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B Irwin Jul 2016
I am trying to be a poet
but I felt like your poem.
Am I an artist or
am I the remnants of your paint
splattered on my favorite jeans?
Or the beautiful words you gave me
including "I'm sorry"?
I am trying to be a poet
but the words get spit back in the bottle
and stick with strangers who I have told too much to.
Am I a writer
Or am I just gagging on the words you threw at me
when you smashed the plates
and slammed the door?
I am trying to be a poet.
But I am tired.
Isn't
That
Poetry?
LJDC Jul 2016
My lungs do breath,
But I forgot to.
My heart still beats,
But inlove no more.

Pain runs within my veins,
Clogging the joy and happiness and glee.
Sadness floods my mind,
A pessimistic evil dementor.

But then I fought.
With all my strength,
With all my hope,
With all my love.

But then I failed.
I wasted my strength,
I wasted my hope,
I wasted my love.

Very tiring.
Very sad.
I just lost,
And I'm exhausted.
Physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion all at the same time. How can I manage to still be living. Maybe it's not living, but merely just surviving.
Brianna Ki Jul 2016
She's restless...

She beats only for the sake of her lungs..

Yet again, it comes to this...
Defeat.
A battle she knew she'd lose.
Another memory to bury

Each thought escaping
Lingers just enough to get her to sink.

When will his drug leave her veins.
How long this time til she's clean of this..

Yet again..
Lost Jun 2016
I'm alone.
I have no one.
And no one has me.
Mainly because no one wants me.
No one wants my baggage,
My abandonment issues,
My mental illnesses,
My broken heart,
My need for constant love,
My need for constant attention,
My pathetic excuse for a personality,
My pitiful mannerisms,
My self loathing,
My need for a new home.
No one wants that.
I'm not good enough.
I've tried so hard,
Walked so many miles,
Seen so many therapists,
Taken so many pills,
Exhausted every option.
I just need care.
But until I'm able to heal from things I can't without someone to help,
No one will help.
Isn't that pathetic?
So I just sit,
Alone,
Knees clutched to my chest,
Sobbing,
Trying to forget the pain
That losing one person caused me,
And trying to convince myself
"I'm fine"
When clearly,
I will never be fine.
Tim Wu May 2016
I have seen the endless suns
their sinister stare steals

my weary ribs bury
cries lost and dead

I long to chase the wind.
but the Rising, the Setting
the High above...

"Meaningless! Meaningless!
Utterly Meaningless!"


deep in the golden desert
the mirages fold,
a robe of milk and honey.
And

I believe.

"fool"

my precious,
precious pink!
my clean flesh.
mutilated.

"fool"

I can count all my bones
they look.
they stare at me.

*"Is there anything new under the sun?"
Life can be dull or painful sometimes. A cry from the heart.
Glee Cyl R May 2016
Body's become heavier
Knees begin to shiver
Hands and arms are tingling
Eyes involuntarily close
Mind becomes empty
Then you feel weak
Wanting to fade for a while.
erin Apr 2016
I am deflated
like a balloon left in the corner for a few days
wrinkly and sad but still there
slightly full but not worth keeping

I am deflated
like an inner tube of a bike tire
rolled out of a garage after the winter
a hindrance on the path to felicity

I am deflated
like an air mattress
handled carelessly a few too many times
still useful but not overly enjoyed

I am deflated
because I am too exhausted to inflate myself
*again
Allyssa Apr 2016
I just want to roll over
and fall asleep,
instead of feeling
the pain crash
over me in waves.
Kathleen Apr 2016
How many marbles can you fit into a bowl until you say you can't count them?

I do not want events layered upon events.
Birthdays toppling over birthdays:
a layer cake of responsibilities that aren't 'responsibilities'.
That do not count.
That cannot be measured or described as taxing or numerous.
I am outnumbered by numberless nonsense.
I am outweighed by weightless wafting pleasantries;
and opportunities;
and life-sustaining things;
that bowl me over.

My womb is a desert called Death Valley and you wish to comb it for antique glass bottles.
I care not.
I cannot partake in any more suggestions of what I might do with my 'free time'.

But you're not feeling the tingling sensation in your gut every time you wake up and the lights don't turn on.
The wheels don't work.
The mechanical arms don't move like they are supposed to.
Like the parts of you you're supposed to have on automatic have just given up the ghost and abandoned you.
You're alone and miserable and none of it rings any bells.
None of it gives out any signs.
None of it counts.

I'm crying because the milk spilled and there isn't any milk left anywhere in the world.
We're out.
We're just the land of Honey now.
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