Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Simon Sep 25
A girl who is lonesome on a regular basis, isn't based upon their own choice... But by their own desire to hold an identity bear without regulating (properly) the reasons as to why or how too essentially fix them?? Someone would say they aren't both comfortable and doesn't want to live this type of life... Except, they do, and they are very good at it. Do you not seriously think they aren't truly comfortable with it...?! Because by how I've gotten to know them, they seem entirely thrilled by this very aspect upon the features that drown them in sorrowful lust or delusional ecstasy for the illusional better!
Don't make me laugh.... You seriously think she "would" be comfortable with ANY of this...? WELLL.... DO YOU???!!! NO...! She simply... DOESN'T! And I wouldn't, either. Because I know what it's like to live in something that has tormented me right down to my very component cells. (Not truly knowing how to regulate the emotions that run those very component cells...DRY!) Something that ricochets the exposure over an entire even playing field that's become too GREATLY ODD! For something that doesn't make sense, doesn't also have too be the permanent source of lifestyle one has become standard upon (the now very normalized lifecycle of this very way of life itself).
So, what happens when someone who is lonesome and who's seemingly lost...while also supposedly meant too be good at it, simultaneously...? Well...isn't it obvious by now...?
"A lonesome girl who's good at being alone".....
A lonesome "star" of their own "nightmarish" melodramatic soap opera, has NO OTHER CHOICE...then too see it through... Till the very end!
But this time... Their not alone....
Glenn Currier Jun 27
I wrote a poem for him when he was still here
he was a Cajun artist without peer
for her a paean to a life well lived but now gone
her gentle self slipped into an eternal dawn.

All too few left who care
to read or hear
my poems of yesteryear
not even a single tear
from anyone but me
for these souls who graced my life
and led me to pause, think, feel, and write.  

What sweet sharp sorrow
drifting now in this dark and lonesome lake.
Author’s Note: Reflecting on poems written many years ago and wishing these special people were sitting in this room so I could see the expressions of their faces while I read their poems. Losing friends and kin brings a keen kind of aching. For my cousin Marcia Lister and painter George Rodrigue.
lumin Apr 23
I won’t call you mine
I want to call you tonight
Take this in the context you most relate too.
For me: he’s toxic but I can’t help but miss him.
N Mar 2
I’m feverishly lonesome,
and my wounded soul
is yearning for its doom

When I leave,
will the orchids in
my room still bloom?
I long for you like the grass for the rain
And I remember that voice, as distinct as the sound of storms in the city, as the cars splash by
The thought of you will bring me pain
A mere shadow at the end of the hallway
Or the silence at the end of the day
Unnerving, reserved, wonderful
Like a phantom the image of you is fleeting
But I will always remember those blue eyes, and drowning in them
I can no longer hear you speak in the back of my mind
Yet your words feel like my own
Your voice feels like safety, like home
Now shrouded by fog
Perhaps we’ll meet again
Maybe just for one day
Anmol Mago Dec 2019
They keep telling me
that I am just too

must be

for I was  m a d
enough to
in love with you
Dedicated to (you)
widy Dec 2019
I have done it again
not remembering exactly when was the last time
but it feels I have been here many times before
and I came back as if I was not alive
because the light continues to fade

now words run from me
after he's gone
then you're hard to reach
also, those who are busy hurt each other
sometimes I feel like a leaf withered
who follows where the wind will ******* away
another day I was a fragile branch
just waiting for time to makes me fall
then this lately I'm an old tree
without leaves also branches
settling alone on the dry ground
what a lonesome
the tree is still alive but it is not
people just look through the distance
and thought that was enough

I'm awake to avoid falling asleep
maybe this time I will not wake up again
if letting myself to surrender
I hear a lot of people asking me to talk a lot
how can I explain
same as how they can understand
if I have lost words
I am so tired of the burdening mind
and the voices inside my head that can't stop
because the period of suffering has begun
I'm back have done it again

The tree was half-standing but still alive
maybe somebody who cares enough wants to take a closer look
maybe then he'll tell the others
if it turns out that tree has reached the limit
slowly dying when nobody notice
in the dry ground, alone
Eleanor Sinclair Dec 2019
the entire time She was there I just kept thinking,
“what does she have that I don’t?
Is she thinner?
Is she prettier?
Is she smarter?
Does she have a better personality?” Etc.
So frustrating that i spent so much time comparing myself.
I ******* hate her; but I say that knowing **** well I don’t hate her.
Of course I don’t hate her.
I hate her role in everything that has happened.
I hate the way she played a part in my sadness.
I hate the parts of her I see in myself
and the parts of me I see in her.
I hate the idea of being second best
I hate the idea of not being worthy enough
and instead being left for someone else,
even if they don’t get together
Zhaina Angelica Dec 2019
As I lay here, empty can in hand
This haze I ought to withstand
Amazed by the starlit sky
I intend to let this night pass by

Yet beneath these city lights I wonder
How many people out there blunder?
Wearing plastered smiles everywhere
Trying to mask out their despair
Next page