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v Jun 2019
Hunger.
His eyes watching down his prey.
Stare so deep it reaches her insides.
Scoping through , searching to find the movies in her mind.
She blocks it , placing a wall , the light comes bouncing off the glass window and back to the wide eyes staring. Shook.
“Nice to meet you.”
He caresses her hand with a sunflower kiss.
Leaving her with his musk scent lingering behind with another movie.
Poetry Art Oct 2020
how
are
you ?
just wanna interact with you guys and maybe make some friends?
Jana Pelzom Aug 2020
Sometimes I wonder
What venoms we possess
‘Such snakes!’ people yell
To who I can’t tell,
Don’t insult the snake
That uses poison to protect itself;
That tries to avoid harming
Lest it harm itself,
We’re worse than snakes,
Using words to harm—
To poison others
While hiding in shells!
What delusions I try to understand,
Gives a bitter person
A logical reason
To go and bite,
Even commit treason?!
It wasn’t the apple,
Humanity I say, it fell.
Death threats © 2020 Jana Pelzom
Why do people write death threats and bully others? I never understand.
Disbelief -
I am
Not a "thing"
I am just interactions -
Stories.
Andres Martinez Oct 2018
Often I find myself questioning everything
is it worth it?
why do I care?
why do I contemplate?
Seems like everytime I'm around someone I can't seem to get it right
I keep to myself but then it becomes an issue
people think I'm out of touch or just lost
far from that more like ready to burst
too honest at times I would say
and I guess some can't handle it and just rather not come my way
Truth hurts it's part of the reason I rather wear my heart on my sleeve no need to deceive
I'll let you keep thinking you know what's going on and it's exactly what you see.
lex Jul 2017
Every time my mother tells me
"Go outside, talk to people"
I oblige, saying I will.
But the screen in front of me
is relaxing.
It holds music, silence, sadness, happiness.
Sure, it may be a measly electronic device,
but it's just occurred to me
that my friends are this device.
People I've met on here,
people I've known.
I can access them at any time in the world.
And it may be destroying our social interactions,
but don't you think
our social interactions are on here, Mother?
Debanjana Saha Apr 2017
It doesn't requires interactions
to be face to face
or over phone
but just a matter of heart throbbing
from one end to the other
makes that meet-cute happen!
It requires only heart to meet from end to end
making it so special for real!
Äŧül Apr 2016
I walk alone,
On the borderline,
I carry it on my mind,
The one that defines society,
And separates out the hermitage,
Some things I'm just afraid to accept,
I just rejected their lies & their bling.
My HP Poem #1060
©Atul Kaushal
Anjana Rao Jan 2016
I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, I should leave, I'm not good, why do you like me, she'd parrot again and again, coming and going and coming and going and I will love this love forever and I don't want to lose you and soul mates and we're going to be okay and we're safe to each other and sorry, sorry, sorry and you should abandon me and coming and going and stop calling yourself honest, and are you sure you have bpd, and coming and going and one day there are no more sorrys and coming and going and I can't take this and coming and eventually

going.

"Here are some snippets and poetry I wrote" my ex says in an email some days after I've drunkenly reinitiated contact with them after a year of nothing and the "snippets" go back and back and back, 2015, 2014, 2013, and we both confess to having read each other's blog and they will end up refollowing me on every blog they have which is all well and good but I am still scared and wondering why I seem to always go where I don't belong, why I am always trying to open some Pandora's box and they have said they never get over anyone, they have called me their muse and I want to tell them that I am not their muse, I am only myself, my best friend tells me to be distant with them after I tell her about the drama with them that I managed to handle and I had started writing a poem to them but now I think I'll just close the unsaved document, I only sent them one poem but I don't want to send any more, it would only encourage them, maybe encourage me and that's all I ever do - encourage people who end up scaring and hurting me, but hey at least I get content from all of it.

"I miss you" ze tells me, ze sends me hearts and initiates contact and likes every stupid thing I ever post on Facebook, and when we're around each other everything is fine, and my best friend tells me ze would date me if I let hir but I can't do it, I can't casually date, not a white person and not now, not after all I've dealt with, I think I just want to be alone forever now, and ze is so nice to me but I just can't reciprocate when we are not in the same room, and I don't believe hir is really autistic or bpd and I never know why, and ze is the best of all of hir anarqueer friends but there is something so off about all of them and they are good entertainment from afar but these are the kinds of people I would have been so jealous of when I was still at smith and always hurting from my perpetual anonymity among the hipsters I realized I would never be a part of, and I have accepted that I will always be invisible among white hipsterqueers but sometimes it still hurts, "community" is ******* and I don't believe it could ever exist for me, but that doesn't mean that I don't sometimes want it desperately.

"Let's go to Tuesgays," my best friend announced last night, and I roused myself up because I knew she wanted to go and wouldn't go without me, she told me as much when we were walking in the dark trying to find the club, and I gathered up all the bits of naivety and hope and the maybe it will be okay amidst all the fear and fatigue and I assembled the bits into a shoddy structure that blew away an hour later and I'm sure I ruined the night but she didn't tell me, and she bought me pizza but the pizza was too much and I don't want to perform at an open mic and I don't want to spend money and I don't want to drink but I do anyway and I don't know why I do all these things I don't like doing, building all these unstable structures that just fall down in the end, and I don't know what's wrong, it's not her fault, I just wish I were dead.

"So fill me in on these last five years. How's life?" I didn't respond to the old high school friend who I wasn't even particularly close with them and once I thought it would be cool to reconnect with friends in high school but every time they ever try to contact me now all I think is "go away, go away, go away," and it's more intense with men, he texts me this morning, days after I delete the text, says, "You were the first person that ever wrote on my wall on facebook, remember? I never forgot that," as if that's supposed to make me feel something, what I want to say is "hi I'm gay and crazy and not the person who wrote on your wall in 2007 and I don't know what the point is in contacting me," but I will hold my tongue because I can't say these things, I will continue to not reply, just like I don't reply to the old men I meet who send me emails or add me on Facebook because maybe I am their only friend and it's not their fault, it's mine for talking, mine for trusting, for giving away my email and poetry so willingly, always forgetting that slightly sick feeling I get afterwords, that's what being uncomfortable is, that feeling that something is wrong, wrong, wrong, and you're stuck and it's too late to go back but something is wrong and you can't put your finger on what is wrong, what is wrong, what is wrong with you, why can't you be nicer to the people around you, why are you writing this at all, stop feeling this anxious, stop feeling bad for no reason, stop feeling

uncomfortable.
Stream of Conscious prose/poetry written around 1/27/15
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