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Viktoriia Mar 2020
if i step into the dark,
don't follow me.
and if i become the dark,
forget me.
for the dark isn't black,
but red,
and it's drowning me.
i won't let you go down
by my side.
Rachel Rae Mar 2020
The nymph steals glances from behind the glass
Bright blue, sharpened stare
Between bushes, amidst the grass

Fingers so nimble, they slipped through the cracks
Slid down the molding,
Dyed the carpet, stained the cat

Her smirk lived within speckles of paint
The hush of the floorboards
Breath that made the fruit a sickening sweet

But only in afterimages do I see her face
A late night mirage
In the bathroom, in the closet, in the eggs

In the sticky, wiry ink in which she'd signed her name
Her ghostly whispers calling out
From behind trickles of rain

A permanent spot in the recess of the window frame
Did she lay, nuzzled close
Silently, to wonder, watch and wait

A forever presence even the wind cannot displace
Only one day had she entered
But a thousand she'll stay
Thieves come in uninvited and never quite leave
Samara Mar 2020
Garden of Daisies  
Reticent next to the Sage
Drinking my Chamomile.
---
Field of Innocence
Reserved with wisdom.
Taking in the calm...
Aniseed Mar 2020
There are still nights
Where the frequency in my head
Pierces the silence,
And every face I thumb through
Looks like yours.

Your ghost breathes heavy
In this house
And you still manage to
Be the center of every conversation.

Part of me hated that about you.

There's something inside that says
Remembering the fire and the snow
Is both betrayal and therapy;
You were not,
In any sense of the word,
Perfect.
But the blood dried on your face
Once ran in your veins
And your heart beat with
How fiercely you fought
Against the world.

In retrospect, you were my
Biggest muse.

Part of me loved that about you.
Quite a bit of my writing had been - and still is, I guess - inspired by my late sister. It's been one year, three weeks, and six days.
Joe Siler Feb 2020
I grew up in a tree and believed it to be,
safe as the branches enclosed around me.
On strings of breeze God may pull as he please,
the life over leaves dances with ease.
But when I watched by bees and birds as they fly,
my limbs chagrined as branches down wind.
Unaware before, I then yearned for more,
now feeling bound to my link in the ground.
Shifting my gaze, grip turned to graze
as my eyes slid down to the trunk I had found.
What could it be that afforded safety
as I sat above graves among the leaves and the aves?
Was I anchored by tombs no man can exhume,
or was this decay the cause for trees' sway?
To the mound I fell by gravity compelled,
but when I did peel at what earth had concealed
I found vines much stronger than ivy.

Now posture is prayer so I look to the air,
thanking the roots for taking such care.
But before I feed fibers completing the rhyme,
I must find time for the trees I will climb.
Gray Roxanne Feb 2020
Imagine me
unlocking your eyes
in such a way that
heaven and earth in their
full boundlessness
pour unto me,
osmosing into the depths
of my being

Imagine me
falling

             deeper


                                          into





                                                                                         you
another poem inspired by Yoko Ono's "Grapefruit" for my poetry class
George Grenfell Jan 2020
My grief laps at the shores of my being,
I taste some aged sorrow.
Nostalgic on the nose,
The rich earth of my soul.

A quiet appreciation for the dark.
The strange enjoyment of intense sadness
Aniseed Dec 2019
In Pantheon roars,
We shouted
And threw boulders
In the night
Where the sirens
Were our only witnesses

-----------------------

Give me back the mornings
Of quiet snow and soft music

The yawning sun, not quite
Awake

Give me the solitude, the
Fleeting moments of sanctuary
So I may find myself a saner
Sort of clarity

There is peace in snow

-----------------------

I once wrote on unrequited love: "This is going to take some time."

It's felt like lifetimes.

-----------------------

If it hurts to hear
Your heart beating,
What was it that
I wanted, then?

If I ran away again,
What would happen then?

What would happen, then?
Recently moved, combing through old journals for inspiration. For... something.

I hope anyone reading this is doing well and to remember that they're good enough.
Why so little introspection?
Why the superficiality?
Why the incessant conspicuity,
Obsessing over ‘their’ perception,
Not even based in reality,
Living so image driven
With worries 'bout reputation?
Why no motivation then?
Because no one knows your efforts given?
Perhaps there's too much value on what other people think of us
And too little upon ourselves,
Our story that no one tells
And the truths we don’t discuss.
Psychostasis Nov 2019
I've been thinking about you each day, maybe twice
And how disfigured your world views can get
And how I could help if I could go back with abilities to stop regrets

I'd tell you not to worry but I know that's a lost cause
Because back then you were trying to treat your feelings with rap gauze

I'd tell you love yourself because you're the only one that matters
Or maybe tell you how my brain works now, to see if you'd get sadder
I know the world was built on shakey grounds of lots of stress
But no one you know thinks like you son,
That was your genesis

I would tell you how you should see your dad
But back then if anyone bad talked the family you'd get mad
So maybe I can tell you why everyone is out to hurt you
Or why you'll try to make your life close the ******* curtain.

Maybe I can give you space to ****** grieve
Over your aunts, uncles and friends that had to leave
Maybe discourage your ambitions and untie the knot
I know life's a surplus of vacant parking lots
Where dreams, ambitions and desires start punching rocks
Until they're morphed into creatures you refuse to acknowledge
Until your final break down at the "Pittsburgh Rip off College"

Maybe I could tell you to feel your pain
Or lessen the impact of prescription drugs on that younger brain
Maybe even make you into who you're meant to be
But I fear that that answer maybe me

I'd tell you to talk to mom, and open up
Take up the vacant room she left you in that hut
I'd help you sleep at night with soulful lullabies
And put you to sleep with our own hurt pride

Maybe if I could bleed the effects of the pre-condition
You'd be intelligent and have some kind of ancient wisdom
Lessons that stuck from two worlds apart
But most of all, I'd tell you to take the sleeve from that bleeding heart
There's no wound to nurse once you break the silence
Because the only reason it still hurts is cuz you're keeping quiet

You'll grow up to be a manipulator
The kind of person you won't despise until much later
The kind of person that uses people for mental exercise
The person who isn't afraid to resort to lies.

Sometimes I wonder if it would even make a difference
Or if the timeline would adjust the route,
Like a downhill liquid.

I killed myself to make me view
That life is how I see it,
So now I look at you.
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