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GQ James Dec 2020
You say you want me here but so you really?
It don't feel like you want me here,
Doesn't feel like home,
Feels more like prison,
Locked in a place where I don't wanna be,
Where's the key?
I need to find my way outta here.
Jay Mar 2020
It’s funny that I can keep songs on repeat
But I can’t listen to you anymore
Meaningful positive messages. Meaningful positive vibes.
Am I really home
What is home
What isn't
Familiarity estranged
Causes and excuses
Broken lies
Forgotten promises
We all never made
Who are they
Everyone just gawking
At everything and nothing
At where I stood still
Where is myself
Left her locked up
Right she isnt
Who is the writer
Behind this
Poem or prose
Who am I
What am I
Is it me or is it really
I am here but not
The existing that's extinct
Appearing while I disappear
Depressed but not
Living like the dead
8M Dec 2018
In a time so long ago
There lived a girl
By the name of Octavia

She was shy and mute
Not so much mute,
As just did not like to speak

Her parents were worried
She did well in school

Her social skills


She combed her long black hair at night
Quiet as a mouse
In the small, dark little house
She rested

Her parents had enough
She could not function in society
They locked her up
And told her to stay

She did not mind
After all, there were books
And a comb for her long black hair
To comb at night

Every day, she did just that

The town she lived in
f  orgot  a  bou  t h   e r

Bit by bit
She became unnerved

"Octavia, Octavia,"
She heard the voices say
"Why don't you come out and play?"

She shook her head, and read her book.

The voices stopped, then returned the next day.
Nothing else could be heard

Then, footsteps

Could someone be there for her?


They weren't

Eventually, the voices grew forms

Shadows of children, smiling and laughing
Octavia was wary and bitter
She did not like them
She combed her hair

One of them took the comb and ran
Octavia cried
Her hair would no longer be beautiful
Her beauty would


She paced throughout the room, reading her books
They became boring to her
Reading the same things, over and over again
Her bitterness grew stronger

She saw an old book, torn from time
And tears formed in her eyes
Weeping, she ripped a page out

And then another

And another

and another


more, more

m   o re

All her books were gone
Nothing to do
Except listen to the voices
She knew that they were messing with her
She did not know how to stop them
They held her hand tight
And told her,
"Play, play, don't be scared"

And then, she stopped being scared

Her parents, regret in their hearts
Unlocked the door, and found nothing
Except a girl with unkempt hair
And a trail of ripped pages

She looked at them, and a smirk grew across her face

"Don't you see? I play with the voices, and the voices play with me."
A bit dark.
thehiddenwriter May 2016
It's all locked up inside,
Bars and barricades all around,
Things don't go out,
Things don't go in.
Lost Jan 2016
Because of me


will never be able to build their life.

Because of me


is to be imprisoned.*

Because of me


has had their life ruined.

Because of me


will be hurting for a very long time.

Because of me


*will never be able to trust anyone ever again.
Cordelia Rilo Oct 2015
my lids are heavy
held down by pain and dried blood
I can feel the ground
my fingers wet
the smell of a public toilet
it's dark
I feel like I've just lost my mind

Two days later I'm pressed against hot benches
light blaring down on my
now red
bare chest
I know I can't move
"Sit Down!"
if I stretch my legs
just for a second
I could be in here the entire day

Five years later
sewing in thick gloves that don't fit my once feminine hands
I can see past the windows that can't open
men walking in the grass
gray clothes
gray hair
walking together as if they were chained
or had been
for far too long

One year later
the walls laugh at me
their pathetic attempts at a
"***** feel"
I see my friend in the corner of the room
I'd missed her
I start walking towards her
and notice her chin caked in spit
and her eyes glazed over
with emptiness

will I ever be free
will I ever convince them
will I ever run again

*will he ever find me
Clara Cartwright, 1929-1931
Purple Rain Jul 2015
After days of hatred,
and days of sorrow
The book is closed,
no more time is borrowed

They didn't see it coming,
For they never do
This is the end,
I'm drowning in the water,
Doing flips and backbends,
No I'm not trying to get to surface
I choose not
I rather be left on the seafloor,
chained and locked
Your reality is altered

My imaginations wild

Together, a pair so faltered

But the efforts worth our while

A blink and then a nose rub

I shift my eyes, oh no

We both know who's lucky

And who's about to go

We smile then we grin now

As the roar of pain grows loud

The kissing over shouting

Is muffling the sounds

Washing all the blood off

They're beating on our door

You help me out the window

Just like we did before

Running, Gasping, Panting

But our grins are ear to ear

How could we get away again?

We're professionals with no fear

This game is far too easy

Were loosing interest now

Should we both confess sins

Exploit, I don't know how

Bars become our wallpaper

He's doing push-ups all in drag

She marked my arm with her name

But a better life, we've never had
Can you say Bonnie and Clyde?

— The End —