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Tyler Cobain Jun 2014
I covet the hideous cult of fame. Spending my days in despondent cafés manically scribbling passionate love letters to recognition.

I'm not in love I'm insane.

Suffering from self-diagnosed misunderstood artist syndrome. My heart cries silent. I am a shadow in the distance. Warped, distorted and dark I scream alone; never to be touched.

I am a poser, a fame ****** and a hero worshiper. My vitriol view on the world hinders me. Constantly on the verge of crying in public. Staring at train tracks, they invite me away. Looking more comfortable then a bed.

I try to live in the now but the future petrifies me. I can't escape my own mind.

Y culture, My culture, Counter culture, **** culture, Love culture, Hate culture, Phonies.

I can’t see past the haze of disappointment I have designed myself. I smoke **** because it relaxes me, makes me feel like what I assume normality feels like. I drink because it makes me feel like how I assume those happy people feel. I take heroine because it makes me feel euphoric and takes me close enough to death that I want to live another day.

A brutal fear beats my anaemic mind. A peculiar fear grips my inner-self and I can’t bear to open my eyes and see that I had survived the night. I become saddened by the thought that I might also survive the day, living to see what I will be tomorrow.

Happy in the madness. Longing for that sick feeling. In love with the sadness. Searching in the dark recesses of the mind for inspiration. I can’t see past my fate, it’s too dark. I sit and source inspiration through the emotions and physical fits of *******. Self-abuse. Clawing for red gold in the catacombs that meander through my pale arms.

Beat myself out of sight beat me out of sight beat me beat me till I float. Beat me beat me till I float.

I am a poser, a fame ****** and a hero worshiper. My vitriol view on the world hinders me. Constantly on the verge of crying in public. Staring at train tracks, they invite me away. Looking more comfortable than a bed.

Relapse is fine by me. I want this. I want this. I want this. I want this. Not a tortured artist just tortured. Not a tortured soul just a cracked shell. In the name of art but in the corner of sickness.

Beat myself out of sight beat me out of sight beat me beat me till I float. Beat me beat me till I float.
Austin Heath Jun 2014
Born of a binary,
black/white,
white/ black.
Cultured by silence,
a blank slate,
but no more tears.
Time isn't real.
They speak, they say,
tell me there's nothing wrong with me;
standing in the kitchen with my
grandmother telling me there is
nothing DIFFERENT about you.
Strive to conform.
Sameness is a casualty.
I DON'T GIVE A ****
about conservatives
.
"Humanists" avoiding their toxic
misogynistic tendencies,
old friends enlisted
voluntarily perpetuating a
system of violence and suffering,
others are bluffing, don't say ****,
walk eggshells,
I must be a tiger loose from the cage,
and they're waiting to see who becomes the
canary in my coal mine.
Rhyming by incident,
but I hate this **** & I'm not all right.
Women can participate in their own oppression,
minorities can be racist,
we're all raised in a ditch;
Patriarchy, capitalism, class values,
botched messages, "color blindness",
etc. etc. etc.
**** everyone, and don't treat me like I'm better
or I should know better, or I have to be "perfect"
if I want to be "different". Raised in a ditch.
Cultured by racism and depression.
I think of suicide like a novelty
until I don't
.
.
.
Everything turns grey and reads like sloganeering.
Waiting for the past to manifest as a trauma.
Waiting for the past to make sense.
Waiting.
Jazz, women, and the start of a new era.
Gambling, drinking, the illegal actions
That gave everyone a thrill.

They are doing it, so why can't I?
Parties, drinking, music, recklessness.

A bit of freedom and women run loose like
They've never seen the light of the moon,
They are the flappers.

Moving pictures like magic,
Lets go to the movies,
Lets go see the stars!
The drama!

The machines! The wonders of
Mass production and a gas engine!
Speed and toxic smells of factories.
Kagey Sage Jun 2014
Desensitized by the sands of time
I'm abhorred you're a cultural cog
Bobbing on the surface
you find eating gulls disgusting
but don't bat an eye at nauseous oil slicks

I wish I could set it all ablaze
so we'd pick our destinies more carefully
Or more care freely

You see me as a motley mesh
Flesh covered by cloths from mismatched fads
Yet, you're a pretentious simian that's forgot our past
Just a gussied up grazer, disavowing discomfort
scoffing at any endeavor that isn't grass flavored

The chimers on the lawn are all robed outcasts
bellowing to the fodder eating fodder
the posh set the stalks to be mowed over
But for the justice of all the inside out bulls
leaving their wallets on the ground
the entrail fashion never catches on
Soumia May 2014
Us diaspora kids
we are an elite club
not feeling fully rested neither at home
or away
or constantly questioning ourselves
“Am I home or away?”
It can crumble some of us
to feel lonely and in despair
whilst some of us try to blend in

Us diaspora kids
have guilt tied into a noose around
our necks
because we feel that whatever we do
it is some form of betrayal
to our cultures.
Soumia May 2014
I am a person of colour

Whose simple presence can cause outrage
they use their tongues as swords
and slay me with slurs
Whilst there are others who pretend to be my ally
but I can see their disgust in their eyes
their uneasiness in their smile

I am a person of colour

Whose beautiful traditional garments are cherry-picked
and woven into a disgusting replica
brandished on “Designer labels”
and mocked as exotic

I am a person of colour

Whose skin is secretly envied by them
they exhaust their expenses on tanning salons
and “bronzing” creams
Yet simultaneously they spit on my “darkness”
and promote their products with the so-called beauty of “lightness”

I am a person of colour**

I shall not hide my anger at their ignorance
I shall wear my skin with pride
Because being a person of colour
No matter what I do or how I conform
They will never be satisfied
Kristen Ordonez May 2014
I need a tutor, I think you'd be perfect
What am I failing in? A few subjects
(I'm kind of a mess...)
Geography and art, mostly
But seeing you here, in front of me,
I know you're perfect

We'd be great at geography
I want to map out your landscapes
Out of the air
The slopes of your shoulders, the dips from bone to bone
The hills of your arms that can cradle me easily
Wrapping me in the warmth that belongs to this world of yours
The ridges in your spine are stones across a soft sea
My fingers can jump from bump to bump-
Traveling shore to shore-
Without losing a breath

You'd help me out a lot in art,
All I want to do is photograph
These new marvels I see
The deep creases near your eyes that grow with laughter
Your eyes themselves,
Beads of pure light that flow into me
I can't escape their gaze, nor would I want to

Mapping out this world that lies within my grasp
Would be the greatest adventure
Feeling everything-
From the sole to the soul,
Engulfing myself in this new culture
called Love
It sounds familiar, but I've never experienced it
Only heard of or seen
You seem fluent in it, though, willing to try
Want to show me around?
I'm a faster learner, and I think
You'd be a great teacher
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