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Jeremy Betts Apr 17
In my beginning some thing created this purposeless mess that stands before you
Knowing my best would never be enough and still pushed me through like some kind of fuuck you
To who?
To the future me, to the tragedy I'd become ultimately?
That's a ridiculously high baggage fee
Especially for baggage bestowed upon me
If there's nothing he can't do then none of this is how it had to be
But nooooo,
He had to go and put in that god ****** fruit tree

Malia Feb 21
i have words inside of me
and i can’t say
any of them.
i don’t even know
what they are.
what happened to my voice?
it feels like it’s been a while
since i had something to say.
living underwater, living like a corpse.
i wake up and then go back to sleep
because “awake” is not “autopilot”.

why am i so tired?
I have been feeling…slow, lately. glitchy. staticky. stagnant.
justine grace Sep 2023
in the shadows of retrospection, a somber truth unfolds, draped in the shroud of honesty. it's a reality i must face; it's better off this way.

you were already broken, a fractured soul wandering through the desolate corridors of existence. yet, you made a choice, a cruel decision, to shatter me as well. it's a harsh reality to digest, for nine months seemed too brief a span to bid farewell.

but now, looking back, those nine months appear as a mirage, a deceitful illusion. the person i thought i knew, the person i fell in love with, was nothing more than a phantom masquerading as reality.

our late-night rendezvous, the echoes of our laughter lost in the void, our spontaneous road trips to escape a mundane world and the culinary escapades that once ignited our senses - all of it, mere fragments of a fabricated tale.

our weekly staycations, where the world faded into insignificance, replaced by the universe we created, now reduced to the ashes of fiction. it dawns on me that it was all too good to be true.

in this realm of disillusionment, i find solace in the brutal honesty that it's better off this way. for sometimes, darkness unveils the most profound revelations, and in this darkness, i must find my light.
it's better off this way
Malia Jul 2023
I spill over my skin
So messy, so messy
I am a puddle
You are a stone.

As you 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉
Into me,
It ripples my entire
𝒇𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝖔𝖋 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘
All while you can’t
𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓪 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰
New stuff from old poems!
Rebecca Scull Jun 2023
We were scraped hands
we were exhaustion showing through;
we were messy hair after naps all to prove
we loved how we lived
and we lived how we loved
but then - we grew up
and minutes turned to seconds,
and weeks turned to days
and soon enough there we were
grown ups, in a daze.

time moving faster than it ever did before
every day, suddenly a bore.
thinking more from the core
don't know how we ever swore
this world would never turn us stone
turn into all the things we say we won't
waiting to see if the bad would outweigh hope.

never thought being a grown up would be tough,
then we grew up and we've had enough.
Krizel Grace Apr 2022
I'm but a scattered pigment
On the wall, on the ceiling, on the floor
I stained everything I touch or hold
Neither you nor them could easily get a grasp
'Cause I'll just slip through your fingers' gap

I'm but a messy art
A masterpiece by a frustrated god.
lua Nov 2021
light brown, tanned skin
sun-bleached tips and cracked lips
rough flesh touching flesh
the boy who calls himself the sun is rugged, messy
and handsome
pearly white, dimples in his cheeks
missing a tooth, he grins at me
so bright, i can barely stand him
but something tells me that whatever happens
he'll be there.
her hair was messy in an artfully, mesmerising way
she had an accidental class that she was not aware of possessing
she would answer your questions in a way that kept you guessing
when she would speak
she would make you believe
that she created language in the time that she had free
her hair was messy in an artfully, mesmerising way
she created language in the time that she had free
n stiles carmona Jan 2021
Hindsight, hallowed be thy name.

All I've got is luggage... luggage!
My God! Turn around; find my comrades slumped under the weights strapped to their spine!
Limping, bearing, burdened by non-negotiables while the High Court of Good Karma takes collective sabbatical —
and this knapsack of shame, I've partial credit in filling.

Grey handkerchief, original sin:
one. single. suckerpunch. and my fists are raised forever,
begging for the chance to swing and prove my own strength
— supposing the opportunity never fell into my lap — I'd said "**** it," packed a

hundred grams of bushy brushed-out curls, stop-sign red
fifty grams of lips to match (uniform too, now I think about it)
fifty grams of raccoon eyelids and coloured-in brows
hundred grams of halls of mirrors, circus-attraction Alice
lose a hundred/gain a hundred/repeat til dizzy
hundred grams of ******-in stomach, eyes averted in changing rooms
wigs by the armful — that's three — nom-de-plumes thrown in gratis
(it's only a journey to the rest of my life anyway, I'll need them,
alternative being cinematic debut as Myself)
hundred performances to imaginary audiences, less-than-stellar reviews
hundred grams of overwhelming then underwhelming "on purpose"
hundred grams of laughing off any belief in potential
hundred grams of scratch-marks and verbal fountains of venom
hundred grams of giving almostneverquite as good as I got
hundred grams of group-work alone thank ****(?)
hundred biro-holes stabbed in martyred pencil cases
feral in broad daylight spoiling for a fight
kilo of aiming for 'scary' and landing on 'strange'
kilo of being third to make good company a crowd
kilo of taking sixteen years to find Her
— Shadowboxer Fiona, rhythms invisible, catharsis in art —
hundred doodled superstitious evil-eyes in the ruled margins
hundred laments over the inability to provide a better future

(removed one by one whenever I think the future's mutable)

that one glimpse of white lightning in a violet storm
one single minute's pause to look over my shoulder
scarce-to-zero progress made
endless miles to go
breathless body soaked to the bone
and this useless! *******! bag! of Everything and nothing of value!!
mansions worth of loathing yet there's nothing to lose
did I decide that because I can't change the world, I can change nothing at all
(instead throwing darts at reflections/emotional *****/kicking stray dogs as a full-time hobby)?

O clarity so saccharine that I cannot be angered by the wasted years
I take it
   off my shoulder,
the first kind action I have spared myself in time unguessable
    air it out...
and trudge on
The world's enough of an uphill climb.
written after too much time poring over allen ginsberg. ambivalent about this but the alternative is endless writers' block so this way i've at least got something to show for myself
Nermine Marei Dec 2020

What is love all about?
Is it something we trust or doubt?
Does it make you fly and touch the cloud?
Or tied and stuck to the ground?
Or is it messy? So you decide to play around..
What if we trust love and say it out loud?
But no one heard that sound.
Do we leave and forget about the love we found?
Or indulge in love and be more profound?
Is love a choice or to it we get bound?


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