Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
the dead bird Mar 2016
the dust
that collects underneath my
bed
flakes of old
skin
are more myself
than I am

the person I was
when I was seven
is not me
nor
the person I was
on my fourteenth birthday
the person I was
yesterday
is not
the person I am
in this moment

the cells
the building blocks
of this body that carries me
are constantly
changing
they die
and entirely new ones
take place

how can I say
I am the same
person
that I was at fourteen
when every particle
of myself
is completely different

what is it that has
kept me the same
person
throughout my regeneration
is it my consciousness
is this my soul

I am a tree
grown from just a seed
every year
my leaves
shrivel up and die
and every year
I grow
brand new ones

it is still the same
tree
because it's trunk
remains the same

I am still the same
me
because my consciousness
remains the same

after a tree
is cut down
it does not disappear
it's trunk
remains

smaller,
yes
but still there
now a stump

if I am still myself
after my body
changes every molecule
of my prior self
this begs the question
will my consciousness
remain
after this body has died

if
I
am not limited
to a specific
chemical makeup-
able to transcend
different bodies-
does that mean
I will transcend
this
life
as well
not that I believe in an afterlife or reincarnation, just a theory I was thinking about
Mercutio Mar 2016
Why does my heart crumbles into pieces of soul?
While you are sitting there, watching us fall?
Why does my body faints to dust?
While you admire your work turn to rust.

You are our lord, our savvier,
So why do you let us drown?
Die in the fake feeling of being happier,
By fighting for a crown.

The power of all things is in your hands,
So now give your children a chance,
And put this disaster to an end,
Without taking this prayer as an offence.

I believe in Humanity, do you still?
I hope you do, and listen carefully,
"Today is our day can you feel?"
We will be truly free.

Gave us hope, give us love,
Don't let us cry don't let us down,
Hurting our knees by praying from our cove,
This piece of Hell you still own.

Those verses is the pray of despair,
Those rimes are for bringing peace,  
In a world we have known fair,
Which is now blown to pieces.
Walker Marema Mar 2016
What is this nonsense
Of people who can look at something
Or someone
And just feel….
A complete indifference

When I see you
I know what you mean to me
I know right in that moment
If I love you or if I hate you
There is no in-between
There is no deciding
There is only my state of mind
In a blink of any given instant
It’s overwhelming how much of a rollercoaster
I ride on every single day
From moment to moment
To the most glorious feelings
To the depths of despair
I can’t seem to keep my feet on the ground
But then again
Do I really want to?
the dead bird Mar 2016
I just feel like
an empty shell*

those were
the only words I could find
when asked
to speak more
about how I've been
feeling

how can I describe
the way I
feel
when I don't even
feel
real?

an empty
egg shell
split in half
and lying in the trash
whose insides
were fried
to be devoured
by the devil

devil
or
lucifer
or
negativity
or
my own mind

all the same
thing
(being?)

the fragile
discarded
snake skin
leftover from it's owner's
moult-
the snake
is nowhere to be found-
just the shed
old skin
of who it used to be

the remnants
of the caccoon
after
the butterfly
takes it's leave

the box
that your Amazon order
arrived in
nothing left inside,
except packing peanuts

I no longer feel
like a human being
though that statement
implies
I've felt like one
before
(I haven't)

talking to others
makes me feel real
when I'm next to you
I pretend
there's something inside
of this empty
vessel

someone tell me-
what makes me
who I am?
as of right now
I feel like
all I am
is
a sack of flesh

a lump of meat
with the ability
to be aware of it's
self
unimportance
bad decisions

no soul
there's nothing inside
I have
never
felt whole

it's not just a
piece
of me
that is missing
it's the
entire
*******
thing
Sean Hunt Mar 2016
Although I know
Why the sky is blue
I understand me
And I understand you
I stay confused
Self-abused and bruised
Why?
Now I know
I need to go
And learn
Something new
Or
Something anew

Sean Hunt March 6 2016
Life is a sacred journey.
No two are the same.

Respect for divergence
is paramount
to a holistic experience.

Life
is not about
status-quo
or
expectations,
t'is simply what's made thereof

Lyphe
is a sacred opportunity
not to be taken lightly

Our Bodies
are our umbilical vessels
which tether us
as mortals
to "Reality,"
which, in itself,
seems to me to be
a reduction of potentials
from chance
to actuality

such ephemeral eternety;
infinite limitations;
actualized potentials;
possible paths-
these are but some of
the koan-like attributes
which lead me to use
the rather ambiguous
and ambitious
term "sacred."

Truly,
it becomes
whatthefucksoever
One may well will
to create thereof.

Action is Manifestation,
yet Thought begets Action.

Therein lies the sacred gift of Life.
'T'is all too oft taken for granted.

Every living being
(i am convinced)
has an equally vivid depth of experience
and I find it more than somewhat offensive
that humans (with a lowercase H)
feel they are the penultimate organism.

All is One
in that existence, itself,
tethers us all
to everything
and probably even beyond,
and so
to be so
hubristic and arrogant
as to assume a hierarchy
so convieñantly crested by mere
**** Sapiens Sapiens
seems to me to be
an anthrocentric and narcissistic projection
of that meddlesome ages-old archetype
of the "Ego,"
that is to say "God,"
whatthefuckever that means!

Find it in thyself
to be humble enough
to accept that each and every iota of "Creation"
is, by virtue of association, equally sacred; divine.

Heirarchy, thus, seems to be a manifestation of some desire for order; control; a yearning to alleviate some hypothetical insecurity as a result of being essentially "absolute, infinite" (vis-a-vis the domain of Consciousness) yet contained within a vessel that is mortal, and, thus, ephimeral.

The Ego doth so loathe it's own limitations:
too bad it's far too arrogant to realize that most of the limitations it experiences are illusions, allusions;
charades of an insatiable Consciousness
Hell-bent on experiencing something
it won't redily allow itself to experience!

What a Holy fuckton of
incredulous, ineffable, impalpable, inspirational **** that would be, eh?! (insert interrobang)

I am me (I think...)
as thou art thee;
so why can't that just be good enough?

Could it be?
What obstruction precludes such harmonious divergence?
I reckon 't'is but us;
and very little else, indeed!
You know it's genuine inspiration if it's highly inconvenient.
I figure that's the ****** up sense of humor God has.

Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Path!


-Disclaimer-
I am not religious.
God is a word.
Words are not the things they symbolize.
'The map is not the territory.'
F White Feb 2016
We are comprised of such precious fragments.

Pieces of ourselves that we forget to
Remember and remember to
Forget.
Copyright FHW, 2016
the dead bird Feb 2016
life is strange.
I wonder frequently
why I am conscious
did the me that I am
spring to be out of
nothingness?

"energy cannot be created;
nor destroyed"

what was I, then,
before I became me?
sometimes, I daydream
and imagine
that before being born into this hell
I was just beams of enegy
shooting out
from a supernova.

flying
past
star systems
and
comets
and nothingness
being almost nothing
no
consciousness
not yet

that is just
a daydream.
I am not religious.
but
the concept of heaven
seems pretty ******
to me.
bliss, ****
I don't want
eternal
anything.

I would get used to it.
living in bliss
would become normal
even if
it is a stark contrast
from the way
I am living right now.

no,
personally,
my idea is that
when I die
my consciousness evaporates
my soul becomes
what I was
before me
and I no longer
have thoughts,
or emotions.
that used to scare me.
it's not frightening,
because in nothingness,
you have no concept
of frightening.

you also have no concept of happiness
but none
of sadness either.
no embarassing memories
or boredom
or headaches
or being sick
I won't even
be able to miss my dogs
for I will have no concept of them.

I am not scared
of death
nor
nothingness
I welcome them
but will wait
until I get an invite.

one of the biggest questions
that used to plague me
was
why does anything exist at all?
I don't think there's an answer
as to why.
I think it just does.
and existence
means
experiencing
all of it
the happiness,
the *******
the anger
and depression

duality
is in
everything

I am not horrible
well, in some ways
I am
but in an equal amount
I am also
wonderful
and the same goes for you,
too,
though I see
each side
of the duality of your being
as something beautiful.
trying to write about something other than depression or lust. I don't like it. I feel it lacks passion. But they are thoughts and here they are
the dead bird Feb 2016
I don't even know where to start.
yesterday, I wanted to die.
today, I don't want to **** myself
but
that's not to say
I'd be upset
if something else killed me.

living with depression
id say
is just being a realist.
its not
some voice in my head
telling me I'm worthless
it's realizing
that unless I'm on drugs
my entire life
will consist
of
never having enough money,
never loving myself,
never loving living
how can anybody love living?
like, is my life a satire?
why am I attached to this consciousness
I didn't ask to be here
destroying
this planet
and myself
and others
while watching every other human
do the same.

when I was younger
when my family went out to eat
my mother would have to
use menus to divide
the table
so that my sister and I
would stop disrupting dinner.
we would make faces
and laugh the whole time
and be really rude
and loud.

my sister is my depression
I am my anxiety
and my mother
is nowhere to be found.

they rile each other up.
my anxiety
gets excited
yelling at me
telling me all the ways I'm horrible
all the people I have hurt
every
bad thing
I've ever done
my depression
chimes in
and says
"how about
how you pathetically
seek attention from everyone
while
being in denial of it.
do you think that if,
a thousand other people
tell you they like you,
and that you are beautiful,
you will believe it?
how pathetic."

that
takes anxiety on a whole new ride
with a billion other reasons
on how I'm pathetic.

yesterday,
they were louder than ever.
closing my store
took every ounce of effort
I had
and it's a simple job
reflex memory, even
I was reaching
far down inside of me
for the strength
to not crumple into a ball
and cry
until the custodian swept me up
and threw me away
with the other trash.

I talked to myself
telling myself

"you can do it,
you can do it,
there you go!
good job, almost there -"

"look at how pathetic you are
have to talk to yourself
like a ******* child
to get yourself to do
the most medial -"

"NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.
SHUT UP. NO.
SAVE IT FOR LATER.
BEAT YOURSELF UP
LATER
BECAUSE RIGHT NOW
YOU ARE DOING
A GOOD JOB"

afterwards
I cursed myself
for judging
any crazy person I saw
muttering to themselves
because now,
I am the crazy one.

my fourth favorite poet
Andrea Gibson
said,
"I thought I hit rock bottom -
but then it hit back."
same, girl.
I can't fight well
but I will try
to deflect these punches
as best as I can
until I can get my legs
to finally run away.
sorry this poem *****. I feel numb today. I am making myself write. I love each and every one of you
Next page