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TheIdleOwl Jul 2019
All kinds of things float above us,
There's a hurdle in the grave,
An apostle in the knave,
We've lost all molecular sense,
The postman cracks his whip and dances
The swimmer lost his flippers chancing,

All kinds of things float below us,
The saltwater trickles into the pan,
Hustlers tell us because they can,
Our ears take in everything
But our brains only some,
We don't pick what goes where,
We only know the depth of the dare,
We're lost before we've even begun.

All kinds of things float with us,
The man sits with his head in his hands,
Next to the grass plant,
As dust sparkles in the air,
And glides to the floor,
That's all of us,
And nothing more.
Isla Winters Jun 2019
I talked to them yesterday,
I told them my feelings, giving my brightest smile,
They gave me one too, but one of pity,
I'm not the one they want.

I was happy yesterday,
They said yes to my feelings,
smiling at the possibilities,
It only lasted two hours before regret,
The 'almost' coming to an end.

I was messaged last evening,
A paragraph on my social media,
I thought it was to talk about the day,
But it wasn't in the way I expected.

They went back on their words,
Told me sorry they don't have the time,
I said I was relieved and that "I'll be fine!"
But all I wanted to do was scream for the 'almost'.

I almost had it,
The feeling of being enough to someone,
I wanted to feel that about myself,
But I wanted help doing so,
I cannot blame them for not feeling for me,
It's their feelings not mine,
But I wish they never thought me fragile,
As it exposes what I've hidden in time.

I will forget them inevitably,
After all I always do,
Suppressing feelings and memories,
But I can't help but think of almost,
And the 'almost' that was almost there.

And here I am in my bed,
Still waiting for that almost to be had.
Gil Cardoso Feb 2019
O melhor das viagens
É o fim do trajecto
É o impacto do novo
É cheirar novas cores
É ver outros adores

Sim, porque em novos mundos
Até os sentidos estão ao contrário

O que é dor agrada
E o veneno não mata

Que pena durar tão pouco
E ter de voltar a partir
Escrito 01/02/2018
Angelina Nov 2014
I don't need a lullaby.

I'm tired of being told to sleep it off and that it'll all be better tomorrow because sometimes you wake up feeling as desperate (if not more so) than before.

Pretty lyrics aren't going to remedy ugly scathing words and a soft, slow melody isn't going to cover up the irregular sound of a heart trying to beat in a rhythm it doesn't remember.

So kindly stop trying to force me to enjoy a happy tune I don't want to sing and give me a song that's honest and angry and raw like I am because at least then I don't have to pretend everything is just fine.

— The End —