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Oculi May 16
There was a dead horse on my way to work today
The horse had been there a while
I do not know why or how it was left there
But I certainly felt a kinship towards it
I'm a doer, not a waiter, I swear
I only ever wait for impossible things
Sort of like I'm waiting for Godot, in a way
Or like waiting for the dead horse to come alive
Why did it die, anyway? Who left it there?
I heard it beckon to me, softly, quietly
It told me about its pain and it felt mine
It related itself to me, singing sweetly
I could not relate mine to it
But I felt slowly but surely my drifting
We switched places, the dead horse and I
I was the horse, on the side of the road
Down by the railway, dead
And the horse was the one that went to work today
I spent my day, baking in the sun
My odor becoming more and more pungent
And the horse worked tirelessly at the workshop

I'm waiting for the dead horse to come alive
Why was it left out in the sun to die?
Why did nobody care for it in its time of need?
Now it's growing more and more rancid
**** all around its feet and face
And the other horses are all gone
No funeral was held, no ceremony
Just the sweet, inviting smell of death
Quite a squalid state of affairs
How I long to understand how he feels right now

I'm waiting for my dead friend to come alive
Why was he left in the hospital to die?
Why could I not care for him in his time of need?
Now he's growing further and further
Water all around his feet and face
And the other friends are all gone
How I wish I could hear him just once more
Or see the phone ring and know it's him
How I wish he'd ask me how the music is going
Or lecture me about the futility again

I'm waiting for my broken heart to heal
This one really needs no explanation, does it?
All those with broken hearts deserve it
Or at least that's what they keep telling me

I'm waiting for the dead horse to speak to me
A lonely, rotting bovine on the side of the road
Maggots live as kings tonight
"Horses aren't bovines"
I yell at myself in reprimand
"I know, but I forgot the categorization"
I respond in a slightly altered intonation

I'm waiting for Godot today
I like waiting for impossible things
It fills me with purpose, and prolongs the inevitable
As long as I wait and do there is no death
I have long since ceased the doing, but waiting is fine
This bus stop sure is lonely, save for the old man
The old man keeps asking for cigarettes
I reach into my pockets to see
There is a decade-old pack of cigarettes
He takes one and thanks me with a slur
"Did you know I used to smoke, too?"
I ask with a childish naiveté
"Of course, I was there."
He answers as though it's second nature to him

I'm waiting to grow young again
I'm sick of being the old man in the bus stop
I'm sick of the decade old cigarettes from the young man
He is always late and he never buys me a fresh pack

I'm waiting to **** myself
"I'm thinking of ending things" as some might say
In some ways I'm quite like Charlie Kaufman
I also have trouble finishing my work
And my work also makes very little sense to others
But where he is original, I'm ripping him off
And so I'm waiting to **** myself
In a sense though, I'm already dead, baking in the sun
Because remember, I am the dead horse
Quite fond of beating the dead horse in this poem, too
I wonder what my family would say about that analogy
"That's very funny" they might say "you should be a philosopher"
I wonder what my psychologist would say about that analogy
"That's completely normal" she might say
"Everybody relates to dead horses and fantasizes"
"You're just like all the others"
I wonder if she's correct again

I'm waiting to become the John Fahey of the clarinet
In a sense I already am that
Because like Fahey, nobody listens to what I do
But where he is original, I'm ripping him off
And so I'm waiting to become the John Fahey
Of the clarinet
I already said that before, didn't I?

I'm waiting for this season of Better Call Saul to end
While it's airing I cannot **** myself
I am far too invested in it to **** myself
And surely enough these weeks get longer and longer
So I'm alive more and more each week

On my way home from work, I pass the same road again
The horse is alive, and seems happy to see me again
I wonder what caused the anomalous behavior
Perhaps it was sick? But how did it get better so fast?
The ideal time to end it has passed
Because remember, I am the dead horse
And if the horse is alive, I am alive also
And so, I think you've already guessed what I'm going to say
I'm waiting to **** myself again
Isobel G Apr 13
I lay my hands over the rot
concealed within my belly
and imagine instead
I am ripe with a husband's love,
feeling for the beating warmth
of a life beginning inside
my desolate womb.
I await constantly
the trial of my womanly worth;
this man may be my judge.

©Isobel G.     15.02.2022
stillhuman Dec 2020
It's harder for my lungs
to open up to new air
when you're here
than when you're not

After all your presence takes
all the space I used to shape
to fit my own self
my own taste

Instead you force me
into a mold you've created
Force my body to fit
my mind to submit
my patience to coexist
with things I never wanted
A life not made for me

I'm just one of your mannequins
to pass the time
when people disappoint you
life doesn't go your way
your choices don't matter
so that you can shape me
into your own frustrations
and smother my essence

I'm just one of your mannequins
and
now
that you've left
I don't fit
in myself.
I was in love with a girl once who didn't love me back. She made me feel inadequate but also the best, most unrealistic version of myself
Kristin Nov 2020
Never enough
is a pit
you scream into it
it echoes

Never enough
is a hunger
it growls and growls
twisting your stomach

Never enough
is a sadness
of always coming up short
even when it was enough

Never enough
is a lie
that we all hear
and all listen to

Never enough
Enough
No more
Enough
Leila Oct 2020
Applauds on resilience
Persistence and stubbornness
Born to make, to create
Sees all in which nothing should exist
Imagine being that
Potential is stored inside me
Waiting but yet begging to be let out
I starve myself my laziness
What’s of all the effort if all I get is strife?
Laugh at me all you want
Is what you love worth the pain of caring?
Knowing others will always be above you
I’m so tired
I shot myself short before I could even begin
Mia Sadoch May 2020
One year. It felt like a cloudy night sky.
Nothing. Darkness, suffocating, painful darkness.
And then, occasionally, there were fireworks.
Moments of joy that last for seconds, until they fade away.

I’ve been trudging through this darkness
With no progress, no developments
Beyond who I am inside.
But the world doesn’t stop turning.

I still feel inadequate and talentless.
I still feel like an empty void
That has it together well enough that no one would look inside.
But I’m about to tear apart.

I need to do something!
I can’t be a parasite.
But there’s nothing I can do.
I feel so wrong.

Help me so I don’t need help.
I've still been writing, just not as much as before. University has been a huge waste of time so far and completely killed my creativity. I also feel alone and useless, so it's been fun lately.
Sorry for vanishing for 6 months, I haven't forgotten about you all.
Mark Jan 2020
Speak.

Don't let self-doubt
contaminate your thoughts.

Don't let apprehension
block your airways.

Don't let fear
hold your throat in choke.

Don't let anxiety
sever your tongue.

Don't let anything
stop you from conjuring
words from your depths.

Speak!

And be heard.
Chiara Jan 2020
I love the night for the stars in the sky,
Yet I hate it for the thoughts that come to mind...
Thoughts of doubt while sleep won't find me,
Thoughts of inadequacy nagging on me.
That's why I lie awake, wishing to see stars instead
And I ask myself a question:
Just when will these thoughts end?
A Dec 2019
I feel blindsided by your dishonesty
Shocked to know that this is you
The real you
Not the prince I saved my soul for

I am pierced by your callousness
I would have laid down my very life
In order to defend your honor
Alas, morning would not have come for me

It isn't malice that encases me
It is a bottomless, frigid anguish
Because it is now clear what's inside your heart
And I'm not there anymore
Does it ever get better? Will I ever breathe again?
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