Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lunar 5d
Do I know
Who I am on my own
Before I've met
Any other I have known?
Who am I, as a person? Is there even a portion of me that isn't influenced by others, or made up of pieces of the people I've let into my life? I'm afraid I don't know who I am tonight.

Let me be myself and write a poem for me.

Shalom Elara Aug 19
I am in a room.
So many people
They just can't seem to stop talking,
having a good time.

Can't they see it is futile?
Can't they see I am in pain?
Can't they see I need quiet?

No, they can't.
But maybe that is because I can't either.
Maybe I don't know myself so no one knows me.

I don't want to be seen.
I want to disappear.
To be a mystery.

But I can't stop their eyes.
I can't change who I am.
But I can change how I see myself.

So I will.
I will see myself,
Not through my eyes.
But through His eyes.
Nylee Aug 12
it was always this
a routine
it could have been different
but it is in line
going out of line
the usual unusual design
the impending death of routine
the beginning of the changing times.

some days you start
with a want of change,
but the change
changes you in so many ways,
it has its consequences,
constantly changing,
no matter what
and you are stuck in the routine
resist it even if it is a good thing
but mostly it is bad
rarely it never is.

known problems
follows a routine
but unknown
it is a pandora's box
you never know
the enlisted
routine to follow ahead
tweaks and tricks
and, back to the road.

it challenges you
changing your views
doesn't listen to you
you don't know
who to turn to
it is so out of
comfort zone.

I know it is imminent
the make and break of routine
I am rarely going to pass my years
just like this
inside my bedroom
with the closed doors.

It is happening
I cannot follow my previous year routine,
talking to same five people I have known
you have replaced me from your routine,
It is changing, I am changing
so are you
You don't need me the way I do.
Ken Pepiton Mar 5
The big dare:

Define reward to an organic automaton.

Make a point that rewards. Reward me for leading you on.
or, what´d´yḱnow?
pop my bubble, but it appears

Dan Hooper,

knowledgist conimpeered reviews, knows,
scienticical as anything you can imagine, he
knows he believes knowable things,
don't know knowable, much less,
do I know them known knowns.

I do know I don´t know how a mortal can know

for sure, but it was likely something
was going to happen any way.
Words work, they make ways, truth be known.

It was, before time, impossible to know right? rrrr
ight is a tough concept to even, even, level, equaliated samesave
smooth, no creases, no bumps
heavy, who knew? One door or many, you and I in the realm where
mortals claim to know, among other secret things,

What Happened At The Beginning Of Time?
- with Dan Hooper (Royal Institute Youtube)

But, I agree, a good rule for life is:
Imagine the speaker knows the exact same meaning for each

word he breathes,
that you may define with your connection to all known word definitions,
so you know what he means
the ex-act, out-active, meaning

intent to cover the chaos empowering the ever expanding universe,
and make it plain, so they may function
like a smooth running system creating slight
in the gospel truth reality in
which I find my treasure of once idle words, now accounted for.

ah, periods,
breathing commas, are such a wise invention.
The engines of our warfare are not carnal, meaty, muscled to push or pull,
**** and tear,
rubbed and scraped to
sharpen, push
gentle awl,
of any hard thing, pointed
through a poking
to make a point. A once.
In time, a been.
A place to hook a silken thread,
I swing by on a whim, to hear

Point. Truscore.
****, proof.
We won

On with the show.
Upon such pointed slivers from actual out perience,
we agree, we join our extra ef-fort to ward
the newborn babe, effectually, fervently demanding

input, input, input, expel, expel, what! THHISMUSBEEHELL!

Burp. Not all gaseous beings belong in you.

Pat yśelf on the back, be kind to yo logos, yo logos be kind t'me.
Then, in the book of life, now on,
did that.

Set a landmark, what they called a breadcrumb,
for navigating stateless spaces,
in the early days of hyper text,

did I not hear a voice say outside?
outside the vector of time

oh, yeah. I know the tie in.

ligate this to those old guitar god souldsoul
crossroad stories forming
a somewhat searchable
substructure to science, sci, with known uses,

conscience. Things we think we can do and do,
by virtue of knowing we did.

as far as this ever expanding state,

this bubble of being, we live and breathe in,

here, your role was dear, reader. Next is yours, to make of it all you will,

unless Sam Harris is right, and yoou have no will of your own.

I am bound to wander off into the confusion,

in search of lost boys, wombed and un, trapped under one of those spinner

things that seems too orderly to be random. Your reward,
activate this word:

rescue (v.)
c. 1300, from stem of Old French rescorre "protect, keep safe; free, deliver" (Modern French recourre), from re-, intensive prefix (see re-), + escourre "to cast off, discharge," from Latin excutere "to shake off, drive away," from ex "out" (see ex-) + -cutere, combining form of quatere "to shake" (see quash). Related: Rescued; rescuing
A christian  by self proclamation asked me how a heretic could feel safe? I think he dared me to think you could underrstand knowing a guess is as good as a go. Both truth and treasure are where you find them, and make use of the knowing.
Jieun Feb 15
i make poems
i type and i type
hoping one day I'll  be known
and my talents will be acknowledged and shown
Richard Frank Jan 18
I want to be forgotten,
Like the sun during the night
I want to be forgotten,
Like the history buried in past

I want to be forgotten,
Like the people who were once known
I want to be forgotten
Like the happy memories, we always had

I want to be forgotten,
Like what you did to me

Always remember to forget me
Nothing is new yet not same
It looks like an old game.
A brand new level,
In the same old board.
After lot of stumbling,
When I thought it was over,
It was just finding,
That is a do over.
Hardships levelled up maze,
That still had me amazed.

It’s like rollercoaster ride,
With a real rope tight.
No particular rules to abide,
Just hoping for things right.
Going up and down,
Yet about being able to frown.
As it’s not about a crown,
But just a small prize.
That will seem big size,
As it’s a constant do over.
Meeting un “known” faces daily,
Finding my passage regularly.
Learning words constantly.
Eating things uneaten.
Now that I’m in new vicinity.
I have gotten a do over,
Something I can’t get over.
It’s like a second childhood,
One without mom’s hood.
Co-written by Sanchita
My dear friend
Andrew Harris Nov 2019
Why does it seem that
Honesty is known when we
Are not  in known crowds
Honesty is easiest  when those you are being honest to will never meet you
Bryce Sep 2019
Even now,

The lone pine
Stretched its dry roots
And gentle,
the lime
Of rock,

This sky gives me no comfort,
A fallow plain
Empty of rain
Rolling winds across
the Firmament

And the needles whimper
In the autumn breeze
As a field of clouds churns
In the mountains
At the horizon

The day is lost here--
Where time comes and goes with
No witness,
For the ancient sea
Is but talc and bone

And in the distance,
The glimmer of a car window
Reflecting the sun.
Next page