Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Alice Dec 2020
I've never had the privilege to be
the main character
never enough for a leading role

always bleeding plain red
instead of magic
Anne Nov 2020
Things grow,
weeds in the usual spots.
Dusted red shoulders shrug
into runny noses.
I feel my sticky breath,
I can’t see it.
It’s snowing again.

It’s been so long.
Or was it yesterday?
I crave loving,
I long to long.

This body is a spoiled good,
rotting foundation,
Roof collapsed.
Cuts and dyes aren’t anymore.
To be loved is to grow,
to feel,
to change.

How is this mess supposed to clean itself?
It’s safer in the dark.
I want to be good,
but I can’t turn this **** into art anymore.
There is nothing poetic about this type of pain.

So, what do I do with it?
I S A A C Nov 2020
I have been getting high
Waking up without a clear ending of the last night
Living in the present until I can fly
To a new world, of new forms
To a new world, with reform
So I don’t have the burden of truth that I must succumb to
Do not have to prove my worth to anyone if I don’t want to
To just float around and kiss the cheeks of many
Not a servant of capitalism, no thoughts of pennies
Or nickels, just the dime that caught my eye
Just a leaf that sits on the breeze
Someone destined for me
Who I will find in the time
My karma coming to my side
No negativity only prizes
Whatever falls down will continue rising
SøułSurvivør Nov 2020
Looting. Burning.
Building's fire.
They rob and mob.
They do not tire.
Some are anarchists.
Some for hire.
The TV blasts. It is a liar.
An airplane skims
a telephone wire.

Where is it going?
Where can it land?
Every runway
shifting sand.
All citizens
are in their bands.
We are under
Judgement's Hand.

America.
Alive with stasis.
All opponents
in their places.
No room for love
in those rat races.
We could be gone
without any traces.

No trace of culture.
No money earned.
All gain is stealing.
Compassion spurned.
Museums raided.
Books are burned.

Hard to watch it.
Trees are felled.
Racial violence.
Hatred sells.
Anthropology
gone to hell.

All hope is
A WISHING WELL.

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
11/18/2020
Kahou Eru Nov 2020
It hit me like a wild boar
I'm glad the worst came to pass
These battle wounds left me high and dry
Cuts so deep
A master swordsman would glee
Bleeding overflowing to fill a river pass
With all your delusions of Grandeur
I promise you I will survive
I did survive
Broken bone won't sway me
My dry heart won't stop me
My soul forever unyielding
You came crashing
But I'm still standing.
Kahou Eru Oct 2020
The honeymoon phase was so innocent and yet so vibrant
Once the foundation cracked
It turned ugly
The fights was always savage
Love turned in need and comfort
Once the storms settled
You was the only one left standing
I was in my puddle heartless
Seeing you walk away from this war
Put me in a frenzy in my heart you took
I wanted nothing more but
you to crash and burn
A love so intense that if it wasn't me
I would destroy your entire being .....
Simply I can't bring myself to..
I just want back what you stolen
My heart so I can throw it away..
Aditya Roy Oct 2020
Its easy to say
That's you're in love
But's its difficult
I know you have fallen
Out of it
Completely
Its the sky that
Brings us thunder
And keeps the rain
In the eye of the storm
Like a boat in
The warm waters
Those waves are
Oh, so cold
After the torrents
Of broken clouds
Make their way down
We'll sail away into
The horizon
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P59RrAHuTYU
Kahou Eru Sep 2020
I'm being consumed
Can't breathe
I need to be alone
But scared to be lonely
What irony
I want peace; all I give is chaos
Such pathos
I want to be held
And I need to hold
But at the moment
I'm standing on my own Ten toes
My lies disguise my truth
Maybe to protect you or
Maybe to hide me,
I don't know this feeling
Such euphoria and loathsome...
Why  won't a mirror cast my reflection.
annh Oct 2020
They speak to the madman,
Suppression, subversion, detraction,
A vocabulary of ‘less than’.

They speak to the madman,
To the loveless and the wounded,
The self-doubting ego.

They speak to the madman,
A consort of shadows,
Recurrent with paradox.

Until...uncertain as to the integrity of my own thoughts,
Understudied by self-censure and distrust,
I pause to listen in silence to the silence which listens back.

‘My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear — a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence. The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.’
- Khalil Gibran, The Madman
Next page