Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kalliope May 15
Mania feels good when it battles the sadness, gives me the strength to get off of this mattress

My hair gets a wash and my make up gets done, I can giggle and laugh and look forward to fun

What project to do? How can I change my room? Maybe I'll cut my hair or get a new tattoo

Shopping! That'll be fun, need some new outfits to wear in the sun, or even the moon
I'm feeling manic I won't be sleeping anytime soon

Wait now- slow down
I need to process
I need to feel these feelings, not go on a distracting side quest

But my thoughts are poems and my legs are restless
Maybe one distraction won't hurt, maybe it'll pull me out of this mess
I'm spewing out words,
I can't help it I'm sorry
Its worse than the birds
At five o'clock in the morning
Kalliope May 15
My hair is unruly,
I don't like my teeth.
I haven't seen my debit card
in three ******* weeks.

If I'm not early,
I'll be ******* late.
"Just be on time"—
my brain doesn't work that way.

I did three loads of laundry,
yet have four to fold.
I planned to make a salad
but the lettuce has mold.

The lettuce has mold?
The lettuce has mold.
I swear I just bought it,
I didn't think it was old.

What day is it?
Do you know the time?
I can't find my keys
but I'm thinking in rhymes.

Did you tell me the date?
I'm sorry—I forget.
I'm sure that you did.
I just haven’t remembered it yet.

A mile a minute
is how my mind goes.
Do you want to rearrange the living room?
Should we go to Lowe’s?

These boxes I found
haven’t been opened in ages.
I found an old journal
and sped through the pages.

I should throw it away
but I think I might keep it.
It’s treasured this way,
and no one learns my secrets.

I’m sorry I’m on a tangent,
did we have plans?
I’m sorry to abandon,
I live in my head man

I’ve got so much to do,
I couldn’t possibly go out.
Have you seen my bathroom?
I must clean the grout.

You can stay if you want,
in fact, I’d like that very much,
if you don’t mind my gibberish
and constant running amuck.
Is there cure to this chaos?
Am I forever lost?
Neglecting everything,
Until its covered in moss.
Tatiana Geok May 12
— Am I old? — I asked the youths.
— That depends. How old are you?
— Sixty-two.
— Then I guess you’re old. It’s true.
Have you seen old Lenin’s face?
— Of course. I stood beside him there,
On an armored car, in pride and grace,
Waving banners in the air.

I walk home like a dinosaur.
From the window Lena cries:
— Buy some apples from the market!
Check they have no bruised sides!

And suddenly, I’m young again,
A girl who cannot pick good fruit.
Lena’s ninety-six — and then,
Still thinks I’m young and cute.

The policeman shakes his head:
— Is Lena strong and still alive?
— Yes, — I nod. —  She’s not yet dead.
And marvel how we yet survive.

If you want to be young and bold,
And not feel like a dinosaur,
Be with slow and with the old —
Not just the age you fit before.

11.04.2025
Anais Vionet May 11
Words activate something in me
even if I’m just thinking, not writing.
So I soon find myself back at the keyboard.
It seems that my life’s been a series of keyboards.

My motor’s always running—I idle fast.
But I’ve been untying my intellectual shoe-strings recently.
Dissociatively avoiding intellective pursuits,
and embracing entropy (since school ended).
It’s been relaxing—I’ve felt new to my body.

There’ve been happenings lately,
particularly in the nocturnal theater of romantic nights.
My bf Peter’s here—trying to look impressed by an under-grad degree. He’s a pretty good actor—for an amateur.

We’ve been interrogating the richer aspects of love,
testing it’s configurations you might say,
with constant motions and lush indulgences.
We’re savoring this temporary freedom,
devouring it, like mindless carnivores.

Peter lives in Geneva, you see, while I’ve been in New Haven.
If I’ve learned anything, in my ivy league, senior year,
it’s that you can’t cheat closeness with virtuality.
He may have a new job in New Jersey and I'll be in Boston.
I've already calculated a year’s travel expenses from
Logan to Liberty and back 52 times = ~$62k. Make it so.

I'm an enumerator, I count everything
—the left facing croissants on a tray,
the days Peter and I have been apart,
and the modicum of hours we’ve had together.
I’m somewhere on that obsessive-compulsive bell curve,
and I’m a Libra, uncomfortable in an uneven world.
Perhaps there's no shame in this.

I wonder sometimes, when we’re separated, if we’ll still work, when
we’re reunited, and then, like sunlight can suddenly define shadow,
we can see that it does.
That love is more potent than wine.

I dream of things I can’t have—yet,
like the life I’d like to live—someday.
Hey, I’ve something to look forward to.
.
.
Songs for this:
Love Train by The O'Jays
Easy by The Commodores
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/08/25:
Modicum is a formal word that means “a small amount.” (used with *of*
Arthur Vaso May 8
The time will arrive soon
to pick a new pope
and here is where I am confused
I had no idea an American Baseball team
chooses the next pope
the St Louis Cardinals though
will have a tough job
I wasn't aware their stadium was called the Conclave
but there you have it
if they win the world series
and pick a new pope
they will have killed two birds with one stone
so to speak
A little bit of humor in these dark times, of note the Pope donated his "Pope Mobile" to be used as a front like medical clinic to help the children of Gaza, some will say a small deed, however symbolic to what side he was on, the side of humanity. ( he did far more behind the scenes that the Zionists hated)
Cadmus May 4
They say love makes the world go ‘round…

But try proposing without a diamond that whispers loud…
Money…

Family dinners full of smiles and fights repressed…
Money…

Cousins showing up at Christmas looking freshly blessed…
Money…

The secret to youth? It’s not kale or prayer…
Money…

Just a surgeon, a syringe, and some derriere repair…
Money…

You want the Nobel? Sure, write your thesis with flair…
Money…

But someone still paid for that tenured chair…
Money…

The kids need books, a laptop, and a chance to dream…
Money…

Also Wi-Fi, tutoring, and a school with steam…
Money…

Evolution gave us fire, but civilization gave us class…
Money…

And the biggest difference between king and ***…
Money…

You want to change the world? Start a cause? Break a curse?
Money…

Or you’ll be that guy with vision… and an empty purse…
Money…

Science needs data, equipment, and trust…
Money…

Also snacks for the lab, and a fridge that won’t rust…
Money…

Want to flirt, be adored, radiate that spark?
Money…

Or stay home, scroll apps, and die in the dark…
Money…

Even funerals aren’t free, your last “to-do”…
Money…

Because dying is easy, but burial? Whew…
Money…

So next time someone tells you it isn’t everything…
Money……

So here’s your truth, wrapped neat and funny:
Everything you touch, trust, taste, or tolerate runs on…
Money…
If this poem made you uncomfortable, don’t worry, it’s probably just your bank account recognizing itself in the mirror. Side effects may include existential budgeting and spontaneous side hustles.
Carlo C Gomez May 12
I'm almost positive I heard them talking

Talking in their protective, yet complaining manner

They say, they only get to interact with the weak

They say, they're all too often held responsible for the bond between others

What's the matter with them?

They're the ones full of chemistry

They're the ones who can escape scott free

While I have to stay inside and act positive about it

Just once I'd like to not be in the middle of everything
Next page