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Simon Oct 10
Flowers dry up when there not impressed with themselves. Withering back down below depths of uncertainty. Prompting joy that shouldn't exist. Commenting on a bigger structure that is not from within. It's around them. Circumventing proudly for all to see. If you aren't impressed with yourself. Then how will you bloom again for all to see?
Flowers hide themselves when they feel they aren't good enough. Everyone hides themselves behind there own blooming effect.
Anastasia Sep 26
i can't even cry anymore
my eyes are so dry
they water throughout the day
but when i need to let my heart spill
they dry up
like
the world is forcing me to be strong
but i can't
i don't want to
im not strong enough
i just want to be weak for a while
please
just
let me cry
Tanya Louise Sep 25
'Here lies that sad girl and her scars'
Those words hovered over my head.
I giggled slightly,
Sick to my stomach.
Lumps upon lumps form in my throat.
As I welcome euphoria, my friend!

'Here lies that sad girl and her scars'
Sick thoughts, don't you think?
Oh! What do you care!
I'm falling in a blink.

At that moment,
I remembered the girl,
With big eyes and concern on her face.


What's that on your arm?

                  mind your ******* business

Oh it's nothing…

Huh?

I was just drawing on my hand with a really sharp (razor) pen and I didn't notice…

Oh wow that's so weird

                                       You have no idea


I wonder if she saw the words on my arm…
Ha! Yes! You guessed it!
As cheesy I can be,
'HELP ME' was carved, quite boldy on my skin.

The girl made me me think...
You,
Weird,
Sick,
****.
Why won't you STOP?

So here I lay,
Dipped in ink,
Stripped and bleak.
Worried my shirt might get ruined, ****!

'Here lies that sad girl and her scars'
Watch her as she shivers.
Her friend has gone away.
Who is here to stay?
I'm sorry if this post triggered anyone. I've had a lot to deal with lately.
Self harm is a serious problem that real people deal with everyday.

If you're you do this and you want to stop, please get professional help by calling Self harm hotlines in your country.
Anastasia Aug 30
dry
don't you hate it
when you want to cry
but you can't
because your eyes are too dry
Cat Lynn Jul 23
Empty and Full of nothing but dry bones
No senses or feelings left for me to hold

Lifeless and Dead, like the expressions it left me
Every emotion drained like blood. No more breathes left to breathe

It ignores, it is hard, and the dead body is cold
The warmth and love has been stripped away as skin unfolds

But I stay by it still... although it is avoiding the very aspect of living
I know these bones can come alive. Please be forgiving

Laying in broken bony pieces, but yet beautifully organized and created.
Dead inside, but once majestically living and related

Although I have been left behind with the skeleton that remains
I know it can come back to life with the very call of its name

Feelings abandoned, and touches now feeling decayed.
I still have hope... so I will not dig its grave.

You will come back from the dead...
And you will learn to talk... and learn to feel again
I am now left with the Skeleton that remains




Wowwwwww i actually wrote something decent... gees it's late I need to go to bed gosh... also... I'm back yayyyy.. we will see when the next poem comes...

This poem is based on a skeleton dragon someone bought for me XD
Eliana Moody Jul 16
Dry
River beds held dry by the mighty dams
Holding in, building pressure over desert
Behind temples and bodies
(the body is my temple)
Til the clouds soak up the water
And electricity zaps to life
But this electric storm
Brings forth no rain in me
a river bed lies profoundly dry

out in the remote west

showing no visible signs

of any trickle's zest


each day bringing the same

emptiness of refrain

thirsty river banks are feeling

such a sustained pain


the wanted gift of moisture

being absent far too long

a river's course slowly dying

to feel a dampness of song


soon the summer's scorch shall

be again upon the river's trace

in its despairing hour it will beg

for rain's life giving grace
Ashley Kaye Jun 30
I feel as if Life
has run me dry.
Its vast Opportunity,
my Inaction,
consumed
the last oasis

Now they, dry bones
Brittle hulls of beetles
scuttle amid sameness
We starve
for color
not dripping in red.


Nothing much thrives
In these hills
Natural word poem the 3rd. June 2019
Still Crazy Jun 24
drrry spells

~for the r in all of us~

a normanative condition, a kitchen condiment, an un-relished
I’m-in-a-pickle relish, when there in no hot **** dogged doggedly poem perspiration in the fridge or anywhere to be found; nothing but a top sliced bun, ah, plain buns, old stale dog ones is all ya got left for dinner, during one of them there drrry spells that
no blonde tanned unweathered weatherperson ever
forecast correctly

Normanative? Oh yeah.

the tyranny of the white, white bread, the white, whittle ya down screen, couture-cold water from tap direct, neck bent, jugged to try and fail to wash down that lumpen ball of dog fur brain drain clog that’s backing up the paper words, in a stomach churning brine holding you back from reaching the top of the Mt. Everest,

rite Normanative?

Normanative.Oh yeah. Son of Norma and Normally.
It’s in the bibell, look it up!

she-he is my pooka, (nope, uh-uh, look it up) a six foot tall rabbit,
climbing up my brain stem, strategically strangling my words like
a flea killer collar round my neck, one that actually visually works,
my flea bit words fall to the floor, to live with the dust mites descendants of the ole south, drafts and rejection letters, all whose blessed memory may never die etc. etc.

that was the condition of my normanative condition when I dropped in (yup, look it up),

Norman sarcastically asking, how’s the weather up there,
any rain in that-northern-brain, down here it’s as dry as an southern old dog porch panting in Jewlie, breathiny out summer hottie poems, write out like it’s crazy going out of style, oh yeah, forgot
you don’t speak dawg that well.

so I don’t know nothing about your drry spells, just climb into
the hottest hot tub, staying all the summer months if necessary,
reading old poems about busted hearts, old dogs, unrealized loves that can’t be forgot, promises kept that one never made, other curses,
battlefields of yore, sweatin’ out the toxins till r
sends along a new one, rocking my toenails to my disbelieving eyes,
for I’m a mentally patient person,
whose never seen a drrry spell so long, that was not worth
wading thru, waiting for, till something busted out and
another thunderstorm of a literary good one, errr come along

like I said, I’m a mental patient man, still crazy after all these years...
(yup, that too, you could look it up if ya made this far)
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