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Deep Sangani Dec 2018
What do you want to read ?
When my heart is heavy with sorrow
i pour my blood
and convert it into ink.
Then, you shower love on me.
You tell me my writing is like wine,
elegant,
beautiful.

Yet when i feel nothing
but happiness
and i pour my heart
onto your feet
you brush it away.
You don't connect to me
and now you don't shower love.
"Your writing is like wine,
elegant,
beautiful,
poisonous."

You don't accept happy
because you don't connect to it.
You flow like the rest
in an ocean filled with grief.
You use me like a mat
and i serve you
waiting for that one day
you clean your sins away.
I honestly do not know what to write. I write with all my heart, but I've stopped gaining the love i used to. What are your expectations?
Jack P Nov 2018
(but we)

good morning from the after life
the 2am program
battered brains and battered fish
take the drug, make the wish

(are still)

good morning from where its sunny all the time
where you are the laugh track
your smile stuck, held up like a hammock in a light wind
no need to forgive when no one has sinned

(followed)

good morning from the place where dogs always catch their tails
russian roulette with the chambers of a loaded heart
and we're happy and we're glowing and we're glad
love what we've got, forget what we had

(by our own shadows)
dress code: business casual existential despair
Michael May 2018
I believe in a number of things
Horses, gators, even mammals with wings
I believe that a bird and a rat, got cozy one night
and that became that
that as in bat
a bat became that
from the bed of a bird and a rat.
the bird saw the rat being chased by the cat
that they had in common, the cat was a brat
So they chatted and chatted, till the chat became flat
I haven't a bed, but I do have this mat, said the rat.
This mat will do, the bird said as she sat.
soon that became that
that as in a bat
a bat became that
from the bed of a bird and a rat.
I'm tired
an untwisting of the mat
the fibre holding it as one
is fast becoming undone
its time verily nigh
Hanna Kelley Aug 2015
Hidden from the world, their expectations too high
I will never reach them, even if I try.

So I change myself; My face, my hair,
Everything that makes me ME, no one will care.

Soon enough, I'm not the same as I used to be
No longer that little girl that everyone loved to see.

I have become a fake person with fake aspects
So afraid of their expectations of having to be perfect.

I have lost the only people that cared about the real me
Now I'm a nail, holding up their reputations like the tool they want me to be.

I am defenseless and the only thing I can do is be quiet
This is what I wanted, right? The new look, personality and diet.

I wanted to reach their expectations and still I fail to do that
I changed myself for them but still they walk all over me like a mat.

I guess their expectations were too high, I couldn't go that far
Now I have to live with them ******* me dry of myself like the leeches they are.
You will never reach the expectations of everyone, so just stick with the friends you have.
PoemFalcon69 Jan 2015
The Cat Sat On The Mat.
The Mat Sat On The Cat.
Hat. Cat. Mat.
The Mouse Sat On The Blouse.
The Blouse Sat On The House.
Mouse. Blouse. House.
The Dog Sat In The Bog.
The Bog Sat Near Smaug.
Dog. Bog. Smaug.
Urticaria.
Seed Of Death Aug 2014
I'm a poem, I like bats named cat.
this was written with help from Karl Franssen.

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