Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
MicMag Jul 16
When one disappears
The world keeps on spinning
The saints keep on sainting
And the sinners keep on sinning

When one disappears
Some may stop to wonder
But only a chosen few
Feel their souls torn asunder

When one disappears
Most await new dawn
But some live an endless night
Once their soulmate's gone
Thorns Mar 6
Some days it's just like AAAAAHHH!!!

"But don't worry because life goes on..."
Panic! At the Disco 2005
Stéphanie Feb 19
Told my feelings were fake
Laughed at for crying
Brutalized for refusing
Depicted as anomalous
This is my "home"

I exploded, caught a breath as I felt the silencing

Crossed volatile environments
Misunderstood ephemeral friends
Bullied, ostracized
Experienced injustice
This is school

I performed, in the illusion of shutting silencing

Living my curiosity
Knowledge is my strength
Reflexivity makes me grow
Embracing my difference
This is my refuge

I introspected, in the freedom of their paralyzed silencing

Meet mind-like people
Discovered my emotions
Explored my preferences
Dug my family history
This is my travel

I free-fell, as in my trust I hit structural silencing

Communicating humbly
Nourishing healthy relationships
Trusting my positions
Affirming my autonomy
This is my womanhood

Becoming a mother, I urge to gather the pieces for her freedom
I wrote this poem after days of suffering from my mother's intrusion in my maternity… how she made fun of me and invalidated my thoughts, actions and desires towards my future daughter.
Blissful Nobody Sep 2018
I must be made out of stone,
A stone is a good thing to be,
I have weathered wounds ,
Changed a bit on the outside,
The core remains the same .

A stone is a good thing to be ,
Nothing changes inside,
A landslide or an avalanche,
It’s just an adventurous ride,
An experience that shaped me.

Nothing changes inside,
Time has layered me solid,
A little unraveling by nature,
Is time again working on me,
Showing the grit that makes me.

Time has layered me solid,
Bruises sharpened my edges,
Water smothered me smooth,
I could lay alone for ages,
Or I could flow and dissolve .
Apollo Hayden Sep 2018
Let it be what it will be then we'll see
if it all was just for nothing, or meant for eternity.
When in search for answers, look to the birds, look to the trees.
See the way they fly and the way branches sway in the wind so effortlessly.
Life goes on and we get stronger by letting go of people and things that need to leave,
and if we don't our wounds will never close and we'll just continue to bleed.
Most bleed red but I bleed black, and it is only when I need to release these words inside of me.
Healing taken place in between the lines every time I write, it ain't hard for you to see.
There's a river of silence that flows out of the left ventricle and into this body of work that soothes all  hurt; burying what has died with these metaphorical lines that be the dirt,
and in time flowers will grow from this soil if I just let it be.
Letting the nature that I'm surrounded by be the guide as I listen to the voice within the breeze.
I'm homesick for arms
that don't want to hold me anymore
-
Probably,
they never did to begin with.
Aa Harvey May 2018
Survival of the fittest


A bird on a branch, reflecting on existence;
Realizing everything it thought it knew about mortality,
Was really just how to show its own ignorance.
No possibility of death as it rides upon the wind so free;
Flying so high above the land,
That nothing could bring this day to an end
And there is still so much more to see.


An idea of creation so profound that it seemed the only truth,
But all it knew has come apart
And it has lost faith in all that which it views.
Everything has changed in the blink of an eye
And a stitch in time is not saving; it is slipping and sliding,
As the bird falls down from way up on high.


The friend it saw only yesterday has disappeared from its mind’s eye.
Gone in a second of time, its wings no longer flap
And the rotting flesh is more or less a piece of magpie pie.
Gone from its sight; no conversation in the morning light.
No dawn chorus, no warning; no more soaring.
Just a ghost of a life that has passed it by.


Eaten alive by the cat in the night;
The bird that no longer sings is no longer spotted flying high.
For that is that; it has no goodbyes,
So the bird rises from its branch and flies,
Up into in the great blue sky.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Next page