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cypress Nov 2020
my work sprouts from the simplest indeterminate sense




                                               depicting more than verge death organisms


         freshly ground expectations are composted alongside considered
                                                                ­                                          traditions


          ­                       allowing our vigorous grip of normalcy to disperse


    changing infancy energy into visceral landscapes of amplified color




                                                       ­                                       a falling into rest





where we can blossom into our own embodied environments
An artist statement
Pranav Nov 2020
Normalcy is a strange word.
No definition is certain and
allowed to be called “normal”.
Differs in different lands.
And never asks for
Hate to come in its absence.
And no-one can seem to fulfil it.
Normalcy seems like a dream far away,
in a distant land that is strange.
Sometimes,
I wonder if anyone is normal.
If not,
Normalcy is perfection.
We strive for it.
And we practice diligently.
And fail to achieve it wholly.
Yet we find normalcy
that is perfection partially.
Mikaela L Oct 2020
Nothing,
Nothing compares...
To the sight of a cold corpse,
Dry tulips atop a lustered rectangle,
A box for the truth,
A cell for the dead,
The sound of bells from a nearby wedding,
The cries of babies on tired arms,
The smell of a dusty church,
Burning in the middle of a December afternoon.

I hold a rosary,
More for the living than for the dead,
For the living are often dead,
And the dead are often living,
Maybe we'll meet someday,
Say your last goodbye,
It's time to go,
Bury the dead,
Go on with the living,
Hide the truth under the soil,
But know that it will grow again,
You'll see it in fresh cut tulips,
The white sun will remind you,
The breeze will whisper my name,
Syllable by syllable,
My name will haunt you.
My identity has been questioned countless times, and, while I try to be strong and go on with my life, I always end up listening to critics who seem to know what I should be like. In this poem, I speak of the death of my identity and its rebirth. It lives without me...
Marmaelady May 2020
Normalcy doesn’t sound normal these days
Rest doesn’t sound restful these days
Hope doesn’t sound hopeful these days
And I wish they did anyway

I wish writing, making art, learning an instrument, cooking,
playing games, short naps, or social media
Was enough to make us forget about
Restless civilizations
These days
Heartless politicians
These days
Senseless discrimination
These days
The failures of the system
These days

I sit with my heart on my hand
These days
Comprehending nothing at all
These days
While chaos all around us ensues
These days
And months seem to go by as quickly as they can
Yet nothing seems to change
Hunger is still hunger
Sick is still sick
Desperation is still desperation
These days

And yet we’ve just realized
These days
How much we valued other days
And there’s no longer any returning to
Those days
Cause if it took us a pandemic to realize
How much we’ve failed those who needed us the most
On days
We’ve looked past reality
Just to see what we wanted to see
And believe what we wanted to believe in
That we chose right
That we’d never be able to fear going out
Since we’ve kept ourselves into our social bubbles
That kept us from seeing
That everyone else had always been suffering
Before these days
I’d rather have
These days

So what is normalcy?
What is rest?
What is hope
To those who couldn’t afford to have those in the first place?

But I’d like to think that we haven’t completely forgotten and lost
Those days
I’d like to think there will be better days
Where we’ll finally be able to settle down all our differences
And we’ll choose right
And we’ll see that days
Are not just days
But everyday struggles for many to live
In a world that hates living so much

So don't just wish these days
Instead treasure these days
And live these days
And love these days
And help these days
So that others may be able to live their days too
And not just you
Today
(Another spoken word poem I rushed to submit)

Let's be there for each other, and let's get through this together.
Squearlie Merlie Apr 2020
I've had these dreams each night
I can't seem to remember names. Just bodies.
Faces Evade me
Action
Movement
Conversation
Volume
Touch
All my senses engaged to the inertia, the energy, the power-
Each night I come back to this palace.
The Watering Hole
of a society who's waking life has been forced into sleep
People destined to find one another
Hear one another
See one another
Feel one another
We are all but dreams to eachother.
Wishing to wake up to a reailty that for the first time
is sweeter than dreams.
Jason Mar 2020
Defense and apprehension keeps me
Should i mention this immense, ascending feeling reaping me?
The reeling out of sight
bright, shining at the sight if you.
You shine for me
You shine on me
I'd be hardly known, uneasily and seemingly roam, not free form from room to room, in and out an unavoidable
unavailable vacancy of gloom.
In bloom, my flowering budless, aweless, awfully lawful, peer-free, though id cease to be not flawless.
I want nothing more than this.
God i want you
I need you to feel what i have when i see you see me feeling you. I love you.
lua Mar 2020
Coffee cups and midnight snacks
The gentle breeze as the people pass
The sunset against the windows of a car
Observing life from afar

Diamond glints on cracked road
The embroidered patch that I sewed
On my bag that rests on the empty chair
It says "I don't mind, I don't care"

Life goes on as it does
As lonely as it may seem
The flowers will bloom, the bees will buzz
I'll live life peacefully.
Capriccio Dec 2019
So you say PINK is the color of BLUE
Blue meaning me and You
Blood and tears sweat sadness from fears
I am full
Yet we are empty
Maybe it's just me

I'm a pink period monster
Who death had begun her

Death of Innocence
'Death of Silence
Death of Normalcy

Because between you and me
We can be free
PINK, red
Ice BLUE to undead
Justin Aptaker Aug 2019
go to school
obey authority
follow tradition
join society

go to church
worship god
get married
get a job

pay rent
be responsible
have children
stay faithful

work harder
be productive
rest and silence
are ******, seductive

wear clothes
don’t offend
don’t care
just pretend

act normal
stand in line
grow old
now you die
Written ca. 2016
Rianna Jul 2019
If I were blessed with normalcy,
I would not value the flutter
Of my heart, as it spies
A surprise greeting
A friendly smile.
No palpitations,
Involuntary twitches.
It throws back .
A friendlier smile,
A lively chat.
Without vacant stammers,
Or painful grins,
Joy carefree,
Like a castaway wave,
Casually recedes
Off a glimmering ocean.
And when the encounter repeats itself
I will bear no shame,
Or race away in reluctant haste,
The grand, nail biting retreat,
Unable to speak.


I would barely brace,
As the lunch bell rings,
And smoothen the grin on my dimpled cheek.
Smoother than the slip,
Of a phone into my pocket.
Cause when I zip down the hall
And seek,
strange familiar faces,
For the fun of it,
Desperate typing,
Has no place.
There’s no need to sell pathos
To a pair of kind eyes,
Then lunge in for an awkward sip
Of juicebox compassion.
A daily fix.
Instead I’ll wait
A grand, weighty two minutes
And practise compassion,
Saving places,
In a line too long,
before they come
shoulder slapping, rag-tagging
Idiosyncrasies.
Nonsense and hilarity,
encircles me.

As I catch myself swirling,
I struggle to be freed,
From the dazzling sway,
Of this,
Cruel, cruel daydream.

With a hollow, dry cackle,
I'll concede,
"Oh, If I were blessed with normalcy!"

Won't that be,
Just funny.
Thanks for reading my work. Feedback is always appreciated.
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