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Azulene Azulia Jun 2019
This wicked world,
Is where I grew up.
Hated the crowd,
But I don't give up.
People stab me right in the heart,
And act like they are hurt.
Feeling this for ages,
Been living in the cages.
arian Jun 2019
who am i to wish for the moon
when i'm just a part of the crowd?
and you say aim high?
Silverflame Jun 2019
You saw a glimpse of me
in a sea of people where
my individual existence
drowned in the crowd.

You saw me
in the midst of my inner struggle
where my common sense was
unraveling: thread by thread.

You reached out to me
lured me with crumbs
of love, just so i could see
you were not dangerous.

You waited for me
your patience paralyzed my
xenophobic mind and melted
the glaciers around my heart.

You held my hand
so i couldn't run away
because i tend to play
hide and seek with things i fear.

You whispered into my ear
morphine filled words
slipped down my spine and
burned their way into my core.

You see me
right here in front of you
i'm not used to it therefore
i plead with you: don't look away.
farhan May 2019
I have few mugs
Porcelain mugs
All alike, same in color
I pick one and prepare coffee
Cannot distinguish the one used before
All were alike, same in color
I wish to make one my favorite
But any mark I make would be artificial
How I wish? A natural mark would separate one
Today I observed one with a slight difference
A minor crack at the brim
The mugs are washed
A mishandle would have caused
It is not ugly
It is no less useful
Naturally made, just a slight crack
Now both useful and notable
It is now my favorite mug
True for humans isn't it? We are all usually alike. A slight inconsistency separates us from the crowd. So long as we are useful and and not ugly from within.
blackbiird Apr 2019
Invisible hearts hide the most pain
and visible hearts bleed the most in
front of a crowd of by-passers who can’t
see their blood pouring out.
Instead, their beating hearts become bleeding hearts thirsting for life, hoping for someone to give it.
Clay Face Feb 2019
Who was the first “Original”?
The shepard before the Sheep.
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?

Their following a facade of an imbecile, it’s pathological.
But without it, they would weep.
Who was the first “Original”?

Why can’t they see the fictional?
They pray the lord, their soul to keep
What did the Sheep do before the Methodical?

Has it always been traditional?
does it help them sleep?
Who was the first “Original”?

It is a joke to see this as Logical
We’ve been snowed by those in the Keep
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?

Why can’t we find Traditional
We sit in a crowd where we praise what they steep
Who was the first “Original?
What did the sheep do before the Methodical?
Max Dec 2018
Thoughts,
Full of thoughts.
My head
Like a crowded room.

Every thought close to the
Other,
And bumping into eachother.

But when the music
Plays,
It stops the race of
Thoughts.
And the resulting memory loss.
Not my best work, sorry:(
Qwn Nov 2018
The world screamed as we took the stage,
at eight years old, the world
I knew was inside a cage.
I'd never heard anything as loud,
as I stood up tall in front that crowd.
The stage was lit,
The lights were blinding,
This was it,
This was trying.

At the end, I'd never felt so proud,
I felt a million miles off the ground.
Parents came to give praise to their children,
and if we were on cloud nine, they were on cloud ten.
As mums and dads held onto their prides,
I stood off to the side, waiting for mine.

My mum never showed,
the curtains were drawn,
and the doors were all closed.
So I packed myself up,
and started for home.
My hopes had fallen, but I tried to hold on,
because in my hands lay a single red rose.
Abby M Nov 2018
Threads of people winding by each other, clumping and then seamlessly slipping past.
I try to blend in but I feel like I’m too slow or too fast.
My skills at reading crowds are on the lower side.
Yet I love being in crowds, amongst so many you can hide.

People running everywhere, and I’ve nowhere to go
But that’s fine with me if these are people I don’t know
Their eyes slipping right past me, neither towards or away,
They simply disregard me, nothing warrants naught to say.

This is how I want it, yet I can’t help feeling that
It’s hard sometimes to be the one that everyone forgets
I don’t want that at all, now that I think about it more
For how could they forget me if they’d not seen me before?
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