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Look into my phone contacts,
Now press recent;
You'll see no calls to me,
You'll only see a few out going calls,
made from me, yet never returned,

My words fall upon death ears,
From the eyes of the humans to
I've lost their acceptance,
like a weaklen, I fell for their trick,

I get lonely too at times,
I think it would feel nice to hear
  someone to call me just for a chat,

No money to be a social butterfly,
So there's no social lites there to try,
Probably not a church either,
because all the members already
  have their own lives, sure you can
  can call them up only to get voice

I have no one excited to see me,
I have no one to catch me when
           ­                                 A
                              ­        L

I must have many falls,
shown in my short comings,

And it's really not a loss,
when you're like me,
  nothing great.

I do suffer ruin, defeat, and failure,
I'm coming apart at the seams,
But you'll never hear my inward

Just like the rise and the fall of the
I've dropped and sanked down to
  my knees,
Then I'll get up again, only to
  continue this sorrowful pattern,

But I'll promise you this much:
Upon my face you'll never assume the look of shame,
                                ...or dejection,
I won't give you that satisfaction,
I'll hide it with all that's in me.
(besides, I doubt that you'd care
  enough to look upon me so closely)

I came into the world lonely
I shall leave the world lonely.
I have not many friends at all. I'll give to people just because I like too but you'll never hear them call me. I'm just another woman that's looked down upon by the higher class folks.  Author Ven J Arnold
Why do I feel embarrassed,
That no one has the heart to hold me?

Why do I feel embarrassed,
That no one has the guts to save me?

Why do I feel embarrassed,
That no one has a mind that can see me?
You know the self consciousness and embarrassment you feel when youre all alone and lonely?
I sit alone
Weighed down by loneliness

They sit side by side
Not silent for a moment
Bearing the heaviness of the each others troubles
the sad truth of the lunch room...
Andrew Choo Dec 2019
What does it mean to be enough?
To have the right stuff?
To look good and feel tough?
Am I weak or am I strong?
Does anyone long to be with me?
Stick with me?
What's wrong with me?
Who do I belong with then?
Do I belong with them?
Are they the right ones for me?
When do I get to write my story?
Can I right my wrongs?
Do I have to write some songs?
Belt out at the top of my lungs?
Are my skills dung, like doo doo?
Am I just **** at what I do?
Is it true what they say?
Am I always blue or am I yellow?
Are we all racist or just prejudice?
Can I be a soldier and a pacifist?
Can I be selfish and an altruist?
Is there a list of things I can't be?
Well, I can tell you,
There's a lot that you can't see.
Some days, it's hard to breathe;
I don't wanna eat,
I just wanna grind my teeth;
I wanna find some meaning;
Hold a meeting with friends...
Oh, wait... what friends?
Am I in the right section?
Do I have enough connections?
Am I enough?
Enough with the questions.
Sharon Talbot May 2019
I never really liked Hugh Grant,
'til I saw him in "About a Boy",
It's not as weird as it might sound;
This lonely kid likes to hang around
And play with Hugh Grant's toys.

Wait, I didn't mean THAT! I meant CD's,
And he teaches Hugh about life...
Hugh's a loner & his life's a mess,
The kid's mum is SO depressed,
Thus their neuroses fit like peas.
(in a pod)

See, jerks in school chase the boy each day,
‘Cause he wears old, hippie clothes.
One day he hides at Hugh Grant’s pad,
Listens to music that’s kind of rad,
So he shows up every day.

Hugh and the lad start hanging out
He buys him trainers, shows him what to wear.
But soon, the kid wants Hugh for a dad,
And though it makes Hugh selfishly sad,
He kicks the poor kid out.

"Killing me softly" is the Mum's fave song
So the other kids beat him up.
In a school concert, Hugh sings along.
The mom is thrilled and cooks some Tofurkey,
Hugh joins the crowd; Thanksgiving is quirky,
And Rachel Weisz picks him up.

She’s got a son who’s kind of ******,
Over his Mum’s divorce and he tries to be Goth.
He roughs up the boy and mom is stunned,
'Cos Hugh Grant lied about having a son
So she tells him it’s a no go.

In the end, Mum doesn't commit suicide,
Though the kid DOES waste a duck,
With a loaf of Mum's 10 lb., whole wheat bread.
Everyone laughs and it clears their heads.
Mum & Boy and others get glad,
And the boy's mum finds him a new dad

Rachel forgives the boyish Hugh,
After seeing his good deed.
He loves the kid, the mum and her.
Everyone gathers for Xmas at Hugh’s’;
He wears a paper hat and agrees:

He's no longer an island and needs other folk.
The Boy gets a pal and Mum no longer sulks.
Everything is saved by the new Hugh Grant,
And at least he doesn't wear LEATHER PANTS!
A silly "review" of a great film: Inspired by Hugh Grant’s lame leather pants in that film about an over-the-hill 60’s singer in Love Actually, and then his much more believable character in About a Boy.
Nis Jul 2018
I'm torn appart,
torn from the inside
torn between two forces
in me.
I am most definitely a misanthrope:
asexual, friendless, dysphoric, and even
I struggle with life,
but I especially struggle with life around others.
You can call me shy or an introvert,
but I think there's something more to it.
Perhabs something in that desire
to erase the whole human race
and substitute it with a powerful computer
maybe capable of thought, definitely of science,
with luck art;
most certainly not capable of love,
and harm.
An unmoved observer of the world
would produce our random beauty with its ones and zeros,
and none of the pain.
Perhabs just my inability to enjoy being with others;
they are my species yet sometimes
I wish they were not.

I've always been shy.
I've always been an introvert.
Maybe I've always felt alone,
but not this alone.
I've never been this alone.
I've had friends,
real life human friends too,
but they are gone,
I no longer feel them,
they got tired of knocking at my walls for me to open up,
I used to be able to talk to them,
but I no longer can.
It's not their fault;
I'm just being misanthropic,
that's my thing now,
they better just move on.

But I do feel alone.
I imagine myself being loved
and it looks like a chimera:
it has fear's wings
and frustration's claws;
it has overcooked thoughts' head
and, worst of all, my body.
I imagine my life alone
and it looks so real I could touch it.
It is here.
This twenty years of preparation
where a lie,
design to sell me life
as a worth living experience with friends and family.
My friends are gone,
they are gone because I made them leave,
I am gone.
My family is here but they are not with me,
they would be better without me.

Is this the conclusion,
that life is not worth living
and everybody is, or would be, better without me?
Maybe it is.
Maybe I should.
Maybe I will.
Maybe  I'll see you around
at the bottom
of the sea.
Writing this poem was kind of a trip for me, so yeah :/. I'll definitely stick around untill I finish my exams tho.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2017
There is no home in my home town.
I try not to let it get me down.
There is no train on a homeward track.
There’s nothing there to call me back.
No love ever bid me stay in town.
No block back there is hallowed ground.
Nobody really asked me to go away
But nobody has missed since that day.

Home was just an address
And not something in my heart.
Not something I longed for
When we were many miles apart.

There are few good memories or ghosts
Just a long history of mysteries at most.
It wasn’t that people threw rocks at me
But there were no going away parties.
It was more like, “You’re leaving? Goodbye.”
A zip code full of staunchly dry eyes.
I don’t know what I expected it to be
But, that was not my choice for reality.

Home was never a place
I rushed back to at night
And even as a young kid
I was sure that wasn’t right.

I run through an inventory of events
And I did not betray any friends.
I didn’t steal or tell big lies
But didn't collect pals after may tries.
Something must have happened to me
That made me standoffish naturally
For people to not recall I was there.
So I left and then nobody much cared.

Home was just an address
And not something in my heart.
Not something I longed for
When we were many miles apart.
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