I'm sorry,
XslyfoxX Jul 2017
I tried to be the hero
Just for the sake of praise and purpose
I tried.
I said the right things and stood on my platform with pride.
That fall, that fear, the days, weeks, months, roll by.
I am nothing.
Nothing but a rat digging its nest in the walls of a home because he doesn't have his own.
Who am I now?
I am no one.
I am the ******* of an otherwise loving God.
I am the blizzard before spring.
I am the frostbite that only causes pain.
The end to the flowers, grass, and trees.
I am death.
At least I thought I was.
But I've begged for death since that April day and she won't come.
She won't come to visit and she won't come to stay.
That's why death is like my best friends.
Here for the funeral and gone the next day.
I plead for this to be a dream.
I've been afraid to make it.
And I have been afraid to be alone.
No I am not a rat, nor death, nor a hero.
I am a coward.
David Cunha May 2017
I like the nastiest bars,
Those where the waitress is called names
But she doesn't care 'cause she's too kind
And tries to keep it all clean for 400 a month.

Those bars have drama
Whole worlds and stories continuosly entangling,
Whisky on rocks, vomits and shouts
Here comes Rita the waitress to clean it all again;
Dogs bark in the streets
Women cry in their beds as men get drunk
And kick the innocent trash can over a discussion about gibberish.

The loner cat lurks the street at night
Hunting for hamburgers that fell off the trash can,
The drunk men start a fight,
'Here comes the police!' 'Run-run!'
One falls, gets the blame and a free trip to county jail,
Three others join a party and feed the ******
Money and **** --- tails.

Finally, the last one goes home
To beat the crying wife over the same junk
And the repressed anger only a coward can hide.
There's no reward for those who can't take risks.

I am bounded the question "what if"
           Creating fear,
           Creating anxiety,
           Creating misery.
I am a prisoner of my own thought.

But everything is different with you.
You are the key,
you set me free.
It's like you are my symphony
in this world full of anarchy.
You put color to my dreary world.
You bring life to my lifeless world.

With you, I can do everything,
            No fear,
            no anxiety,
            no misery.
But to you, I am no one.
I am not the one who brings you harmony.
I am not the one who ignites the fire in your heart.
I am not the one that makes your eyes spark.
I am not the one that lights up your world.
I am just a shadow,
who will always be there for you
but still you don't see me
the way I see you.


Now I am back again,
Asking the question "what if?"
If I can't win you,
I can't risk losing you.
Just a friend
Sarah Jean Ashby Nov 2012
I fear that winter break won't be the only cold front that I face
The holidays will roll around and you will still need more space
I fear that it's not what you say, but what you don't
That is truly telling.

I look at your face. It's not the same
There's a certain kind of love that's missing
What do you do when your one best friend is the one person you can't talk to?
Jesus! All you ever say is, "I'm sorry..." & "Time helps"
And my favorite, "We'll still be great friends, Ashby"

You're such a terrible friend
Your advice is lacking any empathy
And your care is nonexistant.
If we don't have love
And we don't have friendship
What do we have left?
I'm terrified to ask such a question.

I've been doing my part fine
I've been staying in the lines
That go against every fiber of my being
I don't know what to think anymore
Except that you want nothing more
From me.

You don't want us
You don't want we
You just want you...
And me.

I just want answers to questions I've already asked
Shaken off and given little thought
You say you just want what's best
For me
But what I really think
Is that you are a coward.
You're too afraid to be the ******* in this relationship.
But guess what?
You already are.
Ehhh not my best work. But necessary to get out some feelings.
nina Jun 2017
some days,
i can be very brave.
some days,
i can be a coward.
today,
i am a coward.
today,
i walked away.
i walked so far
that i left my job behind.
today,
i was a coward.
time to look for a new job... oops...
grey grey grey May 2017
Can I borrow a little
bit of your time?
Just a couple of minutes,
for you to be mine…
Then after, I’ll be out
and gone.

You see,
I feel a little bit of this
and a little bit of that.
I can’t explain
though I know it’s there.
I know it’s real
but I can’t prove it
yet.

Well, you may not understand
but I, I’ve been thinking
’bout you and I-
maybe exaggerating but I
think there’s a little bit of
me that…

I don’t know,
how to phrase it.
It hasn’t left my lips
but already it tastes
a whole lot more absurd
than just thinking about
it.

And I’m afraid it might
seem off,
awkward,
and out of
place.
Still, I think that
I’m…

…not really sure why
I’m telling you things,
This little bit of feeling
I myself am unable
to admit to my own…

I just can no longer
keep this inside and
I feel like this is the
right time, so…

If this isn’t making any
sense to you,
it’s because it’s not
making sense to me
either.

…so, what am I doing here?
talking,
blabbering,
stuttering ,
wasting both
our time,
trying to tell you
a secret
I have yet to
discover.

I know, I know
I haven’t thought about
this well,
sounding crazy and
out of my mind…

I’ve lost all my senses,
fallen off my feet,
swallowed up my pride,
like a drunkard with
my phone on my hand
with your number as a
recipient and still I-
can’t tell you that I…

I, uh-
uhm, I think I ah,
I am…
hmm I am
Oh I am…

There goes my
time…
Over.
Why can’t I bring myself
to say that I’m in…

You know what?
My chance’s done anyway,
I’ll try better next time,
If there is such.
Khalif Apr 2017
In Seattle from a hotel windowsill
one can speculate the faults of those
who roam the wasteland below,
only they know
but the darkened alleyway will tell
their story just fine.
There’s a homeless woman who looks down-
right ready to cry when she receives leftovers
and I sit there and ******* hate myself
because I can’t live up to my own expectations.
Seattle is just the excuse really.
There’s a little girl playing on the stairs
who falls but is not defeated
she says it just takes some practice
and in that moment I love her.
Part of me wants to say hold up,
how did you become so smart;
and part of me wants to hold up
a knife to my chest, just to keep something close.
I know I wouldn’t use it that way
I’m a ******* coward and maybe
that’s what brought me here in the first place.
Not to Seattle, but to the windowsill,
where I speculate the faults of those
who call this wasteland home.
Inspired by Terrence Hayes': New York Poem
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