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Riley OHalloran Mar 2019
Do you mind if I sing out loud?
The world doesn't want someone who is too sad,
but it doesn't care for someone who is too happy either.
It's unnatural, and it's fake.
I'm a liar
because I say 'I love you' enough that I have no regrets?
because I look in the mirror and smile at myself?
because I sing out loud.
amber May 2018
casually crying
internally dying
obviously lying
about the pain
coursing through
all my veins
my blood is poisoned
with personal anguish

avoid my feelings
bolt home
to avoid contact
with my emotions
of deep distress
refuse to confess
i cant suppress
the misery
any longer

i admit it
i can't drown
in my agony
Ryan Hoysan Jun 2016
How hard can it be? Poetry can break the normal rules, or follow them just the same, or even yet write its own rules. There is no teacher breathing down my neck, holding my grade in a vice. Nobody is forcing me to write these poems, yet I feel compelled to create them.

Ive got so many words to describe just what I want, but somehow none sound right.

I know just what I want to say and who to say it to, but I can't confront these demons.

How can I have all the right words, but put them together all wrong?
I want to fix the world and tell the world of the people that reside in it, but sometimes there are too many words to condense into a poem, too many thoughts to make coherent.
Liam C Calhoun Dec 2015
Severing fingernails, so to, chopped the
toe’s, ate some berries and snuck in a nip
or two. I assert myself, “this drink’s if only
to steal, or seal one last scream,” but,
“decadent’s,” quiet for once; A calm
christened, “collateral,” the parallel plight
and pale ear nigh, if only doors down.

Left to my own devices, I’d imagined
every bad, “thing,” and how they’d
happen; Exact and unlike random
aneurism. So I checked on the plants one
last time. I checked on the only flower,
once again, if only doors down, and one
last time. I abide impatient and remain to
question eternity; This twiddling of thumbs
and silent sliver of sun peeking upon one
and opposing, my alien, “East,” –

I long for my only, “West,” and if only
home, but its love, the other love that locks
my only gate.

And with that I’d lay awake and be, a
guarantee, malcontent, remnant come only
one reminder; A twitch under my right eye
and promised son but days later. So
continued my sequence, my defiance, my
only anything; Come one, “Oh!” and two,
yawped not for Walt, but for me,
“Onward!” awake and in an awkward
avoidance of complacent.

Ensued, were the acts of rebellion, the acts
of life, the acts of desperation in the face of
an already dead incarnation. One day to be
labeled, my suicide, at ends wrought
insurrection and beneath the twin flags,
insomnia added anticipation – Perhaps my
last, should the wolves cull come the hours
next when beds are made, supper’s sooner
cold and once more, the stars are allowed to
sing for someone, for something, else.
*Note - The stars sang for her, she'd eventually sing for me.
Daniel Mashburn Feb 2015
Gray streets where cracks marble the asphalt.
Long walks and each foot step echoes.
Dim lights casting shadow on shadow.
Headed northbound - southbound - every which way the road goes.

The chill wind questions in whispered timbre.
The leaves answer in their choir of rustled refrain.
The trees moan with a creak and whistling sway.
The body feels tired and if the heart feels nothing, it feels everything in spades.

Searching dark streets for the answer for everything.
And cracking knees and the clatter of rubber soles.
Hands in pocket to protect from the autumn cold.
And winter's coming, and I can feel it's death in the depths of my very soul.

Bitter biting of nose and with gnashing teeth.
I travel further in search of finding everything.
The wind breaks and leaves whistle and the cold sings.
To harken the demons of malcontent and of apathy.

So at crossroads, I scream and I beg and I plead.
I wrestle with these demons and with the cross I bear.
And if I can't find an answer, I do not think I can care.
So I'll trade these arms for wings to take me away from there.

— The End —