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Time it took
time still
to sort through
what was retrieved
still trying to
figure out
what bits are
worth keeping
and what bits
are temptations
to rebuild
the life
I was never
meant to
lead.
Brumous Feb 8
I sat there talking with people,
but I seem like an invisible figure.

No one listened, so I still sat there, with a happy smile;
Pushing back tears while filling my head with lies,
Whelving those feelings away as I put on;

A pitiful disguise.
02/08/2021

"Believe me every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad."
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Shain Brown Dec 2020
I saw it
A figure the size of me
filled with the empty black
injecting a pricing screech
that pushed me further in my bed
I can't move
as it is looking at me, and through me

the sounds are getting louder
tickling my eardrum
I close my eyes
and open to see it climb the walls
I close my eyes again
and wake.
Sleep paralysis affects millions of people each day. This was one of my experiences.
Ali Hilout Dec 2020
Your hair, its softness makes my heart palpitate rapidly;
Your face, its lineaments leave me in the wonder of their rarity;
Your eyes, I can stare open-mouthed into them unweariedly;
Your lips, I wish I can kiss them constantly;
Your hands, I wish I can entwine them with mine eternally.
Your mind, it captures me on every occasion thoroughly;
Your soul, I can love it everlastingly;
Your heart, it belongs only to me, solely;
O, my inamorata! Feelings of you will never be dreary.
A puzzle I am
You wont figure me out
A puzzle I am
You will not find all my pieces
A puzzle I am
You wont put me back together
A puzzle I am
You see the broken, tattered pieces
A puzzle I am
You did never solve
You'll know its time to leave
If all the truths you are told
Are just twisted lies
Spoken by a masked figure
You once knew
this can apply to any relationship
romy Jul 2020
crimson roses for breakfast
glass of wine adorned with thorns
stems wrangled around my figure
scaled petals as my skin
kiran goswami Jun 2020
When they look at my body,
they giggle between their teeth that are crooked but they call them curved. They perceive how curveless I look
and tell me to perform yoga
so that my curves can be defined,
so that I can shape my convexes and concaves.
I smile as bright as I can because probably those are my only visible curves.
I tell them how every time I sit to write
my pen curves on the pages
that are thumbed on the corners
so they seem curved too.
I begin by writing the first letter of the English language
and make slopes and valleys of this alphabet.
I form serpentines and swirling cyclones of my words,
I curve my 'S' to form into an infinity
so that I can hold on to him for as long.
I stretch my 'K' until the end of the earth
and make it look like a single leg shoulder stand.
And as I take all my alphabets,
I turn them from staff position to the plough position.
I make my words turn into Paschimotasna,
and my noun tries to perform Kundali.
My pronouns sit in vajrasana.
My similies stress themselves and flex,
while my metaphors curl into themselves and hide as Marichyasana.
When I am done,
my poems form themselves into Pindasana.
However,
I remain coverless,
as straight and sharp as the pen I use.
I remain 'Arjuna's' bow
so he directs me into my own self,
my own heritage
and I end up killing my Bhishma,
my self-respect.
Hence while my words perform yogasana,
I stand still in tadasana.
Philomena Jun 2020
She grabs her by the neck
And I can see it unfold
She never stood a chance
Her body slams to the ground
She gasps upon impact
Blood running from her mouth red as her hair

She reaches up
Unclear if as an act of pleading or anger
But a figure dressed dark as night rips her off the ground
Only to slam her down again

This time she lets out an unearthly moan
She spits blood onto the pavement
It glistens in the sun
A puddle of color against the blacktop

The figure grabs her again and drags her by her hair
Her lips quivering
She puts her arms below her
And as she pushes to lift herself up another blow
The dark figure kicks her in the side of the head
She falls to the ground
A sharp kick in the rips and she spits blood once again

She looks up pleading with her eyes
Scrapes cover her face with streaks of red
The tears are streaming down but she does not cry out
Another blow to the ribs and she doubles down
Using her hands over her head she attempts to protect herself

Finally relenting the dark figure stops the kicking
She lay broken and quivering unable to face it
It begins to scream
And when she turns away it grabs her face to face the lingual horrors

When I see her face next it's only a glance
But her eyes seem empty now
Glazed over and lifeless
The figure picks her up again

She makes no sound this time as she hits the ground
For a moment it seems as though she will try to rise up
The figure stands over her watching
But she doesn't move
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