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Contoured Oct 8
Disintegrated wings,
Even angels fall too.
A glance up to the sky,
Caught a transcending view.

Landed on two feet,
An angel's new terrain.
Only few will sit and worship,
But most attempt in vain.

The sky was never cleared,
In fact, formations all the more.
A rabbit, a cake, an astronaut,
Even rain would still downpour.

Following in hopeful doubt,
Freedom's symbol is no chain,
Bare in mind, no change occurred,
The droplets were always acid rain.

Caught in fair deceit,
For my fault was to submit.
When glancing from the outside,
I didn't see the whole of it.

Because angels never fall,
With wings upon their back.
For a fall is cunning foolery,
And we're victims of attack.

Stuck in hypnotic values,
Our worth seemed to accrue.
But we must've forgotten the fact:
That the devil walks here too.
lua Oct 6
there are some people in the world
who we forget to say goodbye to
even if its simply going to school
or to work
to the moment their body lays limp on their deathbed
a simple "bye"
or a "see you later"
would suffice

if you can say hello
you can say goodbye.
before it's too late
Holly Sep 24
The walls are bare
and impossible to break down.
No way in.
and no simple way out.
The windows are boarded shut,
with splintering wood.
The shredded shades are drawn,
to **** any possible hope
of even a sliver
of light.
A single bulb hangs from the ceiling,
long since burnt out.
The hard concrete floor
is cold beneath her bare feet.

A wooden chair
stands in the center of the room,
but she prefers to sit on the floor.
Thinking that maybe,
hopefully
if she curls up enough
she’ll no longer be there.
Then, she can simply vanish into thin air.
Is it bad that she thinks of such a thing?
Yes it is
she’s just thirteen.

They wonder why she feels this way,
her life is perfectly lined up
with every detail planned out
and every possible event accounted for.
The perfect life she is expected to live.
She will do well in school,
get A’s in all her classes,
get into a private high school.
Then she’ll go on to an Ivy league college.
How can she not be happy with her life?
Doesn’t it sound perfectly perfect?
What more could she want?

Maybe she just wants to be heard
but no one will listen
because all they can think is
what more could she want
than this life?
Maybe she wants to go to high school with her friends.
Maybe she wanted to go to that party yesterday,
but couldn’t because she was studying
because if she gets below a perfect score on the test
she won’t be the best
and that strays off the path of this life laid out for her.
Oh no no no now we can’t have that.

So maybe it would be easier to just sit in a room
with baren walls, closed windows, and concrete floors
where no one can get in.
A room that was never there until
she came along.
A room she built with her own two hands,
piece by piece,
bit by bit,
until she put the last nail in the last window,
making it impossible to get in,
but not impossible to get out.

She could just leave.
She could kick down the door.
She could unnail the boards.
She could be free.
She could escape.
She could finally burn down
this House of Hate.

But out there,
there are people,
there are people with expectations that want things done
the same people who are forcing her to be number one.
But she doesn’t want to be number one all the time.
She just wants to have fun,
to be free, to have a say
in how her life is layed out
because you think it’s a neat straight line
but she would prefer
it to be a scribble all over the page.

She just wants to have a say.
But no one will listen to her voice,
it is overpowered by too many people
saying no,
too many people
saying this is what you do.
But her voice is never heard,
so why keep wasting her breath?

Her room is never found,
and no knocking ever comes.
No one ever starts banging on the door.
No one screams at her to let them in.
No one comes to save her.
And she’s gotten used to life being this way.
So instead of wasting her tears,
on “friends” who don’t seem to care,
she just sits in this room
staring at the wall
hoping
wishing
praying
that there was
none of her
at all.
Shay Sep 20
People fall differently.
In the hardships of this world
your downfall and humility
became your strength admittedly.

The hurt and pain caused to the soul
of falling through the rabbit hole of darkness and turmoil
was part of the Divine plan and journey to the goal.

Buried below the surface,
harboring feelings of betray,
incoherently, light emerged its way.
The once grey path that led you astray,
was guiding you to the message,
if you just obey.

Submit yourself to the all-knowing Creator,
the owner of mercy, the absolutely pure.
The One who guards, and offers security,
He is the one to provide your cure.

Inside your heart is what He knows,
He's the blinding light whom forever glows.
Debbie Lydon Sep 14
The ooos and ahhs have hunched my mind,
crippling my conception of a world undefined,
Wandering alone will tear the fabric of this frail design,
And crucify me upon a truth to which I am aligned.

There's a nuisance and a laughter waiting there, just in front,
When fear approaches it is made humble by humour's brazen affront.
Oh such honesty can only be existing to amuse or to make my edges blunt,
Turn the tables of their titles, I am neither teacher nor student.

Hallowed ground? not at all, it did regenerate it's soil,
A ground that knew those ancient footsteps knows no more the walker's toil.
From creation's genius clowning I am so ready to recoil,
But I say face the laughing liturgy, recall the joke that roused your turmoil.

A joke that has remained there, at the core of every tear,
It is quiet, almost inaudible, if you will not hush your brain to hear.
Once discovered, like the sun, it strips the night of all it's fear,
And in it's wake there is a smile and a wreckage to revere.
B D Caissie Sep 4
Choices or challenges in life regardless of their outcome should be viewed as stepping stones to a wiser and more beautiful you.

The more you’ve been through the more aware and sensitive you become of the hardships others might be facing hidden behind forced smiles.

Sadly not everyone is able to handle or overcome hurdles they are presented with in their lives, by mental illness or by sheer circumstance.

Those of us that have been blessed with the strength and fortitude to overcome must remind ourselves daily that there are those that may need that one act of kindness, a strand of hope to face another day.

Hope can be a powerful thing but only for those who know it’s there. Some need a helping hand to see it, find it and grasp it.

Hope... I pray I never lose sight of it and if I should that there will be someone like you with a kindness of heart impossible to ignore to pluck me from the shadows.

©
Jing Xi Lau Sep 2
Our forever is built on,
A temporary palace,
With paper-thin walls,
Our bed a foam mattress.

Our forever is sprawled across,
The stained carpeted floor,
Beneath our ***** laundry,
Messes we choose to ignore.

Our forever is cracked into,
Every omelet and French toast,
Served with a glass of cold juice,
And kisses on the nose.

Our forever is written on,
Every inch of your midnight skin,
Each stubble and razor bump like Braille,
A love language I've never seen.

Our forever is tested,
By time zones and distance,
Will our palace walls crumble,
Or stand in defiance?

Our forever is put on trial,
By people who shouldn't bother,
A xenophobic aunt,
And an uncle who's a pastor.

Our forever is cursed,
By a father's daily prayer,
Wrapped in his own infidelity,
The quiet naysayer.

Our forever is assembled,
From sticks and stones hurled at us,
Will it endure hurricanes and haters,
Or is it just a temporary palace?
Sam Aug 25
For someone loves you
More than you know
More than the text
To be written in stone
More than the anguish
Deep in your heart
Life can get better
Even if you are ill

The dark will come to pass
Even if the candle's dim
There's a time you must be brave
And know you're not alone
Keep your pen in hand
The world is waiting for the next chapter of your story
Marco Carlos Aug 22
I feel trapped in my own mind sometimes,
A mind of four walls.
These four walls mock me,
making a cell of 176 mm length and a width of 145 mm.
I’ve grown to see it change.

At first it was a collage with the upmost potential,
With plenty of space to be filled.
As years went, the cell learned,
Like a bucket collecting rain drops,
Under a cracked ceiling,
One idea after the other entered.
I can only hear the echoes of my own voice here,
No one else can hear the screams,
laughs and everything in between.
No one can help save me,
nor join me,
in this cell.
I feel it observing me from the deepest hallows,
of my subconscious,
Grinning at me and my meagre existence.

I greet the sun, through the barred window,
Every once and a while.
For those moment’s I am not imprisoned,
I am free as the wind and the birds that glide upon it.
But always,
The bucket over-flows,
I drown to awake.
It can’t be escaped and
With every attempt to,
It always find a way,
To tame, subjugate and leave me in submission.

I realise I am the door that separates me from my desires
and ambitions.
The concrete and steel, are figments of ones own
imagination.
Somewhere within, there is a key.
When found, I shall take it and run,
never to return,
to this cell of mine.
A journey through my conscious, if you will.
B D Caissie Aug 17
Courage is facing each day in a world without justice.
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