Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
JakeY Sep 16
I'm not the better half,
I'm not the worst either.
Not that we are equal or same
You are just the best and the worst,
The first and the last.
I just lie between those two extremes,
Never to surpass my lower and upper limits.
Have you wondered what average feels like?
What insignificant or common tastes like?
Always being at the buffering state,
Neither acid nor base,
Neither hot nor cold,
Just lukewarm.
No distinct shape or colour
Not white or black,
Just grey.

This is my state of mind at the moment!

Not evil, not good.
Just there,
Lost in the shadows of time and space.
Weren't we all born special?
Aren't we all perculiar?
Is this just my speciality?
Never to be specially special but to be specially normal.
Counted as part the masses.
Never in the spotlight,
But the one behind the spotlight.
Do you care to think of me?
Jack of all trades they say,
Master at none


It seems hard to understand my plight;
Difficult to comprehend the sight.
You look down on me from that height
And you say, "YOU MUST BE ALITTLE ALIGNED TO THE LEFT OR RIGHT"
The first poem I ever wrote. I was going through a tough time of fitting into everything.
Mansi Jul 28
Wind has such range:
It is gentle enough
To make a hot day better
Or
Strong enough
To wreck havoc

I think people are the same
Each capable of both extremes
Love’s Extreme Unction
by Michael R. Burch

Lines composed during my son Jeremy’s first high school football game (he played tuba), while I watched my wife Beth watch him.

Within the intimate chapels of her eyes—
devotions, meditations, reverence.
I find in them Love’s very residence
and hearing the ardent rapture of her sighs
I prophesy beatitudes to come,
when Love like hers commands us, “All be One!”

Keywords/Tags: mother, son, love, extreme unction, devotions, meditation, reverence, love’s residence, beatitude, beatitudes, heaven, unity, solidarity, togetherness, oneness, one
Dominique Mar 9
The dinner guests have all agreed:
"Why yes, we love the poor;
The softened little sunken eyes-
What's there not to adore?
The way they dress in raw distress
It's flaunted like Dior-
For heaven's sake, there's lots of steak
Who's for a little more?"

Now that the meal is over
The subject's come and passed
The dinner guests compare their crests
Sat smugly on their ***
Now that the sun is setting
The poor rise from the streets
It's time to stumble round again
And scrounge some food to eat.
mal frost Mar 6
i'm cursed to feel
EXTREME!
soaring love and burning wrath
i overheat, shut d
                               o
                                 w
                                    n

- for a bit
wilting, into the cold,
numb until
         I

    g      i     e!
i      n      t
once more
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
You told me not to be “sensitive” 
So here I am trying to deflect,
but I end up absorbing the pain of your words,
the intricacies of this world,
pretending not to care about what is said 
and has happened.

I hold the tears in,
place a mask on my face,
and a lock on my lips
so that none would spill.

But now I feel numb
unaware of how I feel
and unable to cry.

Now, here you are
calling me emotionless.

I guess there was no in between;
either a heart of ocean
or a heart of stone.
Next page