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aha Mar 5
or was it the other way around?
when I made the decision to give myself to her, I felt my soul
yearn
to be torn apart
like cells splitting in half,
simply because
something within them
told them to

have you ever seen a mother make a sandwich for a child?
she uses this kind of jam
because that's the only kind they like,
and she cuts it just this particular way
so that it fits in their lunch box

I wanted to cut my heart into shapes that she would like.
coquette cookie cutters stamped into mounds of muscle
and arteries
and sinew
for a girl that said I was special
everything in this poem is metaphorical btw !! **** I would never cut my heart, that's terrifying. I hope everyone is well on this site btw I've been gone for three years and I hope to get back to writing more ^^
if you're reading this, have a good day !
Caitie Mar 5
if one day my skin started to rot
i'd spend the last hours of my life here.


i'd pace back and forth in this familiar
scene with all my wrong-doings on repeat


i'd rewind and rewatch the times i replied
with words i didn't mean and throwing fists i couldn't clench.


I'd reload the entire decade i spent absent
and remind all my friends that i needed them here.


i'd throw myself deeper to stress the recoil
i subjected myself to
and rerun the episodes where i spun around in circles trying to grip the reins on my affliction.


i'll never be able to reconcile the seconds. the days. the years i spent crawling inside of my body looking for a warm place to nest.
in fact i think i'm still searching.


if my skin is starting to decay, the rest of my body will soon.
but i can't stop pacing and the tapes keep playing
for me to reminisce on my remorse.
and all i can think about is how badly i want a redo.
I try to grasp reality again, but my mind falls short
Grief fills my lung
The waves swallow my cries
My heart flattened by the weight on my chest
And its pieces clogging my veins
The world goes dark

I wash ashore a shell of my former self
Aug 2020
If I were a painter
Every day, I know,
I'd paint you in colors,
Which will always glow.

If I were a sculptor
Working all alone,
I'd carve you a statue
From a precious stone.

If I were a potter
Bent over the wheel
I'd knead your soft body
With the greatest zeal.

If I were an angel
From the starry sky
I'd make you immortal
With my holy eye.

Yet, I'm just a plain man
With an honest view,
I can do no other,
But to care for you.
Ant Feb 25
i dropped my phone
and it cracked.
this just feels like life,
except im in a freefall
waiting to hit the pavement
and shatter,
just like my phone.
AE Feb 16
In disguise,
a hopeless wonder
Apprehensive and paranoid
I leap towards the open
my feet sticking to the field grass
My memories build worlds and voids,
steps and ladders shy away from my path Something tells me to climb upward
latch onto these fears I house within my shoes,
maybe take off the glasses I wear as an excuse,
to ignore your outstretched hand
But in disguise, a hopeless wonder
A small shallow breath
Accepting defeat against my stubbornness
This fear is nothing but distance I strive to keep
Because if I give you all of these words
and instead of grasping them tightly
they slip between your fingers
fallen, forgotten, meaningless.
then what?
Ginn Mosxa Feb 3
Are you toxic or broken
Misunderstood or clearly spoken
Are you fragile, reckless or both
...Is there still hope?
I know I can't save you
Can't bail you out
I can't carry you a single step of the way
But can I perhaps
Support the change?
Can I be present for you
Can I show you grace
Could I perhaps just
See again, your smiling face?
If I stopped here, and waited a while
Would that be okay
Could you understand
My need to keep you at bay
Because I love you, I do
But I'm so afraid
To be hurt again
I'm scared to know you
But that's all I want, too.
For Chelsi
Zywa Jan 28
I meet my neighbours,

only now, in the dark with --


handfuls of candles.
Power failure
Song "Beautiful people" (1969, Melanie [Safka])

Collection "Shelter"
Jeremy Betts Jan 3
Like a drug taken for a quarter century, this writing doesn't help like it use to...
See,
I'm starting to feel like it's working against me
Holding me here in pain and misery
Cleverly disguised as creativity
I use to lie and say it was a way to get rid of all this negativity
But I've spilled so much blood and tears onto stationary
...and not even purely metaphorically...
I should be completely empty
Hell, I think I might be
I think it's moved onto draining my energy
Can I still call this writing therapy?
Is it healthy or does it keep me from a new me?
Holding tightly but in spite of me
Hiding a different side of a complex personality
A new level of maturity
Is it actually helping any?
Today it's hard to say, but maybe
Unfortunately, it's something I'm good at, a skill I enjoy and I don't have many
So I've begun to notice I look at it differently
It was suppose to help me let go of the painful unpleasantry held in many a memory
But it woke a part of my ego that I didn't know would grip so tightly
It might have been a mistake to rely on it so heavily
It's no longer moving along the story
No cautionary tales to learn from because they never become history
It becomes a bookmark that I don't use properly
I never move it to the page I left off on and now, I must admit openly, I'm doing it purposely
I keep the worst of me right next to me, close as a frienemy
All because I notice I DON'T write when I'm happy
And I like to write so I dance around emotions strategically
I don't know if it's anything worth saying but writing is calling and drawing me in closely
A ghostly presence that when I look closely I see my identity
It hasn't always been but is now a big part of me
But does it want all of me?
Can't say either way with any certainty
No AH-HA moment, no clarity, only a death grip on disparity
So I recklessly walk the line of happy and tragedy
Like a DUI test on the side of the freeway, drunken pageantry
Eyes closed mainly
No thought of mine or anyone else's safety
Dangerously close to calamity
And I just worry

©2024
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