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I'm brOKen Jan 14
Spiralling around.

You kept me safe,
I’ve lost my sound

Our worlds collide,
My existence becomes a lie

Inhale and exhale one last time,
You never know which one will be your last breath
(But mine never seem to have reached,
Existential crisis poem for breakfast, anyone?
PsycheSpeaks Aug 2018
There is a moment where in your life
you realize all of this-
all the possessions and "things"
have no real meaning

And that our existence is fluid
and that bodies are just shells-
and that pride and wealth
don't matter either

It is at this moment
we are left uncertain
of why we work hard
what are we working towards?

I think many of us
are still searching for happiness
among worldly acquisitions
rather than finding it inside ourselves

Looking for a key to meaning
but what if there is no such key
and what if there is no such meaning?
as he stood brave, staring, into the eyes of death 'are you not afraid ?' asked death.
smiling, he replied,
'do you see fear in my eyes ?
it's not death i fear, it is the living.
it's not oblivion i fear, it is the remembrance.'

as the fog lifted,
as he found himself to be stranded on this rock again,
his arrogant smile was no more to be seen,
his eyes were no longer fearless.
Katie A Apr 2018
What is the point?
Was I just put here to sit through classes and
understand information I will never use?
I want to be useful
Give me something to believe in
To be passionate about
Not just to me
But the world
I want to leave something for when I die
So I can be remembered
So my life matters more than just barely outside myself
I need purpose.
I need meaning.
Because if I don’t
Why am I even here?
ive had a lot of poems about my existential crisis idk why i keep coming back to this
Absent Minded Feb 2018
It's war.
I'm not exaggerating, or using a metaphor.
Silent snakes creep to greet me
As if I'd ever let them defeat me.
Venom sprays, with a sickening hiss twisting the air.
There's a wild grin; it's almost like I no longer care
For my own safety or sanity.
A laugh, or a cry? Which was it?
Which sound is which?

Is anything even real anymore?
What if my bed is the floor
In a padded cell, where no one can hear the screaming.
Where, as a punishment for biting the orderlies, they begin to vent steaming hot air,
Hoping that the non-harmful gas puts me to sleep.
And it will, with time, but just from sheer exhaustion.
I bang on the door, they're screaming 'Stop him!',

Or maybe this is all real.
Maybe I've grown a soul, that taught me how to feel
At a late age; While I was on-stage.
It's a show-stopper, to put it sorta lightly.
The crowd is my demons, all eager to fight me.
They want my skin, no, my muscles and bones,
And if I don't stop performing their mouths begin to foam.

Maybe I'm over-thinking, after all, how I live is stressful.
Not mentioning that name, it's a test full of razor wire
Bombs, blood, and missing fire.
A blaze gone absent, is one to be feared
And if when that name is brought up, it's almost like she's here.
The name slashes my gums till they're numb.
I use my pen as an enchanted knife,
Pray this won't end my life,
And use it to carve the name out of my cursed tongue.
Lady Grey Nov 2017
“What do you even have to worry about?”

“High school was so fun!
Why do you say you hate it?
Don’t be so dramatic.”

They tell me.
But then they go on, after they see my grades

“You’re not even trying!
Just study harder!
Oh, but you can’t take normal classes, no.
We want you to take all honors.
Honors classes are better for you.”

“You have a D in College Algebra??
That’s unacceptable.
You’re grounded.
Until you can get your score up, of course.”

Is what they tell me.
You wonder why I hate school?
It’s because it *****.
It teaches you that if you make mistakes you’re worthless.
And If you don’t get that letter up to an A you won’t get into a good college,
You won’t get a good job,
You won’t earn good money,
You won’t be able to live,
Not that (dare I say) a fourth of us even want to.

Did you know,
That the average kid in high school has the same level of anxiety
As the average insane asylum patient in the 1950’s?

It’s a ******* problem.

And don’t read an article about it,
Written by a Millennial,
Read by a Baby Boomer,
About the problems of a generation
That they don’t know.

I’m sick of it.

What do I have to worry about?

I have to worry about my future.
I have to worry about it every waking hour of my life.
I have to stress,
And agonize,
And internally SCREAM about it.

Because of how hard it is.

And I can’t “live in the present,”
Because I have no time
To do trivial things (without feeling like a failure).

I have no time,
To get the “eight hours of sleep your child needs” every night,
Because I’m doing homework,
Or crying,
Or procrastinating,
Because I know I can’t do it.
I just can’t make myself.

And I wish they’d be a little less disappointed in me,
Because It’ll never compare to how disappointed I am in myself.
The quotes are things that people (mostly my parents) have told me.
S C Netha Oct 2017
Everything means
what you want it to mean.
means anything.
In particular.
No particular event
specifically signifies
a specific occurrence.
Unless we want it to.
Everything is relative
To our point of view
And no particular event
Is marked by another.
In particular.
Nothing means anything.
In particular.
Everything means nothing.
Unlearn superstition.
M Blake Oct 2017
I am often too hot and too cold at the same time.

But I'd prefer a negative view of myself to a false one every time.

It is a heavy thing to be caught in the gravity of two great cosmic forces. Greatness and obscurity--how they rend the soul caught in their tidal struggle.

Truth and perception how great a chasm between you and how many black bodies have been broken by the Fall to the bottom like a lead-fed whip laying into history's backside laying open our hopes and dreams, exposing love to unseasonable air. It spoils in light obscured by empire's greed.

I can't tell what's real. I don't know how to dress for this.
Tishka Sep 2017
Enter in a tomb of gore
Suddenly blinded by a kaleidoscope of colour
Confusion sets in like a cyanide pill; quickly and dangerously
You howl, baby, like a wolf who lost its pack

Endure the painful struggle
The oscillating rhythm of good and bad
Disappointment and fear around every corner
Like a pick pocketer waiting for the opportune moment to rob you of all happiness
You complain, child, profusely like a youth deprived of entertainment

Exit in a wooden prism
The swaying motion nauseating your corpse as they carry you
Down, down, down
Darkness all around
redberries Jul 2017
Aurora, it needs a break.
After years of sailing, it could no longer fake.

Ardour could only go so far,
antithetical to talent and holding

All encouraged in good grace,
Almost there. They prevaricate, clearly did not

A few had a slice of the honest cake, un-
aware of how they caused an

'Aye! What absurd thoughts, mate.'
Annoyed by the voice inside create,
as the pirate couldn't tell.
A message from garden or well,
are solid facts or silly doubts?

Aquivering, he supined on deck.
Anxious, desperately he seeks for his
answer. Impatiently he awaits for his
There must be times in your life, you felt as if you were going nowhere. Somehow you felt you were drifting your entire life, with passions and dreams but no directions.
The journey is always bumpy.
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