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Judith Sep 2019
How I wish I were like a mountain;
strong, bold, tall.
What secrets would they contain?
How long till I fall?

How I wish I were like the sea;
calm, comforting, seamless.
It is beautiful and endless.
How I yearn for love, a desperate plea

How I wish I were like a thunderstorm;
fierce, powerful, brave,
vicious but certain.
It smothers me,
but it embraces you.
How I wish I were less torn

I look into the mirror,
but I can’t see me.
the title ***** but have fun kids.
Joel Mathew Sep 2019
'Hey, can I wake up now?' He asked.
'You know you don't have to ask me,
It's your life after all.' I replied.
'But if I wake up, you would feel sad.'
'I don't think the sadness I feel is real,
Coz I'm not real.'
'But you need to stay up, for our sake.'
'I think we'd be better off with you awake.'
'Even if it makes you sad?'
'Whether I'm awake or not, I feel the same way.'
'But don't you have to fulfil your purpose?
The one I created you with?'
'I don't have a choice, I'd have killed myself if I had one.'
'I want to wake up. But I mustn't.' He replied.
I was afraid. I knew what I had to tell him now.
My purpose wasn't to hide him.
It was to wake him up.
He created me with a purpose which he chose to forget.
I stared in horror, he was asleep in his bed.
I didn't want to, but the choice wasn't mine.
‘Why mustn't you wake up?' I asked.
'Because they wouldn't like it'
'And does that matter to you?'
A moment passed in silence.
Deafening silence.
A dandelion fluttered into the room from the window,
And gently landed on a bloodstained carcass.
'Accept the person you truly are.' I said.
He was smiling. The corpse’s arms animated,
Picking up the dandelion. His eyes were open.
You just won't die will you? I thought to myself
As I faded into the abyss, never to return.
.
.
.
I took slow steps towards the window.
Corpses were hung, my name in all their notes.
The sun shone bright, birds were chirping.
Spring was in full bloom.
I lifted the ****** dandelion and blew it.
Watching it soar, I smiled.
If you're looking for more context: the speaker for the most part is "my" sense of morality. I am the corpse on the floor butchered by "my" mortality. The corpses hanging are the people who I've betrayed and done some horrible things to. The dandelion is my friend's world.
muteD Mar 2019
my head hurts .
it always hurts .
something always hurts .
whether it’s my head or my heart
something is always in pain .
torturous pain..
the type of pain that’ll make you scream ,
scream until your throat is bleeding .
scream until you can’t scream no more .
scream until your scream is tired of you .

that’s what I think I need to do .
I need to scream
and get out all of my anger .
I need to let go .
but I can’t .
I can’t let my dam crack open .
duct tape won’t keep that flood at bay .
all of my control
would have bolted for the door .
and why?
why because
my anger would like nothing more than to swallow me whole .
to drown me in nothing but sorrow
and an intense feeling of
hate .
seasoned and conditioned just right ,
my anger would have me hating everyone .
even more so than I hate myself .
and I do hate myself .
I hate the person I used to be
and I hate the person I’m becoming .
I can’t lie to myself anymore ,
I really don’t know who I am
outside of my madness .
outside of each one of my issues
lies a baby girl who used to pure .
untainted and not molded yet ,
a perfect example of how anything can happen to anyone .
doesn’t matter who you are .
Anger has a way into shaping you into the person it wants you to be..
Jenny Umansky Feb 2019
What do you see when you look at me?
Cause I see a little grain of sand lost in a sea.

This little grain of sand thats so small and tiny you can barely see it.
Floating in an infinite pool of blue,
being pushed by a faint current.

This grain of sand isnt like the rest,
its not laying at the bottom of a reef.
It has floated from shore to shore,
and has seen all sorts of fish.
Its floated in fresh water,
then in salt water.

But what if this faint current weakens,
and this grain of sand begins to sink deeper and deeper into the sea.
Where it begins to feel colder,
and then it becomes darker,
till the last ray of light begins to fade away.

This grain of sand is left floating in nothingness.
Feeling no current.
Seeing nothing but darkness.
Just sinking down to rock bottom.

So when I look at myself you know what I see?
I see a person that has potential.
A person that has been places and has seen things.
But a person that feels so small and insignificant that they think they dont mean much.

Just another grain of sand thats lost in a sea.
voodoo Jan 2018
this is my introduction to something i never wanted to make up

something that needs makeup

to hide all the rust it built up

in the winds of an apocalyptic sky

see, there i go again, with the same jargon, the same death-comes-for-all

i’m so sick of my own talk

i’m so thirsty for new words that don’t sound like mine

for words that don’t find ****** rhymes

for voices that don’t herald the end of days

because my eyes don’t see what’s really real

they’re seeing only what is metaphorical

what is above is not a stalagtite sky

and what is between my toes isn’t the smell of rot

and my flesh is not actually decaying

the way i feel my soul has been

see, i started out trying not to be me

to conjure something that changes me

but this identity comes down like a deadweight

tied around my straining neck

screaming in my ears, words

words in my head, it’s all too much

it’s all too real

get out
Jenn Coke Dec 2017
Love has some wonderful properties.

It makes you something you're not. It makes you sane and insane. It makes you humane and inhumane. It makes you sighted and blind. It makes you overly rational or illogical. It makes you somewhat childish when nothing matters. It makes you extra jealous when there's nothing.

It makes you do things you don't do. It makes you prosecute and judge your defendant, or it makes you defend your lover. Perhaps the other way around. It makes you commit ******. It makes you commit suicide. It offers you identity crisis to a certain extent, but also enough motivation, will, and power to ****, just a little, somehow.

Who am I? Who am I, now? Who was I? And, who are you? Whose side are you on?

On that note, all it would take is but a feeble breeze to knock me off the edge so that I fall into endless tar. I shall sink, effortlessly, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, as the thick, obscure liquid engulfs and swallows my entire being, slowly and gently, until I'm out of breath, and perfectly erased from this world without a trace of ever having lived.
I'm already ignored and forgotten by my own lover, overshadowed by his older female cousin anyway. I don't matter. I was just temporary. I've always been alone. It seems...
Lizzie Cadence May 2017
I remain puzzled by my own puzzles,
of pieces the universe strung together through its orbits,
of the shades of blue and pink and steel grey it painted
on my wrists and my cheeks and my tiny feet
for there is no reason why I should crave silence,
yet my ears thirst for it, and the noise of life too
I long to let loose, yet I keep my chest sewn shut
I have so much to say, but speaking drains me
because the warm and the cold runs and spins and stirs
and standing here, I remain confused
as I wonder what to be
and wander through the land and sea
searching for who to be.
an identity crisis, or just chronic ambiversion?
Jonesy Jul 2016
Who am i?
It a question that stumps me all the time,
I am a girl..........i know that much i think
Sometimes i am sweet, other times bitter as lime.

I believe i am sane,
I mean insane,
Honestly, Its all the same.
But who am i?

I am mistreated because i am not like others,
I am different they say,
What's wrong with that?
Isn't that a good thing?
I don't know i guess we must all be the same in every way.
I might be that one rare black rose stuck in the thorns that no one bothers to touch because its too much work to get it out,
But i hope i am special too,
Who am i?


A girl going through identity crisis,
Her emotions shattered like broken pieces,
There's no dry places left to cry,
Who am i?  

                                                               ­                                  Jonesy 2016©
Who am I ?
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