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On a church, Mother Mary gazes up high
with her saving babe on her stone arm.
On her alabaster face: a cryptic smile
that has its own fine chiseled charm.

While I stand in the old town’s cobblestone street,
my mind sees me in a far distant place.
The visions I see speak of defeat,
a void that devours all grace.

I see myself floating in a brittle wood boat
with sails torn to shreds by the storms.
Frantically I toil to stay afloat,
tossed by black waves which ebb and reform.

Her disk halo of gold shines out in the dark,
glinting to those who sail by.
I ask her: tell me what can give me a spark
to let me soar up into the sky.

She offers no answer in so many words
and just smiles on, stonily serene.
In her silence is where her answer is heard,
a quiet reply — I know just what she means.

The rock of her tells me what I must hear:
No need to soar nor fly nor flee.
Let black tides flow past me ‘til they clear.
Like this old pale statue, just simply be.
Inspired by a statue of Madonna and child on St. Augustine’s Church, Mainz.
Nobody Nov 15
Skipping school
Avoid the reminders
Say i feel sick
Say i feel tired
Friends worried
Keep missing
Skipping
Avoiding
Ignoring school.
Avoid these people
At all costs
A list of a sidewalk
To skip down on
When I want to feel pain
Because thats all you brought to me
Skipping school...
Avoid the reminders...
Say i feel sick...
Say i feel tired...
mikey preston Nov 15
can see it now in a stuffy auditorium
half of those students don’t give a ****
it’s hotter than a crematorium
and everyone just wants to go out to lunch

i can see her now - the principal’s crying
she can hardly get the words out
nervous laughter and everyone’s trying
whatever it is, to figure it out

i can see me too, when she breaks the news
“i regret to inform you” but i already knew
grim curiosity, we’re all wondering who
and the world liquifies when she says it’s you

silence, something switches, day to night
last night you were found dead, abandoned
and i’m saying no god, it can’t be right
cause he would have called me beforehand
i’m always gonna be so grateful he called me beforehand. i hope he knows he can still call anytime.
Cassandra Nov 15
How long
Can one wait
For life to begin?
For miracles to occur,
for love to unwrap
and for strength come.

How long
Have you
Already waited?
with your heart in your palm,
open to the world.
with the twinkle in your eye,
staring down at the earth.
with your voice quieted to a whisper,
with your anomalies hidden in a shameful corner.
For the world
to be kinder, for its touch
to be softer.
riri Nov 13
i always thought twenty would be an age of maturity
the age of "put-togetherness"
the age of emotional regulation

as i near the age of twenty now,
all i can do is sit back and laugh
how far i still have to go

i still feel like the same little girl who picked at every physical imperfection in front of a mirror
i still get the same sour feeling in my chest when someone criticizes me, i never got better at not caring
i still tap my foot repeatedly as anxiety pulses through my veins in a room full of people

nearing the age of twenty,
i realize i am still consumed by the anxiety i always wished would magically fade with age
mental illness isn't a phase, yet it's something i have to deal with for the rest of my life
still trying
Sora Nov 12
You compel yourself to rise at the break of dawn,
yearning for a day
wrought with promise,
aspiring to evolve
into a finer version of yourself.
After a few gentle reassurances,
you become acutely aware of an amiable
yet slightly alien sensation—Happiness.
You relish this ephemeral joy,
cognizant of its fleeting nature.
However,
the instant you pass through
those well-trodden portals,
you seamlessly metamorphose into that polished,
ostentatious facade
that society demands.
You squander invaluable energy upon others,
along with your dwindling patience.
At day’s end, you find yourself utterly spent,
clutching the scant remnants of vitality
you valiantly preserved.
As you extinguish the lights,
you descend into a vast abyss of darkness,
relishing fleeting tranquility,
only to swiftly confront the bitter truth
of your exhaustion—
exhausted
from being fractured,
deceived,
belittled,
and loathed;
wearied of existence itself.
Gradually,
you retreat into the recesses of your mind
where you have lingered endlessly,
surveying the dimly lit room
as each object
dissolves into nothing more than shadows.
Then, silence envelops the world,
Poised
for your next act.
The solitary sound that emerges
is not of this earthly realm;
it is a voice—
one that might be deemed
Otherworldly,
insidious,
ghostly,
and extraordinarily compelling,
twisting tender words of comfort
into nefarious fabrications
aimed at your undoing,
and yet you embrace them,
soon feeling the anguish
of fresh wounds
as the warm crimson rivulets trace your skin.
Your body, finally ceasing its tremors from indignation,
becomes inundated with remorse.
You adorn yourself in fabric to conceal your suffering,
and with every sharp sting that the cloth inflicts,
you reproach yourself for your capitulation.
Your eyes brim with tears
that your weakened spirit cannot shed,
as you ensconce yourself within your sheets,
ensnared in the turmoil
of overthought and
relentless regret.
You surrender to slumber,
devoid of dreams or visions,
merely enveloped in whispering darkness—
another fleeting experience you cherish,
knowing you shall awaken anew,
resurrected with courage,
fully aware that this cycle
shall perpetuate with
relentless,
cold efficiency,
ad infinitum.
AWURAA Nov 11
They come to me, streaming in drop by drop,
so I collect them all, trying to keep them whole,
comforting them with words I wish to hear,

Lacing my words with encouragement,
so others may see the best in me,
but what they see is a character of fictioniality,
a mask woven from gentle phrases,
stitched with threads of borrowed grace.

Yet beneath, a voice still echoes, softly,
of the solace I chase.

The breath of the almighty whispers, telling me to hold on,
giving me more to believe in.

I offer words like fragile offerings,
each a delicate vessel, wondering,
do they bear my truth or simply reflect my hopes?

In this intricate dance,
I stitch together fragments of dreams and fears,
crafting a tapestry that reveals and conceals
a symphony of whispered encouragement,
yet beneath it all, a quiet yearning lingers,
seeking the voice that truly understands.

The breath of the divine fills the spaces in between,
urging me onward, promising that even in silence,
I am profoundly heard.
Written by Asher & AWURAA.
I would like to say a big thank you to @Asher who gave me the first opportunity to work with a talented poet.
Inspired by the words of William Wordsworth.
Cassandra Nov 11
I made a list of the things I am afraid of.
On number three, I wrote a word, "Tomorrow".

Tomorrow comes second, first comes today.
Even light, which is the fastest thing we know of,
Cannot make it fast enough to skip today
and make it straight to tomorrow.

Tomorrow is clever.
Tomorrow is truly tricky.
Every today I live,
There's a new tomorrow waiting for me.
"Oh the agony."
"I don't know what the new tomorrow will bring for me."

Everybody's tomorrow's a different tale
And tomorrow shows up every day without fail.

A tomorrow's always there,
A tomorrow always comes,
Until it does not one day.
Maybe then I'd wished
That I'd lived today.
Cassandra Nov 10
I brushed off the old dust,
I let in the bright morning sun.
I pierced into the deep solar glare,
I undid the senile spurn.

I tied my scrawny hair back,
I felt the wet leaves of the fern.

My eyelids shut closed as I took in,
the stale smell of mouldy wood and of rusted tin.
I put together compartments of paper boxes,
I made my way around the barren room,
I felt the air brush past my skin
I opened the door and I let the world quietly step in.
zara Nov 8
But
My mind has felt different recently.
It's not normal,
compared to people my age.
I shouldn't be this way.
I care about things my friends don't,
but they think they're empathetic.

They ignore the mssages
written on clothing tags,
but I'm wise enough not
to buy those clothes.

I have overwhelming dread
over my future and what to become.
But people say to relax
and let life take its course.
If I let life take me places,
it would take me to a mortuary.

She gives me mixed feelings.
a week ago, I thought no one wanted me alive,
but now she's able to look me in the eye.
I've noticed she laughs with me now.

Is it me or are people just being fake?
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