Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
m h John Sep 9
i count how many
days go by
by counting the number of stars
falling out of the nights sky
i do this because
i like to believe
that shooting stars
are fallen angels
and that maybe one day
the burning star i wish upon
will be yours
Ian Johan-Gomez Mar 2016
I feel a grim satisfaction as mud splatters on my white shoes.
What an appropriate metaphor for early adulthood.

My problems are not my own.
The sociological imagination has never
seemed so applicable.
We’ve all been dosed up
On dashes of passion,
splashes of intelligence
and just enough anxiety and depression
to approach existential nihilism and
We’re fed these lies of individuality but
We Know
we are only products of our youth and culture,
ones of many in the long production line
We claim
We are Art,
but We Feel
we’re just generated from streams of code,
prepared to fight to the death for
some algorithm that doesn’t even matter
And so I protest
I can’t just be a number
I am flesh and blood,
my knees are buckling under the
weight of this artificial perfection.
I’m not just a number,
My eyes are staring at the
the marks that
determine my worth, knowing
success is my only option
i am not just a number
My sanity is sinking and
drowning and
constantly fighting to stay afloat
But I am not just a number. -
My mind tells me I’m not making it--
How are these other people making it?
I’m determining my worth
on sets of standards that are as worthy as dust
And it is with these standards i am told
I am just a number.

I feel like
I can no longer speak
because I’ve been
at the top of my lungs

But my voice
is too quiet
And the world
is too loud.

I’m so tired of trying to be heard.
Yet these words still sound better
when I scream them,
not just scrawl them down
on scraps of paper.

for someone so happy
I'm so very angry.
for someone so happy
I'm so very sad.
Jon Thenes Aug 15
[Young Male Voice....inebriated, perhaps]
Slit of the tongue Frush guppy !
I sped to you today
To treat you to a working meal and...
You’re not there !
You remained a way yonder
Sense-able to my.... me
but too.... mirage n’ fragrant for any talk
this side of miz..mizcomunication
Stay thus sway !
I’ve decided
Is decried
Please...and I’ll love you
as just what I can imagine you to be, yeah...see you tomorrow maybe
Agunda! AGUNGDA !
- voice out man
Beauty for me was measured by numbers and shade. The shade of my skin. The number on the scale, the size tag on the shirt, the number of compliments and the number of likes. Social status was defined by the number of followers. And I myself defined through the eyes of others and opinions. But beauty was so much more. It wasn’t all about being beautiful. It is about the words you speak. It is about what you read and watch. It is the cerebral stimulating conversations you hold. It is the way you burn heart with brilliance and engulf heart with compassion. It is the sweetness in your laughter and the humor in your quirkiness. It is the things you stand up for and the things you love. It is the way you are random and weird. It is the way you sow your own garden and give flowers to yourself and others. It is the way you lose yourself in your passions and the way you’re so driven to your goals. It’s all the intricacies of your heart, mind and soul. For there is beauty in all the little things that made you, you. Most of all there is beauty in the way you see, love and care for yourself, because all along you never needed to convince anyone or fit in to the words written to be beautiful. And accepting yourself for the person you are is the most empowering and beautiful thing you can do.
Tsunami Jul 11
My brain doesn’t understand how to get from
Point A to Point B
Without hitting Z, F, G, P
A symbiotic drum
Beating to our heartbeats

My mind doesn’t know
How to count from one to ten
Without bringing twelve and ninety
To bubble up in between
It is a potion gone wrong in all honesty

I don’t go from being friends to acquaintances
Its all or nothing
Love and hate
Lust and disgust
There is no middle ground

Thats the problem.
i dont know how to be normal
Ambika Jois Jun 16
There are some
Who age too fast
To keep up
With the trend

There are some
Who say age
is nothing
But numbers

There are some
Who need numbers
To help them
Feel their worth

There are some
Whose numbers
Don't add up
Till the end

There are some
Then there are others...

There are some
Who like to wander
With thoughts
Loose in their minds

There are some
Who spend their lives
Thinking 'bout feelings
Of all kinds

There are some
Who believe that
It's too late to
Trust your heart

There are some
Who'll stand in your way
When they know
You'll make it safe

There are some
Then there are others...

There will always be
The one

There are some
Then there are others...
And there will always be
The one.
Was feeling a little blue a few days ago. Felt like it was too late to reach for my dreams. Felt like I was stuck in the same pickle for all my life. Someone told me it'll be told late. Heck, everyone has told me that. They told me it's too late to pursue to my dreams after a certain age. Something tells me if I'm stuck in this same pickle for all these years, I must still have a chance. If pickles last that long and time doesn't stop for that, then why would there be a limit for my possibilities?
Ylzm May 19
constantly confessing sins
      never knowing forgiveness
like a man with a book
      but unable to read
or a fool hoarding gold
      and dying from hunger

enslaved to the pride of life
       the measure of men
of winning and success
      compelled to boast
the works of one's arms
      flaunting wit, or foolishness

but oblivious to the exposure
      of their nakedness and vulgarity
of pain and confusion
      of faith in their strength and wit
of the Mark of Man
      on their arms and foreheads

believing by strength of will
      what is given and not by works
the soul betraying the flesh
      in double mindedness and hypocrisy
seduced by free will
      but enslaved to another's will

but the further apart,
      the more fervent
to execute the command
      to impose commands
on their neighbours
       when the only command is love

by the measure they measure
      they are measured
for they have become
      the enemy they condemned
and judgement is just
      for evil judges evil
life is an interlude
when the world began
I was doing dreamily
sent out to a foreign land
with a vague recollection
of the pleasant paradise
I came from

how the creation seems so real, pacing around the garden
it’s always a revolution, I said, I can dig that
bronze trees before an azure darkening sky
down the cool breeze’s path, never held back your thoughts, heavenly shock
grabbing all the meaning, whatever I can come across

year already asked for an ending, gave it all my hopes, tell does it give a pleasant thrill
pictures were nice, the highway desert isn’t as scorching
absurder yes, fitting a preference for divine and outlandish

waited long enough
it’s a good time to leave
not that it was for nothing

travel before the sun gets here
make it bright and far as my
midnight music

games are fun when there’s a warning
about how much it can cost ya

numbers of stars, the more
that’s the hope
out there
somewhere too

I want an interlude that’s graceful, great as designed, a strange but heavenly dream
it’s my interlude
Sketcher Apr 11
On our 77th day together, that day is supposedly the best day to start a job.
On our 70th day together, the AMC Marvel Marathon is in progress.
On our 63rd day together, you are back from Paris and we are finishing up our first week of school together since your return.
Tomorrow will be our 56th day together.
49 days after we got together was the last time I saw you.
42 days after we got together, my exchange student left.
35 days after we got together was the first time I told you I got kicked out of my house.
28 days after we got together, my sister crafted a heart for you made of thread and nails.
21 days after we got together was the first time we talked about living together.
14 days after we got together, the first **** talk about us started.
7 days after we got together, you went to the creepy dentist.
We got together on Valentines Day:
❤️ February 14th ❤️
7 is our favorite number. Today is the 7th day of poems, so here are numbers that go into 7, and multiples of 7. uwu
Sasha Raven Mar 19
With every day, your Sundown, maybe is the last,
your life story will end, one day, in which you cast ...
Everything has its uprising and it is so sad — downfall,
sometimes you feel so tall, then again so small ...
With seven hundred and seventy-seven ways I love,
my angel, I send prayers for you, to the God above ...
With your deeds you will be closer to h**l or to heaven,
her sacred number is seven hundred and seventy-seven ...
She is always talking about that — her sacred number,
I would love to listen, all the time, but I have to slumber ...
But, before I fall into asleep, give me your — the sweetest kiss,
just want to be dreaming my dreams with blessing — bliss ...
Next page