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Nikki Danilov Mar 18
who gave you the right to give me life when I never asked for it??
and who gave you the right to cry when I stopped wanting it..
How do you know who to trust
When you have two friends
Who know you better than anyone
But can never agree on a single thing
inner discontent over love choices
TD Jan 20
If I was a little skinnier,
If I was a little shorter,
If I was taller,
If I was stronger,
If I was curvier,
But what if I was less doubtful?

What if I was less criticizing,
Less negative,
What if I was more positive,
If I was happy with myself?

Would I rise above,
Would I learn to love myself and others,
Could I spread more positivity?

How hard could it be?

What if we were was less doubtful within ourselves?
Jahnaye C Oct 2018
It's not enough--
Plenty of people can
do what you do much better.
It's not so simple---
All I can do is sift through the box
and write the rhythm of the center.
It's not of excellence,
Nor does it make sense
in the nature of what’s contradictory.
It’s not enough---
I can do better,
in a way I see fit.
It’s not enough---
Plenty of people can
do what you do much better.
They can.
They will.
They Must.
Meg Howell Nov 2017
A daily riddle
Has come to mind
Where abstract words
Break an abstract mind
And things once healed
Fall apart
After the moon hits that mark
Thoughts are runny
Dilapidated ears hear harsh lullabies
But no baby cries
Just you and I
Cries fit for the night
The dubious night
The doubtful night
The dangerous night
Our night
Seema Aug 2017
I was, to be given to someone
As a symbol of true love
She was a studious one
And he was an average above

He wanted to give her a rose
But, was doubtful and scared
So he wrote her a nice prose
With an ink of color red

Library was her favorite place
So he placed the prose with a rose
And tied it with a thin threaded lace
As she glanced him with a pose

He placed a note and the flower
In her favorite research book
And waited her for an hour
But she was already in a hook

This broke his innocent heart
As he thought his love was blooming
Coz she was alone from the start
Unfortunately, he kept on assuming

The old books got replaced, over the week
As all got outshelved in the storage
No hands could reach and seek
This special book in the wreckage

My fragrance and youth, left me
And sank within the heavy pages
I am withered old, for no one to see
Stuck with the unread prose, for ages

Burnt in a sudden fire
Few books, behind and around
None was this books buyer
It just laid aimless on the dusty ground

A dead rose, covered within sheets
Hoping to be found oneday
If this book gets sold on the streets
Someone might have a special day...

"I" - in this write refers to a rose.
A Tango Feb 2017
Feeling unhappy;
that I'm not good enough
Unconvinced and in despair,
Disbelief in my own
act and decisions

I am doing the best I could
to meet the expectations;
thus I am frustrated

Why am I putting
a lot of pressure on myself
just to seek attention?

I am trying hard
until gratified
Why am I still unfulfilled?

In fact, I am scared
I fear that I may fail
and may not reach satisfaction

It feeds my self-doubt
perhaps I am good-for-nothing
I am laying in this bed of ours
inside this home we've built
wondering why you wont touch me
all you speak of is your guilt

you tell me how you want to change
that you're needing to improve
and all the while I'm laying here
just wondering what to do

these millions of thoughts run through my mind
not one better that the next
it all leads back to the same old guilt
it seems I've failed the test

you say that you're happy
while you cry yourself to sleep
but the one who's most afflicted
is the one you choose to keep
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