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Peyton James Sep 8
We were livin’ low,
       Set on the corner of a downtown intersection,
       Spittin’ Parker and Davis at the passing throngs of tone-deaf
                   droids,
       And swappin’ smokes with the retired Coney Island Clown
       Whose cartoon smile hadn’t cracked a joke since the mass-
                   marketed Piper’s call
       Drew the hordes of drooling children to pixelated carnivals
                   instead.

“It’s all in the delivery,” he said.
And we believed him.

We were livin’ low,
       And burnin’ up, like an eruption of lit Roman candles
       Extending our glittering fingers up to the mannequins in full
                  feather,
       Who haven’t left their glass cages long enough
       To recognize the enormous inkwell above them
       As Heaven.

“It’s all in the pension,” they said.
And we snickered at them.

We were livin’ low,
      Incarcerated for each polluted inhale
      Our lungs recycled,
      Shackled alongside generations
      Of overpopulation victims,
      Naked, bloated, and starving.

“It’s all in the struggle,” they said.
And we traded yawns.

We were livin’ low,
     Wearing carefully crafted masks
     So others would take us
     At face value.

“It’s all about professionalism,” they said.
And we nodded off.

We were livin’ low,
      Prayin’ to each false wishing star
      For a chance at Lady Luck.
The first stanza is based on a true story. I used to play bass in a small jazz combo. We would busk on local street corners, and one time we did have a retired clown stop and listen to us play. After our set finished, I traded him a few smokes to hear stories about how he used to scare children in the old fairs. I was trying to get an honest answer if people like clowns, but the answer is still no.
Val Vik Feb 27
Remember when dreams
brought happiness?
And then, we grew up.
from childhood into adulthood
Andrew Dec 2021
Every night  
before I sleep
I close my eyes
and begin to weep

I lay there watching
the curtains sway
In a room
I painted black and grey

Will the morning
ever come
why do I hope
to see the sun
when tomorrow
I’ll be mad
hopelessly
feeling numb
Nikita Dec 2021
Today, I stood underneath the bridge.
I looked up at how high I was going to fall in.
My eyes still hurt now from the tears I cried.
“No one cares about you” a voice whispered.
A loud ‘DING’ frightened me, it was followed by an annoying vibration.
They were calling me. They were worried about me.
I didn’t want to be under the bridge today.
The whisper led me here.
They tell me that once I’m gone, everything will be easier for everyone.

Then I think about my brother with no home.
My boyfriend left alone.
My siblings with no middle sister.
My class with no teacher.
My flatmates with no rent.

It would only be easier for me.
So I carry on, hoping that one day I’ll feel less empty.
Valya Oct 2021
It’s so mesmerizing
So cruel
But that’s what really
Puts it altogether
Don’t you think
The highs
And
The lows
Idk I’m feeling everywhere rn so here’s a poem on that owo
Merinda Aug 2021
Lost in a low-level latte
The art of pain got me feeling to stay
Scars knocked my bones in every way
Like I have no reason to choking my lungs with air this day
But time-boom still a game that I have to play
mark soltero Jul 2021
i live here on the bedrock
tunnel vision
it’s difficult to see

sometimes it’s just grey
there used to be easier ways to get out
before i became baggage
left behind, raided and rotting

a shell of what used to be there
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