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Marla May 26
Every year we fool ourselves through sayings such as
“We can't leave the house for the weather”
“The sun will rejuvenate us”.

When seasons transform it turns into
“We can't leave the house for the demons in our front garden”
“It burns, it burns, please make it stop burning”
Every underwhelmment
Undid my hopes a little more
Piece by warping puzzle piece
Hacking away at innocence and
Orphaned delusionment.

Recalling this now,
Is it really any wonder that I
Can't tell euphoria from satisfaction?
An acrostic
Toss me a coffee and a word and I'll write you a poem <3
Proctor Ehrling Sep 2019
I'd love to love
I'd hate to hate
I lived enough
My path is paved

I used to use
The good to know
My soul refused
To let it show

I filled the gaps
With violent pours
And now it leaks
Out of my pores

Catastrophe reject
The hollow amass
Let him hit the reflex
Let him stand aghast
Freestyle written in 11 minutes.
bakunawa Aug 2019
take care to never
confuse magic and
illusions in your mind...

you only call it
a lowly 'illusion'
when someone else
is fooling you

but it's always
ever been 'magic'
when you're the one
robbing yourself blind.
'tis weird right? like we can grow into the disillusionment from smokes and mirrors but still call it magic as if a mystical lexical escapism from the bittersweet fact that it's also called trickery.

nonetheless, thanks for reading^
Antara Majumder Aug 2019
And she lost her appetite
For books,
They failed her the world they had
Promised in their
Nonfictional narratives: the theory Of Politics, the magnanimity of History, the golden outlines of Economics she felt so proud to
Have touched on her fingertips;
In times gone by,
She could see they pivoted.
She had no use for
Empty things anymore;
Casual walks, casual reading  Casual coffee, casual ***
That the world glorified and lied;
Her rigid mind used profanity
Against whatever was termed
Casual was disturbing, blinding, addicting,
Accountable for everything that
Became usual, by the book!
She used to devour books once--
Word by word, space by space, Page after page,
Chewing softly on the paper
Breaking down to its last molecule,
Until she could taste the wood pulp
In her mouth;
She savoured the taste of the dead
Trees on her tongue
And it edged sharper, her mind
Wiser, she bustier!
But the butchers caught her
Poetry in their poultry of unreal
Policies in no time, they farmed
Her brains and she bled profusely!
And the world watched and shrugged
She sold her soul that smelled like Papier-mâché and the butchers Could see its potential in the gleam Of their Knives of the dark;
She burnt her books to make some
Light and saw
Through her burning flesh,
Other meats appeared to take her place..
the world as we knew had changed drastically around us, wise minds are sell-outs and bought by leaders of every nation. Books do not uphold the ideals they had shown us, we fell into a series of disappointments.
Ylzm Apr 2019
Be inspired not from without
of those you imagined yourself desirous to be
but rather be inspired from within
from discovering the unique self you truly are
the one you and the world never knew
the mystery and the wonder the world awaits to see
and the reason that is truly your reason for being

But the world demands success
defined from templates of history
imposed without care for who you are
but only for what you count for them
you, seduced with morsels and crumbs,
freely choose to be slave for their profits

And so alas the world lost
the truly free alienated


one weary hungry step at a time
discovery drifts to disillusion
mystery remains mystery
wonder turns to ruin,
despair and cynicism
the flicker of reason
burns dim
if only
on hope

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