Sadman May 2
I want food but you’re rude
And so crude. Read my mood
Or get stewed if you’re rude.
You’ve accrued something lewd;
Probs the nudes from some dudes.
I am who’d wants some food
And my mood wants food stewed.
Sky Apr 29
the poet's words are terribly weak, and his mind so terribly sore and dry.

those words without luster do not pierce the thick act of life, and do not interrupt the rhythmic rotting of metro-corpses as they live lives thrice lived and lived over again.

words dulled and dumb, like word-plugs, deliver no pleasure, and those who try to force them into the tender pink cochleae of springtime azaleas are rapists,
the worst kind.

the poet's words are terribly few,
the volumes that once came forth, like falling floods, now spat with force from
fearfully pursed lips.

the words shiver and dissipate like glass upon contact with the broken floor, writhe flinch and eventually curl up into burnt remnants of clay "animals."

what once could have been a
zebra, dog, or sparrow takes no audible, tangible shape. and the pulse, if there is one, cannot be heard over the deafening croak of silence, for these words are as good as dead.
im so sad i literally cant write poetry lmaoooo
Amanda Apr 12
Will you ever open your eyes and see
Past my skin and long brown hair?
I am beginning to think, "No"
Prove sex is not the reason you care.

You understand my thoughts so well
Own so much information about
My life you could ruin it
My dreams and you'll do it no doubt

I don't think the love you hold inside
Is the same love I feel in my heart
It is strange but I'm starting to think
It would be a good idea to part

I am finally fed up with
Pushy pressure and forceful remarks
Show some respect; give it a rest
Your hands behave like hungry sharks
Written a long time ago about a handsy boyfriend
Cjf Apr 11
this is for you and the way my words are better written then coming out of my mouth. For you and the way you always say exactly what goes on in your head and being articulate and brave enough to say it. every single word i write down is what i want to say, but what freezes halfway up my throat. So, this is for you because you make me want to be brave.
Lily Apr 11
My mind keeps spinning,
My heart is breaking,
My thoughts are circling,
And I can’t seem to find any relief.
I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way,
That all the things that are happening to me
Are not that bad, and I shouldn’t worry.
Yet I do, and I can’t stop, and
I know that’s unhealthy,
But I have an overreacting tendency
That’s so natural.
My mind naturally runs in circles,
Like a computer program that is set
To only one function that cannot be
This overreaction is slowly killing me,
From the inside out.
I’m cold, I’m hot,
I’m hungry, I can’t stand to look at food,
I’m okay, and then I’m not.
I’m not okay.
Misha Kroon Apr 5
There is still a part of me that will always be a child.
I do not think there will be a time where I will lose her,
That part of me who needs to be looked after.

I have spent so long now trying so hard to independent.
The days I go hungry because it is only me who will cook,
They will always be a part of me.

I take solace in the knowledge I can always go home,
But the day will come when home is what I have built for myself,
And the only person who will cook for me is me.
I moved out of my family home a year ago, and I guess I'm still working out how to live without my mother.
Danielle Mar 29
Entrancing power,
Tremulous and treacherous
It left you vision-less
And so very hungry for more.
Power corrupts, I think, was the theme that I was exploring in this poem
Angel Mar 15
I feel it
I hate it
I can stop it. I can eat.
Food tastes guilty.
I lie,
I starve.
I hide the fact that I'm hungry,
But I'm not going to eat.
Not yet.
Not until I've taken control
Dipendu Das Mar 6
Weeping his cheeks he goes from man to man.
With his heart covered with desire to get some grain.
Still no mercy, still no gain.
He gets nothing but a sorrowful pain.
Walking on footpath,
Suddenly his eyes fall on the garbage pail.
He discovered the left of people's food thrown on the pail.
He tried to took out the food to eat.
But dogs were too rushed into it.
As they were too hungry indeed.
He had no chance to get some food to eat.
He questioned his fortune, ‘Does he doesn't have right to live ?’
With the pretty pain,
He just forgot to live again.
Hunger and Beggary is the problem of all times and ages... Universal appeal to hunger...
Bee Mar 3
It’s not about fitting it all into the car;
it’s about fitting the pieces together
against the agrestic trunk space.
It’s the way we hungrily wait
to spit up our influence It’s
the patient extraction of
a cat cornered conver
sation that is easier
to  shove  under
the innate rug
that is this
l i f e
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