Kee May 16

she was soft and gentle
eyes big and bright
full of happiness
i watched them die that night
they turned dull
grey
empty
i wished over and over that i could've been there
because she didn't deserve to be treated so cruel
she was just a little girl
who wanted love
just like you

allie May 5

Twinkling stars shine
brightly in the cloudy sky
dancing by the moon.

Though the stars do die,
others take their place in the
cloudy moonlight sky.

When the stars die they
fall to the earth like a flame
then crash. Stars now dull.

So that is how the
cycle goes: Shine, fall, crash, die.
But new stars can form

Shine like a star.
My Type May 5

The pace of my fan.
The contours of my curtain.
The cracks on the side wall.
The tree that casts different shadows on my floor.
That creaking sound of my bed.
The smell of my bed sheets.
The reflection of the clock in my mirror.
The chip in my window’s glass pane.
The ray of the sun that peeks through it.
The rust on the edges of the doorknob.
The dust that’s collected on the suitcases.
The colours of the changing sky.
The still water in my glass.
The drop of tear that rolls down my cheek.
Are some things I know too well.
Are the only things that give me company.

Life had been a picture box
Wherein all are painted in monotone
Only what's to be seen are being shown
But go down in mem'ry—rusted love locks.

Everywhere you turn,
the pictures look the same
Still in place as you carelessly aim,
A heart can only discern.

Be it winter, spring, summer or fall,
The external, the internal remains
But a sound, a voice, in my head refrains
Yet again, it's the film's time to roll.

Once, I caught a glimpse of a smile
And wondered what it could be.
How can an image look so different to me?
A thought unusually worthwile.

Flowers begun to bloom and blossom
Releasing fireworks into the sky
Could these fingertips reach them if ever I try?
Rainbows cried on a sphere of monochrome.

12/05/16
Isha Natsu Mar 25

my mother likes to think i can’t see
her dabbing her eyes dry,
that long, lost love is not something that is pieced
together into the equivalents of promises
and vows
yours have been broken
mine just beginning to birth
we are lying motionless
in this game
whose pieces are pawns of fate
and cruel intentions
for the strength it took to leave
is as brittle as the ground i forged for abandonment
and my poetry is as stale
as warm beer you drink just to forget

Chloe Chapman Mar 21

THE FEAR OF NORMALITY
THE FEAR OF APATHY
THE FEAR OF ORDINARY
THE FEAR OF BORING
THE FEAR OF REPLACEABLE
THE FEAR OF SAMENESS
THE FEAR OF CLICHE
THE FEAR OF BANALITY
THE FEAR OF COMMON
THE FEAR OF DULL
THE FEAR OF SHALLOWNESS
THE FEAR OF TRITENESS
THE FEAR OF VAPID
THE FEAR OF UNORIGINAL
THE FEAR OF INSIPID
THE FEAR OF PRETENTIOUS
THE FEAR IN UNINSPIRING
THE FEAR OF TRIVIAL
THE FEAR OF AVERAGE

Just a few of my fears.. Spot the theme..
April Mar 20

My laugh
Is disgusting
Your laugh
Is beautiful.

My eyes
Are dull
Your eyes
Are sparkly and shine.

My hair
Is flat and boring
Your hair
Is full of life.

I'm boring,
plain,
and
dull.

You're amazing,
beautiful,
and
perfect.

Brianna Jan 12
...

Your touch felt like fire against my skin
Igniting me as if i was kerosene
But now the spark has dulled me
And i know that this isn't love

I can't make myself love you
lulu Jan 12

Give me something. Anything to quiet this feeling; this hollowness. Is this what happiness feels like? Is this what it’s like to be content?
I’m empty. I am a vast shell of a vessel that’s filled with such potential, such hope; but I waste it.
I’m wasted.
I’m wasted on the thought of you. The thought of you with someone else. The thought of being alone.
I don’t want to be alone.
It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt.
I am empty.
I don’t know how to feel but I do when you’re near and I wish that it would stop.
I want to be happy always.
I don’t want to be dependent on you for the sun to shine. I don’t want to feel as though you hung the moon. You didn’t. I did.
I’m wasted.
Wasted youth. Wasted love. Wasted space.
If this is what it is to be content; to be happy…
It’s a numb feeling.
Everything is perfect and yet…
I’m empty.
I love with a burning passion, so much so that you get torn up and scorched in the process.
It is not a slow burn it is all consuming.
It consumes me.
I’m consumed with a lonliness when you’re gone and when you’re here I yearn to feed it.
I need to feel you, I need to be near you. I need to know you’re not leaving. I need to prove to myself that this is real and that you are here and that you love me.
If I don’t I burn, my fire stays in me and it burns, it burns, it burns.
I’m overbearing.
I’ve scalded you; it’s too hot, you can’t breathe I’m smothering you and I can’t stop.
You push me away and the flames grow larger.
But when you go, the fire slowly dies out.
I’m not passionate.
I’m not a writer.
I’m empty.

is feeling content the same as feeling nothing at all?
Andrew Dec 2016

Standing in a corner
Back turn towards the light.
Focused on the rhythmic judder.
Not of the heart, or of the soul.
For what I am is soulless.

Hands held close to my body
My breath beats back onto my face
I'm shut in so close
To the total recess of what
My life has been reduced to.

Eyes slowly open and close
While my head dips down again.
Rises up, I stare off, and down again.
Habitually poised in shame.
Always in the end left with some sardonic understanding.

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