Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Joshua Jackson Nov 2023
Another delay, another day wasted and no permission needed
My fingers bent out of shape everything aching and I look to my side:
I see grass frosted. My feet slap forward

Over pavement icy as the irises
Of opioded eyes.


Greenishgoldyblueishblonde.

She will come and she will linger
Sorer than a bruise.

I felt so ugly and lost for more than
Half of my life

And like a pale saviour:

Her eyes struck my chest like a match first time we met.

There was much between those years I couldn't let go of.


I used to walk home on two sprained ankles thinking of our unborn child; pain is where we grow.

I got home aching,limping and no one's here to look after me until I'm better; I can't do it for me.

Where are you?


A month after everything ended I screamed your name and got no response

Where are you?!

You're gone.

For good.

Yes.

And it's not even deep into winter and everything just gets worse by the day.

Yes.

This is the freedom I wanted.


She was there long before you but she wasn't you.
She had an accent just like you but she wasn't you.
We spoke and laughed for hours but he wasn't you.
She kisses better than you but she's nothing like you.

I wanted to become you.
I wanted us to meld
And never split like
We promised when we
Were younger; I became
Yours when we were kids
And we were untrusting strangers
That last year or two

Yet the comfort never left

Until it was time to leave

And I think we both outstayed

Our welcomes. I'll never stop

Being in love with you. Too late.

I no longer hate you, I see that we had two different paths and ways of getting to the inevitable
The memories meant so much but what can memories do for you?
You were just an opportunist and I refused to see the worse in you.
I needed you and you knew that.
I miss you like a kid
I now embody every bad habit
I tried to change in you,
Now you are a comfort forever
Out of bounds but I don't mind--
Just get over it.
I hope you're happy.

Pass through faux company

For something to do

Passing the time,I'd prefer

My own place while I wait

'Til the fix is in, then I can dance

A shuffle step or two in my room--

But I trick myself into thinking

The need for fresh air outweighs
The freezing cold, but it doesn't.

That listening is worth it if you get
The chance to speak; but it isn't.

I'll decide if I'm ruined another time
For now I think it's just better if I am
Left alone.
Tiktok fried ur brain and the drugs didn't help
I never stopped loving u i just stopped hating myself.
Withdrawaling in winter is no fun. I'm in pain constantly and have no one and this is the only state I can rely on moving forward. I hope ur satisfied in a life without me. Lost til death do I part.
Max Neumann Dec 2019
log me in
i need...







...to be logged in
for everybody who logs in
Tyler C Nelson Nov 2019
I walked along a quiet shore
   and wanted not a beauty more,
when lo, behold, near rocks and sand
   a tree stood there, perfectly planned.
Its feet were buried in glistening waves.
   The sun was lapping moss and age.
Its hands and fingers watching ever
   carefully. Its break came never.
A grizzled white in bark that shines,
   an emerald green moss dressed like vines,
a deep and stalwart blue in motion
   framing ageless tree-shaped notions.
Stopping once to glance I thought
   a moment passing, freely bought,
a gift in fact when glance and glance
   became a more meditative stance.
A perspective in my mind was growing,
   deeply, newly, freshly knowing,
standing there to watch time passing,
   leaves changing, questions asking,
peaceful still with answers fleeting,
   we, the tree and I, were meeting.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Tomorrow we have all
the good reasons to wake.
The earth’s column
down the sky will stay high!
  
The same old first light will break out,
unveiling once more the face of earth.
Log on now it’s present,
don’t let it vanish away!

Many a time rallies of clouds
shroud the blue sky.
There is no need for anyone
then just to turn away.

The stars too illume
the sky with dim lights.
Maybe the chaste moon
then comes out swimming low
in the orb of the night.
So the sun, too, for a while
goes off into the hide.
Only to show up soon and align
above the earth’s column.

Atop a blooming new dawn
with the rose facing the sun
aligning to it’s shining polished line
passes through the present time.
So don’t just let it slip away!
Pagan Paul Oct 2016
.
She rides, a silver circlet on her brow.
Wearing the Green of the forest.
Eyes of hazel hold a proud gaze.
Child of the woods, beautiful and fey.
Her name is Leaf, Maiden of the Glades.

She sighs, a longing look in her face.
Yearning for her Lord of Green.
Heart in love with the King of Trees.
Born of the forest, body and spirit.
Maiden of the Glades, the Lady Leaf.

She waits, for Green is far away.
Watching the changes in the woods.
As seasons wax and wane cascades.
Woman entranced, by the living Trees.
Her name is Leaf, Maiden of the Glades.

She cries, a moon daisy in her hair.
Filling the lake of mystical tears.
His absence exhumes an eternal grief.
Body and spirit, beautiful and fey,
Maiden of the Glades, the Lady Leaf.


© Pagan Paul (23/06/16)
.
Lord of Green series, poem 2
.
Pagan Paul Aug 2016
Lord of Green


My name is Rook, Lord of the Greenwood.
Protector of the Forest, Shepherd of the Trees.
The Maiden of the Glades, my Lady Leaf
speaks the truth with everything she sees.

I mourn the loss of spinneys and copse.
I grieve at the death of my beautiful Trees.
Lady Leaf cools me, soothes my torrid ire
and speaks truth with everything she sees.

The truth she speaks, are the words of Nature.
Making me weep, as she brings sun to the day.
Waking my slumbering world, arousing the Green
so deer can graze, birds can sing and We can play.

The truth she speaks, the words 'I love you'
burn into my breaking heart, and I feel relief.
I see the forest anew, my Trees come to life.
Teaming into me, thank you my sweet Lady Leaf.

© Pagan Paul (17/06/16)
.
Lord of Green series, poem 1
.
heathen Nov 2016
"Is this anti-feminist of me?" I wonder out loud into the steam as I shave the fine, tiny hairs in my armpit. "Maybe," it whispers back, "I don't know."

Showering is very therapeutic for me. Being around or in any body of water usually is. This time gives my thoughts free reign, wondering about anything that the structure of my day doesn't normally allot time for. I think - or don't - dumping my stream of consciousness down the drain with my conditioner, rinsing myself of impurities.

---

I’ve killed my third plant in two months. They were all those little succulents too, the ones that are supposed to be next to impossible to **** up. A plant that has grown and adapted and learned to thrive in harsh environments, can sustain life for months without any water or even sunlight, through sandstorms and deep permeating frosts and being trampled on by...a camel? An armadillo? I’m actually not really sure where succulents are naturally indigenous from. I bought mine on the cheap from Trader Joe’s. Maybe California? Anyway, it can flourish all completely on its own - and I killed it. This is my relationship with plants. I so desperately want to feel like I am the kind of person who is attuned to life and have a natural synchronicity to all things living. I like to tell my friends that I am Snow White and that the elements and the animals all bend to my touch and my will. The idea is to purposely come across as boastful but I know that when I repeat this terrible joke over and over, the person I’m truly trying to convince of that is myself. Hovering, I keep a watchful eye over what I have put so much investment in and tweak and pinch and poke until I am positive every aspect of their care and growth has been properly attended to. And then they die. I pour too much care into my wards and leave them drowning, but only with the best of intentions. Nature vs. nurture vs. me.

This is my relationship with people. I can become overbearing. I know I can. So, I make sure that I’m not. I’ve got that deep-seeded nurturing aspect that is laced within my responsible, eldest female caretaker upbringing, which translates to me being overly affectionate but also being headstrong and yell-
y. I just want the best for you, I say as I smother my loved ones. I sigh and exfoliate my feet.

After draining all of my thoughts, I emerge from the shower into this wall of humidity. I feel sterile and perfect. This whole scene feels like some sort of cinematic metaphor for rebirth, but really I'm just trying to look presentable for work. I grab my fat purple towel and pat dry my face. While I'm blinded, I shuffle to position myself in front of the mirror. Naked, I throw my towel to the side to reveal myself. I play this game every time I bathe, and every time I hope to unveil a new person. I look at myself in the fogged mirror. Still me, just wetter. Shinier. Pinker.

---

"You know, 'pinker' isn't a real word," my friend who I read this to tells me. "You should replace it with 'more pink.'"

"You know," I start, "language isn't even, like, a real thing. It's just a set of ancient rules and guidelines based in other dead 'languages' to give ourselves boundaries of comfort and live in predictability and reason. I'm shaping language to my vernacular to best portray my thoughts and ideas to you. You know what I'm trying to say, anyway. After all, language is just another construct. It keeps communication within a nice, neat little package, therefore it keeps creativity and free thought in a nice, neat little package. I'm, like, redefining definitions. I'm making words my own. Like Dr. Seuss! I'm like ******* Dr. Seuss. Zoopity Zoo and Binkity *****! That means 'Step outside of your temple of familiarity, you ******* sheep person.'"

I was never one to take constructive criticism very well.
My friend goes home. I go to take a shower.
heathen Feb 2018
The walls are breathing
Fervently
I am breathing
Shallow and labored
This house
which holds up a home
has fewer stressors on its joints
than I do
heathen Oct 2017
00:54; we are eating silently in the same room, but not with each other. We both have had hard days and it seems like our company won't do anything to make it better. He touched me. It wasn't the way I needed to be touched today.

10:24; I'm awake now and even my own company won't do anything to make it better. The day is so warm that it makes me nauseous, but I stay in the sun anyway. I don't read the news today.

14:30; this book store is having an outdoor sale and I spend $4 to impress the cute sales clerk on my obscure picks.

15:04; I'm home and I eat 2 and 1/2 carrots. My day-to-day grind keeps me busy but does it do anything for me? Everything I touch I reduce to being a waste of time meant for something better. I sound pessimistic but I truly don't believe that I am.

17:12; I'm out and he's out with me and we're doing a project together. Our minds create great things when they touch but that doesn't happen as often as I want to. I'm hungry and I'm reminded that I am responsible for feeding myself.
Next page