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Amanda 2h
We fell in love, life was perfect for awhile,
Each touch was concentrated sunlight,
We'd kiss, I'd taste whichever flavor
Vodka we drank earlier that night.

Turned to you, I needed a friend,
Called to vent every day,
Time passed by us swiftly,
Had my heart, things finally felt okay.

Was the perfect romance for awhile
But as the summers and winters went by
Began to notice the thick haze we lived in,
Something different in your eyes.

Didn't know what was amiss,
Keep me waiting up all night,
Though I wasn't sure exactly what it was
Knew you were hiding something out of sight.

Uncovered more and more incessant lies,
Started small then grew, neverending,
We sadly floated further apart
With each secret text you were sending.

Was obvious there was someone else,
She took all of your time,
I figured you were buying her lots of gifts
Because you never seemed to have a dime.

Truth is, it was painfully clear,
Should have seen it at the start,
I was not the only one
Owning a piece of your heart.

The day I finally discovered who she was,
Identity of your seductive sin,
Is the day our world changed forever,
Your mistresses name was Heroin.
What do you think? I thought it was a pretty good idea. Does anyone else have any metaphors or similes they'd like to contribute for cheating compared to drug addiction? If that makes sense..
I am scared of the mirror.
It hung in my bedroom,
And boomingly it loomed
and laughed at me.

It didn't show me imperfections.
It never showed a reflection at all.
Instead it showed a fiction.

The fiction was perfect.
It was colored, and detailed,
And knew long words,
And had deep thoughts.

The mirror laughed at it.
I asked why, I won't cry, I said.
But why do you care, it asked,
and why would you stare.

The fiction stared back.
It didn't care back.
This wasn't fair, I bared
My teeth and growled
At it, just so it fears me.

I wonder if it sees me at all.
There was just the mirror.
And the laughter. The fiction
Was perfect, and quite dead.
I keep forgetting that I am me.
That I am ‘Kiara’,
Smart and immature and competitive and deeply flawed and conceited and shallow.
With no actual purpose.
A being meant to only convey emotions ‘I’ would.
I keep forgetting that I can’t be reckless,
I keep forgetting that I can’t be brave.
That I can’t just one day decide to snap and break no matter how much I want to,
So I sink.

I think of it as a dream, one I cannot escape,
And do not want to escape at the same time.
Pinching myself doesn’t make it any less of a dream,
But I keep doing it to comfort myself.
I keep forgetting that I am supposed to be me.

Sometimes when my mind gets lost in the storm,
And the thoughtless sails have broken off,
I sit motionless, waiting for the next command,
except I am wearing the captain’s clothes,
Yet I command no one.
As if my body, my being is no act of resilience, instead, a vessel I am not allowed to control.
Here, I stand still. Here, I keep waiting.
Anya 6d
My parents...
are immigrants
Yet, why is it I,
so strongly
reject
their once,
homeland?
...
Perhaps,
the cause
it rooted at
my dad's cynical
comments
and critics
...
Perhaps,
it's my own visits
stifling relatives
horrible traffic
definitely
less, comfortable
...
Maybe,
it's the rejection
of such a gripping
religion
when I myself,
am an atheist
...
Maybe it's
the stereotypes
Chaining me
enclosing me
irritating me
...
...
...
Whatever the case,
it's there

I can be whoever I want to be
what-blood-crap?

Go far back enough,
and we're all related

The only links I have,
are my visits
and influence
of my parents
who once lived there
...
It's not a bad place...
at all...
...
That's not the problem
...
Is there one even?
...
...
...
I,
can be
who
I want
to
be
Anya 6d
My policy
is typically
tied up
in a pony tail
easy
efficient
out of my eyes
But sometimes...
it gets monotonous
and tied
to my more
introverted me
academic me

I've tried braids
brings me back to elementary
school
Several people called me
cute
Certainly,
I embody a twelve year old

I tried a headband
not bad
yet,
the fluffy strands
continue
to get in the water fountain
when I'm drinking

Hair out?
The first one I tried
free
but messy
Everywhere
in my eyes
The me,
that will roll down a grassy hill
just cause

So, which one is it
or something...more?
Is it
just hair?
Is it
linked to my identity?
I dunno
But maybe I'll
find
out
...
What is it to you?
"Who are you?"
"Well, I am Joshua."

That's how I would have always said in the shock that someone, SOMEONE, talked to me.

No, I didn't know myself.
Locked in a chamber of anxiety and wanting to be among THEM on their shelf.
To be labeled as cool.
To not be like a fool.
Someone to be laughed at.
Mocked and torn I don't wanna be that.

Already torn I replace them with fake zest and excitement.
"Finally, I am welcomed."
When I left primary school, that place of...pretense and regrets, I stood there in the new school.

"Who are you?'
"I....don't know..."
"I mean...I play sports...I played catching with the cool kids..."
"Urm....well, I don't like cartoons..they aren't cool..."
"I am...."

"Who are you?"
No respond.
I feel like such a lost con.
Those aren't me.
Those answers aren't me.
"Please accept me..."

"Who are you?"
So in this loooonggg period of time I didn't know myself...what I liked.....the way I reacted to things....I...they weren't me.

Second part coming!! Identity (now and into the future/ "Who are you?" Part two etc etc
venn Oct 6
Who am I?

I like to think that, in every punch,
Every curse,
Every outburst of rage,
There is a little bit of my father.

In every burst of anxiety,
Every obsessive drive for perfection,
Every rejection of genuine emotion,
There is a little bit of my mother.

In every spiteful comment,
In every grudge held too long,
In every egotistical  thought,
There is a little bit of my stepfather.

And even if we are not together,
Fated from the beginning to tear one another to pieces,
We are still one big fucking happy family.
Esther Oct 6
who
be you
she said
I didn’t have the heart
to tell her
I have no idea
who that is
I am the... “quotable poet”


I don’t have much to write


....You called my quotes poetry

When I just wanted to get engaged more specifically
Quotes
CallMeVenus Oct 4
I am bisexual. I am sure of that.
I've been sure of it for quite some time now.
I came to realize something.
If I end up with a woman I am going to embrace the essence of everything that's broken and fucked up about me and claim it as my own and let it define my identity.
Now don't get me wrong that doesn't mean it's gonna be a sad life or that my female partner will make me miserable.
No!
We will have lots of amazing and breathtaking moments and happy yellow days.
But there will always be some gray in the corner of my vision.
Gray will never leave.
All of my depth will forever be in the back of my mind.
And depth requires some darkness.
But I will be fully me. Real me. A picture frozen in time.

However, if I end up with a man I will probably abandon my depths and my grays.
I will forever be feeling like some part of me is missing but I will be leading a whole new life which will be about learning to love myself and nothing will ever be broken.

Do I even make sense?
What does that say about me?
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