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Nicole Sep 27
Maybe I'm just bad at beginnings

Or even moreso terrible at endings

The only thing viable is to stop seeing

The change as doors to other realms

And see the shift in my soul

As opening windows to

The parts of me yet unknown.
I hate this topic
Because what are friends anyways
Have I ever really had one
I think so
Years ago
But when you start lying to yourself
You can't help
But lie to everybody else
And if no one knows
Who you are
It's hard to have friends
It's hard to go on
Without opening up
But opening up
Is social suicide
When opening up is admitting
That you're not the person
You say you are
Opening up is letting go
Letting go of the person you wanted to be
The person you pretended to be
Opening up means giving your friends
The picture perfect opportunity
To leave you
It's a big old "*******"
Right to their faces
It's basically saying
"I've never told you who I am"
And who knows what they'll think
I can't tell my "friends"
Because I don't want them to leave
I don't want to be alone again
But even if I tell them that
There's no reason for them to believe
I've lied to them before
I'm probably just lying again
And that's the last thing I could take
Making someone believe
That I don't think they're good enough
Not good enough for the truth
Not good enough to see
Who I really am
And in truth all my "friends"
Are so much more than good enough
They're ******* angels
And the reason they can't know
Who I really am
Is because I don't belong here
I don't belong anywhere
Certainly not with them
I'm not going through this debate now, but I have. And all but one haven't talked to me since. That's just what happens sometimes.
If I let you peek inside
The dark room called my heart,
Would you run from the faces
And blood on the walls?
Would you hide from me?
From the fear of being engulfed
By the emotional flames
which consume me
It’s a terrible experience to let people in and they give up on you. This poem is centred around that exact feeling which is something I fear very much.
Maria Etre Mar 1
In an overthinking society
the heart beats
to anxiety
the notes
to open
Eleanor Feb 22
your hand trembles

as you try to write

they need to know

your lips quiver

as you open up

the part hidden

so meticulously

from the world
Where In the world tomorrow will I be
for that Is the
question now for
But not entirely sure
to what the answer
maybe for my
life has been turned
since my darling has
gone so I'm left with
the question that of
where tomorrow In
the world will
And when opening my
eyes of to what will I see and tomorrow where In the world will I be and
more Importantly, will I know
A thought while passing the day what of tomorrow and where will I be on opening my eyes what will I see
Nathalie Jan 5
She is led to this abyss of discovery

No curiosity of hers is left unmet

Experiences of the soul emerge

Throughout daily adventures

A charm is at every turn

And the treasure in opening

Awakens her senses

Even more profoundly

She’s learned that

Distractions are only

Meant for the purpose

Of showing her the

Contrast of how it

Feels to truly live

Infused with her life source

The core of meaningful

Living and existence

Is to merge with this

Love that is at the centre

Of her…being

To know this is deliverance

From the parody of appearances

Which only serves as a comparison

To fully illustrate the duality between

The mind of the ego and the

Awareness of spirit

ᏦᏗᏖ Jan 3
I am a broken bridge.
I am lonely.
I am sad.
I was once a necessity.
Now I’m useless.
I’m a waste of space.
I’m a waste to the world.
A piece of something that is damaged.
Who makes everything look ****.
Who is a disgrace to the scenery around.
I am a broken bridge.
When people see me they only see my flaws.
They don’t see the beauty in me.
My historic features.
The many stories I hold.
They only see the broken pieces of myself.
That is something I hate the most.
I am a broken bridge, but I hold the worlds most precious tales.
I am a broken bridge.
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