L M Biese Jan 10
I'm finished with this
I know you're hurting
I know I can't leave you alone
But I know how to leave.

MY ARM BLEEDS FOR SOMEONE ELSE

Sometime I hope we'll be able to do this again
write back and forth with
all the things we feel
and all the things we want to say

I HAVEN'T CUT FOR YOU. EVER.

I found someone else
I'm happy.
You haven't
I can't afford the pity.

I WISH I COULD JUST WAKE UP FROM MY OWN NIGHTMARE

You keep telling me
indirectly
passive-aggressively
that I need to change

WELL I CAN

So I'm starting with you.
I changed how I feel to protect you told you I did.
I'm sorry
But I have too much weighing me down
without the pressure
that only a snowstorm can provide.
I'm very sorry, but I can't keep writing to you.
I'll be back after finals, maybe.
See you later Seph.
Ww Jan 8
the halls today are filled
of walking husks of people
heavy mutter clutter the air
all are looking feeble

textbook-laden brains
lips a-coffee stained
eyes manic to the brim
composure wearing thin

stress-filled laughters
litter conversations,
every word carry the burden
of hard sleepless nights

some are carefree
but most are buried inside the library
a last ditch effort to arm the cavalry
as the enemy nears the periphery

the bell rings loud
the masses resort to silence,
the death toll rang
all around the campus

as the door came crashing down
you can almost hear
the desperate souls' silent cries
as "FINALS" enter with a smile.
apology for the jumbled verses
for this was born as my brain traverses
between panic to dilemma
from philosophies to subpoenas
from economy to mitochondrias
from pen to paper
this poem I cater.

I just needed to let go of some steam. cause damn I'm so stressed right now.
chloe fleming Dec 2017
The continuum of existence,
The constant push and pull.
No time left for actual learning,
Just dying undercover,
We're just trying to keep our cool.
So next time you actually think,
Existence is something more than a series of points
Plotted on a paper graph,
Remember this, my child,
Life is shit,
It's just waiting for us to quit.
idk its finals week
alex Dec 2017
he sits at a desk in the library.
it’s nearly midnight and you watch him
take his notes and drink his water.
you’re a desk away from him
and you know that it’s much too late
to be making conversation
but he looks up
ruffles his own hair
and smiles at you something weary
something tired
something beautiful enough to
make you smile back
more genuinely than you honestly should.
he’s a stranger but it’s fine.

it’s dead silent in here
just you and the books
and the millions of things you could say
wrapped up in them
and while you’re trying to think of something
he curls his lips around the words
“finals, huh?”

you laugh and say
“yeah man.”

you want to maybe elaborate
tell him that this psychology exam
might actually be the death of you
tell him that you’ve been studying for
four hours straight and you think your eyes
might actually fall out of your head.

he laughs back and nods
“how many exams you got left?”

you groan
“just one. you?”

“two.”

“good luck with that”

he laughs and you want to say something
to make him do it again

he feels special
you know?
like.
you just know sometimes
but the air doesn’t feel like magic
it feels like you’re in a library
at midnight the night before a final exam
that you don’t know a damn thing about
but the guy a desk away from you
is still looking at you.
he’s still.
looking at you.

and you hadn’t noticed but
you’re still looking at him too.

he says
“i’ve been here since like six.
do you wanna get a coffee?”

just a little smile around the words
“yeah, sure.”

and you put away your psychology notes
and your laptop and your book
even though you’ll need to study for
at least three more hours to understand
a single thing it’s fine.
he packs up his things and the two of you
walk to the elevator.
he lets you press the button

you ask
“what were you studying?”

he says
“bio. you?”

“psych.”

“ouch.”

“yeah”
you laugh
and he laughs
and the elevator laughs
as it dings and opens its doors
even the environment has begun to
take part in your merriness.

you step inside
he hits the button for the first floor
and he says
“i took psych last semester.
which one are you in?”

you say
“one-ten.”

he says
“yeah that one’s rough. barely
passed it.”

“tell me about it”
you joke

and then the elevator dings again
and the doors open again
and the two of you fumble to step out
like you go first no you go first
and it’s all very cute

and you get to the starbucks on the first floor
get in line and take note of
how many people are still here
frantically cramming information into their
tired
tired
brains.

time skip
you two have your coffee.
you sit at a little table that
just barely became vacant
and you sip.
you got something hot and
he got something cold
and you thought it was cute because
it’s december and here he is with a frappe.

you chit and you chat
and think maybe this could be that
romance for the ages
that the movies talk about.

his laugh is like a jingle bell
happy holidays to you both
it seems.

he smiles at you again and you
sip your coffee
and before you know it
it's dangerously approaching 2 a.m.
but you can’t bring yourself to
check the time anymore

you laugh until you’re not strangers anymore
and he says
“this is such a great study break”

you say
“i’m so glad you asked to get coffee”

he smiles and says
“me too.”

and it’s all downhill from there

(or is it uphill?
you never can remember).
happy finals everybody. i should be studying right now.
Justin Soberano Dec 2017
It‘s not what we ought,
Never was it sought,
To bring out a thought,
That you would get caught,
By the hands that fought,
In the night and fog,
On sunny days - drought.
Then you get knocked out,
Coffee in the mouth,
Then a single froth,

It’s caffeine.

An overdose.

You’re dead.
a poem I made on Twitter, might as well share it here as well.
The library smells
like ginger and coffee
and books that haven't seen the light of day since they were published

the sour scent of unopened pages
and the bittersweet commercialized coffee
diffuse throughout the building,

procrastination,
this is the smell of procrastination.

the air is swirling,
whipped along by the passers-by
its cool embrace is welcoming
gently blowing through me, onwards

cooling my mind as i brace
for the swell of tests and
tests and
tests

The coffee scent relinquishes,
as well as the task at hand,
and my dorm is calling me
Isabel Dec 2017
I have reached the
Point
In the semester
Where
I really don't care
Anymore
But my need to be
Liked
And future career
Demand
That I keep moving
Forward
Finals are coming up and I don't wanna do it
Lu Lu Jun 2017
Coffee stained corners
and thumbprints in icing;
my books worn and torn
with love and lack of sleep;

I grew latte mustaches and cinnamon goatees
while contemplating how to combat Islamophobia.
Pro tip: Don't change your essay topic two days before the final.
p.s. I'm a regular at Caffe Rococo now.
WJ Thompson May 2017
I'm underneath an amber twilight
(and tasteful landscaping)
flirting with nostalgic anticipation
in room 1034
yet alone and content
I should photograph my life events
or the morning dew, still wet
with evaporating trepidation
which breaks into a cold sweat
when soothed by the resolution
of the seventh, to the third, to the root of the polyphony, harmonizing to the tune
of a Scantron being scribbled on,
or my choice
to ignore
everyone
(at least until finals are over)
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