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Lark Oct 7
weight, gentle against the softness of
my belly; there, mandible, and the
other: ribbons of cornflower fettering
hollow-bird-bones soothing
dessicated pinions; chasing the
empty billow 'neath ribs swelling, stretching, the
emptiness of the throat; gazing down; stroking
gentle against a silken cranium; pressure
points, GV20 TH21 GB20, then
down the pinna,
watched with placid wet eyes. Fingers
weave into your scruff, curling, longing;
consumed.
G Vermeulen Oct 7
They always say a relationship isn’t always 50/50
Sometimes it’s 20/80 or 70/30
But together it will always make up for 100%
Does that ring a bell?

I don’t feel like that 100% is there anymore
Don’t even know if it has ever been there
It feels like I’m charging an old phone whose battery isn’t at full capacity any longer
As if it’s 110 vs. -10

And I’m sure you feel the same way
I’m sure you feel like I am not bringing enough to the table either
As if, together-
we are overloading the battery

Each of us thinking we are charging with the right cable
Charging it for the right amount
Or in the assumption of the battery knowing when it is full
But the battery doesn’t know
We both don’t know

It’s a constant guesswork of where we are on that scale of zero to a hundred
The odds are so small of us both picking the right amount.
And yes, it has happened before-
but that only means the odds of it happening again are getting smaller

I am terribly afraid.
I don’t want to switch batteries.
But maybe, for you-
It’d be better.
rhenee rose Oct 6
An artist skilled in silent resolve
The world is mesmerized by your majestic show
Countless watched as you conquered those conflicts
All they saw was the greatness as you grow.

An artist skilled in silent resolve
The world is fooled by your flamboyant show
Beneath the surface, scarred and beaten
Unaware of the bloodshed braved in the low

An artist skilled in silent resolve
The world should not be of worry to whatever you show
Your hidden battles, a courage untold
May we raise a glass to the healing you bestow
A poem about hidden and silent battles.
Bree Oct 3
I tear and rip at my lips, leaving them raw and bleeding
Looking bloodied and messy
No one wants to kiss a pair of lips that look like mine
I yank and tug at my nails, leaving them short and bleeding
Looking bloodied and messy
No one wants to hold a pair of hands that look like mine
I love and lose, a consistent cycle
My brains bounces back, my heart taking the fall, cracking a little more with each loss, leaving it broken and bleeding
Looking bloodied and messy
No one wants to love a heart that looks like mine
I pull and pick at all the seams throughout my body
I unravel myself and sew it back together again
I break and fix, a consistent cycle
But I take the toll, displayed by the scares throughout my body, leaving me broken and bleeding
Looking bloodied and messy
No one wants to love a person who looks like me
This could be triggering, so if it's not your *** of tea I apologize.
brynna Oct 2
i guess you didn’t mean what you said
cause it’s 7am and i’m hanging by a thread
last weekend, your bride
now nothing but a downside.
it’s been awhile! these next couple may be a little rough 😅
My grandad used to buy
Wall’s vanilla ice cream and
Robinson’s orange squash for me
When I’d visit him as a child.

For the longest time, food of any kind
Was just food and nothing
Was a treat or
Had to be earned.

Now I yearn for a lackadaisical meal,
For squash and ice cream,
For food to be food and it all to be good.
For when calculators were used in maths lessons and not to pinpoint the exact moment I overstep and
My figure becomes
Mathematically incorrect.

I want to re-learn how to exercise for fun and not punishment,
How to be happy and grateful for my fuel and nourishment.
Skinny doesn’t feel or taste very nice at all
Aimée Sep 28
Living with social anxiety,
Is like living in survival mode every single day,
Like trying to dodge loads of obstacles in a video game,
It's like standing on the edge of a cliff,
While your heart pounds out of your chest,
While you sweat & you overthink,
And you take shallow breaths.
You don't like crowded places,
Because when you're in one,
The panic attacks are overwhelming,
Self conciousness is not at all fun.
Try being around people,
While you awkwardly stand there,
And your mind is racing even though you don't want to care,
People start to notice, then people start to stare,
So then you end up stuck back in your house,
And depression takes a chair.
It's a storm in a teacup,
That goes round and round,
And you don't know what to do,
How to try and get back out.
I wrote this poem because social anxiety disorder is a condition that can be really debilitating to live with.

It causes extreme anxiety when going out to a point where you're overly self concious, and people do notice. But you don't want them to notice.

It can make you feel like you're constantly being scrutinised & judged, or seen as 'strange' People may give you ***** looks like as if you're some ******, stare, laugh or say hurtful things, and that affects the person suffering with this condition.

So they end up having an issue with going out, and being social, & then become depressed & feel they can't change, because every time they do make an effort to change or try, society can be quite cruel. That's what makes it difficult.

I think this condition needs to spoken about more, as it's not understood.
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