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Sophie Mar 23
I am a flower
growing in the way of a footpath,
from a crack in the pavement,
dog ***, human feet shuffling,
bicycle tire spinning

I am a sunflower, glowing
in the morning light.
through sparkling mist,
which sits beside me, feeding
me sweet nothings and soft

I am a wild rose,
my thorns are sharp, my
petals are delicate.
My roots reaching,
so deep into the earth,
yet the water has evaporated,
even in those depths, my roots are
my hips are drying out.

I am a flower in the middle of a footpath,
I have been trampled and I have
been peed on and biked over.
I am trying to stand up again.
I am trying to stand up again.
Inspired by my habitat restoration work in crowded areas. Watching plants survive being trampled and peed on gives me hope and yet makes me feel so hopeless. How can we expect a flower to bloom after being so abused? It is how I feel about my own life. I have been "abused" many times by others, by life itself. "I am trying to stand up again"
Glenn Currier Feb 26
Across the burnt field
I carry my load
I pierce the smoky expanse
my energy flags
I yearn for rest
but the burden gets heavier
I am alone
and slog for both of us.

I converse with my mind:
“Please, a small spell
to float this flood
to higher ground.
Find an ounce of push,
then I can unravel.”

A midnight exhaustion overtakes me
I lay depleted
at wits end
I pray
a surrender
my self
gaunt, frail, devoid.

Before sleep an appeal
to a power greater than me
deliver me from these ashes.
After a complex surgery my wife is in a painful period of recovery. Together with the help of friends who bring food and love, and with divine assistance, we will make it. BTW, the prayer worked. I woke up the next day refreshed and ready for what would come.
Ella Feb 25
Enough glass analogies for me
Your sharps words are your apology
Even though I’m yelling at ghosts
You are what makes me hate ME the most

I hate the rocks I carry for you
The heavy stones you used
To smash me into pieces

I was gonna say broken
But broken parts can  be fixed
And I’m yelling at ghosts
I’m screaming at the smoke

That’s not a few stitches
It’s a lifetime of surgery
Piecing together the old memory of who I’m supposed to be

It’s a lifetime of being soaked
Naked with no clothes
Drowning in the rain that always came
The predictability is what killed me
But most times it was your name

I keep saying you
I have no clue who I’m referring to
Just a big monster taking up space in my brain
A collection of mementos colored by pain
Peyton James Dec 2021
“Sleep is for the weak. But the beautiful? They need all they can get, so that they still
got somethin’ to pay the bills with in the mornin.’”
Or at least that’s what they told me.

I passed tired barrelling down the interstate in a cast-off Intrepid
puffing out more fumes than a ‘50s Ad Executive burning out on Wall Street.

Ain’t no rest for the overqualified millennial, banking in permanent
intern status day after day, smiling for their twenty-four nightly viewers.

Getting to the finish line at the end of each calendar month requires great
effort to haul drooping limbs and scaling flesh across the kitchen to turn the page.

White-knuckled, crusty-eyed, and chapped lips inching up towards a reluctant smile,
I brushed the dandruff from fraying strands, but my supervisor saw my holey sweater.

What they don’t know is that the polyester stained uniforms they deduct from
my paycheck each month doesn’t leave much for the increasing expense of mental health.

But that doesn’t stop the tidal wave of oil painted daydreams each lunch hour
as employees pass around leather belts and used needles, getting their caffeine fix.
Working over COVID has become mentally and physically exhausting for many, between lockdowns, restrictions, and loss of employment. This poem is dedicated to anyone who is feeling burnt out but still hopes for a better future.
neth jones Sep 2021
grateful to the grave
       I plank right out
my bed a cross pounded
foundation of maul emotion
fast out kipping
not in keeping
a widowing and not a kingdom
              milling out gawping
a fish mug
              tourists chugging at the gallows
dread heaves ugging repulsions
          my sleep is a gagging panic

livers of the hours
   the minutes are a live toil
     difficult digestions
       the sour beat n' breath
a particle flecked arena

   this slumber is harmful charge
(a battery matter)
capable of a faulty
              reversal of surge
depleting sleep
          not a springtime emergence
   ejected from the unconscious

         : a drained agent
reduced and submissive for duty
I wish I could tell you,
Just how tired I am.
But the word tired is not strong enough.
Exhaustion would make it sound as if I had been running marathons.
Yet even sitting in my room all day,
I am exhausted by noon.

The moment I awake in the morning
With the sun rising, the warmth on my skin
and butterflies flying, birds chirping away the day.
As soon as I open my eyes to the trees in view,
I am tired again.

I can sleep all night and never make a sound.
I could sleep like a rock, and still.
I am so tired.

I am tired when I am alone
and I am drained when I am not.
I am tired of fighting myself all day long.
I am tired of being tired.

Even though I want to say hello,
I am too tired to engage.
I am too tired to stand up for myself,
or interject to correct.
I am sorry my being tired gets in the way.

It gets in the way every single day.
Lulu Sarmiento Jul 2021
Why does the water tastes bitter?
Why does the wind smells acrid?
Why does the sunshine looks gray?
Why does the days feel empty?
Rhys May 2021
When I work so hard
that my vision blurs
and my heart weakens
I listen to you sing
Sarah Flynn Apr 2021
I keep telling everyone
how beautiful they are
and how much they matter
and how much I love them.

I spend all day motivating
the people around me.
I say such encouraging things,
and I mean every word,

but why can't I say
the same things to myself?
Julia Celine Apr 2021
I've seen how beautiful you bloom
That's why I work so hard for you
I've seen the power of your flourish
That's why I stick around
Even though you pierce me
That's why I bleed so nice for you
But all my hopes and dreams are memories
That I tried to plant on snowy grounds
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