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Preet Mar 2021
A little bird in the cage,
A cage with invisible bars
getting dense with every passing second,
The more she tries to free herself, the more it bites on her skin,
leaving scars, imprinting her mind and soul,
The cage has thorn around it,
Getting sharpen with every edgy spell of her kinship
The more they do, the more sharp are the thorns,
the more they cut, the heavier she bleeds.
The more they misinterpret her shrieks,
The more her wings get shattered.
A helpless little bird in the cage,
Lies in the pool of her blood,
Trying to get out of unbreakable rage.
D Fury Mar 2021
You may feel as if you are the weight of dust,
You are much more than you think,
The words you say,
The actions you take,
Will make a difference,
In a way you will never know.
Emma Pratt Feb 2021
and what about me
my heart
     my
           p
              a
                  i
                     n
was it all just a thousand page novel written
with invisible ink
Brumous Feb 2021
I sat there talking with people,
but I seem like an invisible figure.

No one listened, so I still sat there, with a happy smile;
Pushing back tears while filling my head with lies,
Whelving those feelings away as I put on;

A pitiful disguise.
02/08/2021

"Believe me every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad."
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Kole J McNeil Feb 2021
Little me
1st grade me
Sitting on the swing
My best friend beside me
A pinky promise on a playground
A promise now long forgotten
A promise of friendship forevermore
A promise too soon broken

Little me
2nd grade me
Sitting on the slide
No one beside me
No more promises left to be broken

Little Me
4th grade me
Sitting on the swings yet again
This time it was me next to me
But it wasn't me
He leaned over and stuck out his pinky
He said he'd always be here
He'd never leave me

Little Me
5th grade me
Sitting on the swings
His hand in mine
An invisible person
An invisible friend
He has yet to leave
His promise left yet unbroken

Innocent Me
6th grade me
Sitting on the playground wall
Sitting there with him
Hes grey eyes
His short spiky white hair
His soft smile
His sad eyes
They were always sad
My only friend
His promise sits unbroken

Cut me
7th grade me
Sitting alone
A girl moos in my face
I laugh at her
My long hair falling in my face
Hi my name is Dory
She looked at me
I said go away
She sat down anyway
Where he usually sat
But I couldn't find him
His promise now broken in my eyes
I slowly forgot my invisible best friend

New Me
Broken me
8th grade me
Hi I'm the invisible friend
I now realize that he was me
He was who i'm supposed to be
I now know he never left
I now know his promise will be forevermore
He will never break it
I just found out who I was
I found out I was He

Little Me
Innocent Me
Happy me
Not Me
His promise never broken
He was my best friend when I had none, He was always there and he never did break his promise. He may not be that invisible boy I used to play with on the swings and i may not see him anymore but hes still here. He's the only one who hasn't broken the promise to never leave.
We have high highs and low lows
We are going to be ourselves
and we will see how it goes

There's an invisible force pushing us
I suppose
We are in a fairytale
...
we are fated and it shows
His4Her is a series of poems with different points of view of fictional people
"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens."
- J.R.R. Tolkien


The irony of it all is the loneliness of a star.
Not noticed in the nebula, she glances from afar.
At her neighbor’s neglect, even in nature of quasar.

The irony of it all is the silence of the owl.
A lot in the gloom it used to hoot and growl.
Prior to the onslaught of looks with a scowl.

The irony of it all is the frostiness of the blaze.
A fire that only freezes surrounds me in haze.
My friends, the flames, their stare a cold gaze.

The irony of it all is a bird that wants a cage.
Astounding is the absence of his own faith and sage.
To acquaint with his habitat, he is afraid to engage.

The irony of it all is a knight with no one to save.
To issue a kind aid, insignificant it is to crave.
So the importance of his ideal is dug into a grave.

The irony of it all is an unbreakable heart.
Tired of trying, it is an insatiable art.
That Heart’s betrayal splits the soul apart.

The irony of it all is the kissing of the hated.
Love was hostile, but the exes again dated.
And my heartbeat for her was hasped and gated.

The irony of all ironies, a phantom of tangibility.
Roaming amongst humans, champion of inutility.
Is the ghost of an emotion, the dust of heart’s fragility.
This is the first poem of the fourth chapter and it starts this last section of the anthology with a somber tone and a tight structure to reflect the ghost aspect of the speaker, bound to be unseen by the people around him and emotionally and psychologically unable to free himself from the prison he and others put him into.
In a field of red roses by the lake,
A white rose calls up to the sun
With her beautiful petal scarf
And her cheerful smile
Over another field, a tulip stands sad
He is one in the crowd, no one special
“Smart,” some say, “too shy” others may
But he struggles, moving his cheek

The tulip looks at the ethereal rose every day
Wondering how such a flower grew from the floor
An angel’s tears of joy, he might think
A kiss from Gaia, he would have hoped

Tulip doesn’t know much of the rose
And fears never being able to embrace her
He feels that both have too much in common
But his inner parasites would hurt her
For a majestic rose that dances with the moon in the water
Such normal tulip will never have a chance
Her perfect stem is made of silk
His is damaged and made of paper

Still, the tulip dreams
Wishing one day to fly, as his roots would rip
Detaching from the floor, from his forlorn life
Flying towards the star reflected in the lake, where his solitude would end

The white rose doesn’t realize, still
How much he admires her strength, cleverness, and beauty
Until the tulip sends his seeds of love
In the form of this poem and painting

For a more radiant future he fights
Forever aligned with the Astraea of his heart
Because she glows in the night
Inspiring him to be better
And even if the rose doesn’t recognize the tulip
She should know that he is right there
In an everyday battle to talk to her
He is smart and shy, but eager to give all his petals to see her smiling for him
The motif of flowers is key to the second chapter. We know Rose already, so Tulip is the next character the anthology introduces.
iamgone Jan 2021
I remember it
like it was years ago
or maybe yesterday
snow falling around me
like the laughter
in my soul
my eyes finding refuge
in the fall upon my feet
tiny dancers
mocking
my reaction
or rather lack of
to the cold
i found myself
numb
i found myself
restless
and then i found
my eyes
wandering behind me
into the snow
finally taking notice
in the lack of footprints
that followed
my feet reaching nothing
but a shallow cry
and that's when I knew

the world would never see me again
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