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Kian Nov 20
Body aches, and soul decays, the ocean stretches wide,
With scorching skies, and burning eyes, I’ve nowhere left to hide,
No wind to kiss these ragged sails, no stars to be my guide,
I drift in silence, hours bleed, the waves and I collide,

The sun, a hammer, beats me down, each breath a broken plea,
The thirst has left my throat a grave, the hunger gnaws at me,
The years, the months, the days are one, the tides my only sea,
Yet still, I wait—though hope is dust—for solace that won’t be,

No whispering wind, no shade in sight, no shadows on the crest,
The horizon mocks me with its calm, my heartbeat begs for rest,
A desert made of salted glass, the end a welcome guest,
I’m lost, I’m worn, I’ve come to know the drowning in my chest,

If these dead waters rise for me, I’ll sink without a sound,
Let ocean’s weight press down my bones, ‘til none of me is found,
For I have nothing left to give, no strength left to be crowned,
And if these seas shall swallow whole, then let me, too, be drowned.
Em MacKenzie Nov 8
I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.
Starting to feel my age…
neth jones Nov 6
how sick the mirrors are    of visiting our dumb faces
how weary the door is    of being bolted for our precious privacy
how dreary are our voices  to the walls
          as they are trounced  by our mad surly language ?
are the beds exhausted absorbing our stains ?
are the chairs knackered enduring our strain ?

how burdened are the tables by our taxes ?
how taxed are the windows projecting in ?
is the plumbing fatigued
          or the electric stressed ?
how geared up and fearful are the stairs
           as we begin our ascent ?
how bent out of shape is the ovens mood
           to bloat with heat and then cook our food ?

the engines of our house are in order
though  they must consider their efforts wasted
                     maintaining our bewildering lifestyle
29/09/24
Skyler H Oct 18
I'm sick of hearing.
The thought of hearing one more story
That's not my own makes me wanna cry uncontrollably
I don't wanna listen.
To let how you feel tell me what to do
I'm sick of listening.

I'm sick of seeing.
Everyone else having it all put together
It makes my stomach turn to know that won't be me, ever
I don't wanna watch.
You live out what I want so eagerly
I'm sick of watching.

I want to feel.
To feel someone in my arms
And to feel the fire that might burn me to the ground
If it did, I would gladly let it
I'm sick of waiting.

I'm sick of losing.
To watch everyone leave or their shadows hunt me
To feel the warmth frozen by the cold in a tight embrace
I don't wanna win.
For as wining inevitably disappoints me

I want to be sick.
Sick in love and desperate
To be dizzy and dumb and stupid and young
Not to wear a cloak that hides me, lurking to swallow me whole
I want to be dizzy with desire.

Just for a blink I wanna see
the love they all see
And give in completely.
kel Sep 28
the clock ticks and ticks
it's 12am right now-
a time where my icks
are nonexistent as i dive
into my deep thoughts
i feel kinda alive
but also half dead with exhaustion
with my study materials sitting
on my desk.
my brows are furrowed;
my lips are pressed;
it's a never ending cycle.
one that is vicious.
Sasha Sep 4
Tell me what to feel
Tell me how to be
I'm tired
It's too much wondering for me

But if I'll know which way to go
I'll be revived, I'll do it all

Tell me where I failed
Tell me if I'm good
I cannot decide alone
There was a time I could

Say, can you take the lead?
And fix the broken me?

Tell me where it went wrong
Tell me, have I ever had a chance?
I'm scared of the beginning
I'm not sure how it will end

At night it all seems worst
The days are now the same
Time heals all
When there's no cure, that's what they say
Alexis K Oct 2023
My heart is beating in my chest.
In my head.
In my fingertips.
My tummy is cramping and the pillow is making noise.

I can't get the pillow to keep quiet,
I can't keep my head from pounding with the thumping of my heart.
The porch light sears it's way through the blinds and blackout curtains.
Snores surround me from my partners.

But I can't get the pillow to keep quiet.
I push my head harder into the bed.
But the throbbing of my heart travels to my toes.
Why is my heart so loud?
Why is the light so bright?
Why won't the pillow keep quiet?
I'm tired.
Malia Aug 11
As I write this poem,
Barrelling toward me are
College applications and
Dual enrollment classes.
Everybody dreads it but
For most of my life, I anticipated
Going to school with the
Hectic excitement that comes from
Imagination only a child can have.
Just like every year since
Kindergarten, I seriously
Lack confidence in
My ability to do what I
Need to do in order to
Overachieve as expected, but unlike
Previous years, I
Quiver with exhaustion earned by
Regurgitating information about
Systems that I will never
Truly need, but am tested on.
Useless, useless, useless,
Very, so very useless is how
We feel now, both the lessons and I.
Xanthan complexion, nauseous, nervous,
Yellow like the school buses I want to
Zap away, but climb aboard anyway.
Trying out an alphabet poem today! If you’re confused why it’s alphabet, look at the beginning of each line ;). Tell me what you think of it. I would love your feedback as I try out some new stuff.
Dear lord,
Please help me know.
That these feelings I feel
Will come to go.
Guide me through paths
That frost in snow.
Cover me in sun
To dim the unknown.
And lord,
Please know,
Before I go,

I feel ill at mind,
But hope in my soul.
Malia Mar 2
You’re right—
I’m just making excuses.
Why am I so 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥
All of the time?

“You get more sleep
Than 99 percent
Of your friends,”
You said.

So doesn’t that mean
I am supposed to be
Happy?

“Be happy,”
I say to myself
In my head.

I am supposed to be
Fine.

But I am not,
And all I have left
Is excuses.

And yet,
Why do I look for more?

I want somebody
To tell me
That you are not right.

But I know you are.
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