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Jasmine dryer Sep 12
Sit on the ground
watch the parade march around
go through the whole town
no one notices
that jugglers are choking
and the little kids are smoking
the balloons are deflating
everything escalating
and its so frustrating
but the pills are sedating
Lost Feb 17
i type distantly
like the hands
that hold my phone
are alien appendages
attached to a body
from a different space
and a different time

but it is 1:13am now
and i am rooted here
in the physical world
my atoms buzzing and humming
dancing through the atmosphere
confined to this vessel
of meat and bones
that i have no choice
but to animate

i am here
condemning this physical form
to the four corners of my room
i switch between
writing to an operator
for a crisis text line
and spilling my insides
onto the lines i write here

this is how i spend my nights

it is 1:39am now
i canceled the text service
because i am tired
and i don’t find solace
in condescending
impersonal advice

believe it or not
i am a self-aware human being
and after six years
of making myself bleed
it actually has occurred to me
that i could find a hobby
or snap a rubber band
on my shaking wrists
and i have tried whatever unfulfilling
underwhelming trick
you have to offer

your intentions are always good
dear operators
but *******
your ignorance
is astoundingly
counterproductive

it is 1:56am
and i feel just as alone as before
but just a little more frustrated
and closer to sleep
than when I started
I found this while looking through my notes. It was written in May.
I never fully get a break
From trying to escape

I let loose with my words
But sometimes it never works

I’m never not alone
There’s no place called home

All this pent up frustration
means there’s no vacation
From all these feelings
Annie Nov 2018
shallow heart and a heavy head
the echoes of words we never said

one last time you look at me  —then you look away
feels like i am pushed into a night from a sunny day

i can see through you –you're crystal clear
too many emotions to deal with, but there's no fear

you're easy to adore, not easy to hate
too **** to love, too pretty to disobey

you're the tower i need to climb
i know -you know
but you keep asking me if im fine
obliviously —

you're the one building up the dynamics
a force we dont need
you keep adding up the bricks
the gaze and your subtle tricks
you know -i know
alias Oct 2018
I reread something old I never sent you
Begging you to help me fix what we had.
Begging me to let me help you.

But you shut me out. You always have, the more I push the more I try to figure out what’s going on in your mind
The more you pull, the more you retreat, to black corners of your thoughts I’ll never see

You show me songs of love and loss, the woman who spits fire, you tell me to listen to the lyrics and I’ll figure out your hearts true desire.

But your actions speak louder than the words you never did, they scream over speakers in old cars & tire skids.

I am but human.

You leave me with a thousand puzzle pieces, waiting for me to put it together
But the pieces are mixed up, worn, & weathered. Theres smile lines in frowns with tears, there’s hurt and sorrow for so many years. And all I want to do is figure it out. Quench your thirst in this awful drought.

But you could care less it seems.

I get upset. I get frustrated. I lay awake at night. I try to figure out what I can do to make it right what I can do to help you to show you I care and there’s nothing— because at these pieces I stare just trying to put it all together. Just trying to make sense of it all.

I need your help,

I’m so focused on putting you back together my own pieces are starting to fall.

the child inside is still begging you, please. Please.

Talk please, say something, anything

for silence is not the absence of sound but the presence of something else.
Brad post Sep 2018
Looking back on these pages,
I can’t help but see,
this outlet I’m using,
is not helping me.

I used to use poetry,
to clear out my thoughts,
to “pour out the poison”,
when I was distraught.

Lately, however,
it’s changed in some way.
That feeling of peace,
has been replaced with dismay.

I would pour out a rhyme,
and the pain would recede,
but now the water grows deeper,
and I simply can’t breathe.

I look around lately,
and this feels like a dream.
It’s like nothing is real,
just “simulated reality”.

Going through the motions,
but there has to be more,
there has to be substance,
but where is the shore?

How do I stop from drowning,
when I’m creating the waves?
Fighting to stay afloat,
and trying to act brave.

I guess the simple answer is,
is it’s not simple at all.
I have to keep trying,
if I can’t walk then I’ll crawl.

**** all the whining,
the excuses too,
because I’m in this alone,
and I know what to do.

I won’t give up easy,
and if I should fail,
then at least I’ll know I tried,
to open my sail.

So here’s to the future,
and a heart I hope mends,
but even if it doesn’t,
we’re all just stories in the end.
Gray Jun 2018
I just cannot stand confrontation.
It’s simply the worst possible frustration.

Nothing can escape the spiteful comments that people thoughtlessly threw aside.
Might as well call it the friendship suicide.

All this yelling gets me feeling so worn out and tired.
Leading to me being uninspired.

I end up losing all forms of motivation,
And rather stay hidden completely in isolation.

Why would i want to stick around and listen to my friends argue?
It would be toxic to absorb in that painfully dark hue.

I would rather be alone than experience anymore confrontation,
After all I believe it to be one of the worst traits of any given conversation.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we all just get along?
Why keep contributing to making everything go so horribly wrong?
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
A collection of ‘Love is…’ Poetry
Eclipse


Love is frustrating.
Love is confusing.
Love is so hard to say,
When you are so used to losing.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Brittney T Feb 2018
The first time I tried strumming strings
I cried and cried
I felt I couldn't get clean.

My friends tell me I need to practice;
find out if I'm a harp or a horn.
But as much as I tried
I ended up torn.

It wasn't wrong to develop an interest,
so I put myself out there, I couldn't rest.
I imagined the jungle, the tundra, the sea
But these different rhythms weren't for me.

I'll never forget when I met the musician.
He showed me a song in his room.
Finally, It washed over me!
Va Va Voom

He showed me his
and he showed me mine.
It was new and confusing,
exotic, frightening
absolutely, perfectly enlightening.

I am full of bass,
brass and strength!
I spent too long
trying to epitomize grace.

He taught me a wild, improvised tune
but I can't remember!
What he played that June.
If this is supposed to be natural, why do I still **** at it? Started out as a self depracating joke with a friend, but I'm kinda digging it.
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