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Karisa Brown Mar 2018
What she wonders
What is it now
What do you want from me
You grovel at my feet
Hoping to be fed
I have no more to give you
Last night's bread
was all there was

These orphan lots
Set beneath me
Spend nights awaking
the dead things
That I sleep in

They crawl beneathe my veins
Hidden in shame
I drown thee
With perfect obligatory
With knives
Held captive
And needle poked in eyes thread

These words become jummbled
So I throw them up instead
Melt me many men
Have them come in
Shake off their grievances
Give thanks for what's been

Wonder if you might
You might just
Give them a fright
Lot Feb 2018
Is it emulation or imitation?
Don’t both equal copy and paste?
But a cookie-cutter dream gets hard to be,
especially out at sea
I gasp and splash,
but my system crashed
So I try to pass and grasp,
but sink further from the grass
I am an iron anchor upon the seafloor,
shedding flakes of red rust,
just left to be an empty husk
The harsh salt water: my liquid brander
Conformity leaves me an empty-hander
I always seem to be going through a rough patch in my life, trying to keep up all of my masks doesn't help.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
My hands
have always been empty
even with
your hands to hold.
Let’s meet somewhere
where you need not be seen,
where I need not be invisible.
grace snoddy Dec 2017
“i will never find someone
who will make me
feel the same.

i will never find someone who will
treat me the same.”



my love,
do not look for the same.
that is what brought you down
this very lane.
there are indifferences for a reason.
it is what makes us humane.
Erin Suurkoivu Nov 2017
Us
and between you and me is the world

and between you and me is a language

and between you and me is culture

and between you and me is a war

and between you and me is religion

and between you and me is a wall

and between you and me is perception

and between you and me is ourselves
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon or through Lulu.
Harry Roberts Nov 2017
I'm not me
I swear it see
Since a teen
I seen a part
Of me that's mean.

Apart of me that's been
Apart of me that knows
Hidden till it shows
Though it hardly
Ever blows.

It's older
Colder
More daring
And bolder.
It's apart as
Much as it is seperare.

It stole my age
Cause older I feel
In turn
And cold how the fire
In me burns.
But for breath it yearns
At ends with me.

Mostly I'd like to
Lay in the Sea
And be free.
But my demon
Makes me live
And evade the currents
Caught in me.

My demon makes
Me me, we lack
Dichotomy.
I'm one with
What opposes me,
In an convenient
Lobotomy.
Michael A Duff Nov 2017
If ever there was a riddle she was it.

A puzzle that you were never certain you had all the pieces to.

Now to be honest, that is the most unique thing in all the world, unduplicated.

The uniqueness is a mystery we want to solve, but people are not for solving they are for loving.

Each on to their own a snowflake, cut only once, but only ever seen crashing downward to the surface.

Mysteries, puzzles, riddles, people; they are unique, just like everything else we experence.
As different as we seem to be platitudes apart we are all learning experiencing life and it is our differences that make us unique yet since we are all unique we are all somewhat the same.
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