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Jasmine Sep 2017
Makes me want to move my head back
and sing like I'm dancing with the notes
its sad melody no longer means
looking back
and beckoning
change.

It's melancholy
is only:
a beautiful pain
I would rather have within me
than be without.

It flows;
like its story is endless
from a childhood book
where the trees talk
in the woods.

Like a waterfall
to a beauty
frightening
ever lasting...
Gabrielle Oct 2021
When can I be alone?
When am I really by myself?

Even the term 'by myself' implies that you are 'by' something,
With yourself.

Like the self is something external to you.
Someone you can sit next to.

I want to be truly alone, without myself.
I want the wind to brush past unfollowed by thought or recognition.
I want no one to know where I am, even me.

I need to be without myself,
Far away from myself.
I'm just so relentlessly 'there'.
This poem is about the true meaning of being alone, and the relentlessness of existing in a context.
ebh Jun 2021
oh my darling angel you are the reason i’m still a person with skin
you are the reason i wake up in the morning and smile sometimes
with teeth sometimes without but smile nonetheless//you are the reason i eat
with such gusto because i know you would laugh at the way i wolf down pasta//you are
the reason for the hole in my chest in your absence i collapse like a dying star//you are the reason
i’m trying so hard to be better and//you are the reason i called my therapist’s office and said hi
yes could i please have a listening ear//you are the reason all my cuticles are picked ragged like
so many spiky sea animals warning you not to touch//you are the reason for my writing
the note you left me to write calling me “stinky” still sits on my shelf untouched//you are the reason i’m
insecure about my taste in alcohol//you are the reason i’m not insecure about my laugh anymore//you are the reason that my hair is soft and//you are the reason
i’m shaving my legs again//you are the reason i care about *** at all and//you are the reason it
scares me so ******* much
you are the reason for much of my life as it stands now proud and tall and shaking
like a fawn still wet from her mother’s womb
i kinda like how this turned out, it needs a lot of work but honestly i'm just gonna post drafts on here and see how it goes
ebh Jun 2021
ME: I’ve called you all here today to ask you something.
BROTHER 1: [looking sideways at the door]
BROTHER 2: Hmm.
MOM: [smiling widely in that way that says she knows]
DAD: [smiling widely in that way that says he doesn’t]
ME: To be frank, I don’t think you all like each other very much. Is that true?
MOM: [smile gets tighter, hand reaches towards phone]
DAD: No, it’s not. [scratching side of head nervously]
BROTHER 2: Hmm.
BROTHER 1: You all bore me.
ME: We know we do.
MOM: [typing furiously]
[silence punctuated by dog licking his leg]
ME: So, now what?
BROTHER 1: [rolling eyes slowly and obviously] What do you mean, now what?
ME: Well, I mean where do we go from here?
MOM: We don’t. We just stay here or nothing at all.
BROTHER 2: Hmm.
DAD: What else can we do? How do we know doing anything at all would be better?
ME: I am tired of writing poems in my head about us. We have to do something.
[silence punctuated by dog coughing]
BROTHER 1: ******* and your poems. Do you want to hang out?
MOM: I love you all but I can’t stand any of you.
BROTHER 2: Can we be done now?
ME: We’ll never be done.
ALL: We’ll never be done.
[dog sneezes]
i cannot post this on my poetry instagram bc my family might see it so have this… thing… idk
Evan L Jun 2021
I used to trace the acne scars down your back
Like a blind man reading a poem in braille
iamtheavatar Mar 2021
How do I feel about this?
I'm just too tired,

I guess.

I can't really blame myself,

Can I?

But I can't blame you too.
You're perfect.

My life—

I'm having trouble
Organizing my—

Thoughts.

Thousands of drafts have been rewritten,
Over and over inside my head;
But I can't let myself put it on paper,
Simply because—

It's not perfect.
You're perfect.

I guess in the end, I'm ruined.

iamthe_avatar ©2021
My first poem after four years.
I'm just tired.
Leo Feb 2021
When many aeons turning stones
Did find you muddied silt

The rivers coursing from your veins
On highway sides
Of Grecian ilk

What coils must I shuffle from
To find the fatted milk

And taste the salt which binds to you
In hiding places built

Before the turning of the spheres were
locked inside your gaze

Here, so many ages past
And still to seek a name
Påłpëbŕå Apr 2021
I see, I see
those cold cold girls
who hide behind hoodies
and bun their curls
who line their eyes
smoky with darkness
that circles their mind
resulting from their cries
who's lips are red
due to a temper
that's so **** short
-on thin ice they tread,
who glare at every guy
just so they back off
waiting for the one who'll
dare answer their why
why? would someone
like them and love them
why? would someone
want them and need them
but everyone
keeps their distance
but everyone
stays away
and that's the reason
these cold cold girls
never let anyone in.
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