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I am clearly just completely mental,
Just delusive,
Just outcast from society,
Just me;

I'm the the quiet girl
Who you don't ever hear speak,
Looking scared of the world,
Alone in every corner that she's been to.
Adam Oct 2016
a little coffee cup
meant to be filled
waits eagerly in the cupboard
with all of her will

a small cup she was
but she could do the job
just waiting for someone
to pull the door ****

she'd show them her colors
and her half heart handle
she'd be filled up with coffee
and set on the mantle

Suddenly
something illuminates the dim
lips pressed against her brim
she'd get a chill if she ever had skin

warm hands held her tight
her job was finally fulfilled
she must be quite the sight
but her owner was not to skilled
down she tumble
off the window sill
and right before everything went black
a deafening CRACK!
don't worry, I have plans for this cup
samantha page Sep 2016
stranded on a deserted island
in a sea of people
no way to escape the grasp of reality
not even within my mind

never knowing if the sea is constantly watching me
or oblivious to my every move

I know I'm constantly watching it
wanting to be immersed in belonging
but not sure how
I'm still an outcast

maybe, just maybe, there are other islanders
dispersed throughout this vast ocean
but I may never know
since I can't leave my place alive
left only with a sliver of hope
that once day two islands can come together
and live harmoniously
Stuff may happen but I don't understand.
I don't know why they talk to me,
I don't know why I'm here.
I'd rather cease to exist
Because then I won't be spoken to.
When people open their mouths to me
I wonder what they are doing.
Can't they tell I'm basically incompetent,
At conversing as they do?

And I want to love my mother.
Most of the time I'm sure I do,
But I'm not sure how to anymore.
That's what happens when you give but don't receive.
I want to flourish socially,
At least enough so I can manage to achieve something,
But it's getting harder it seems.
Sometimes I feel I can't be bothered
With just anything.
I feel kind of surreal,
Like things are happening but I'm not very there.
Sometimes I want my daydreams to all just go away,
But whilst I say that I am begging them to stay.
It makes me almost wish they could just give me antipsychotics,
And that they would help everything wrong with me that no one understands.
Even what seems expected to be understood,
It seems like no one does.
Once again, there's another way
Of how I am an outcast
Way more than once and for always.
Odonko-ba Aug 2016
Never in my life
Have I've heard
Anything good
Escape your mouth
In regards to me

I am a **** stained smear  
At the bottom of your loafers
Bird **** droppings atop
Your prized buntal brim

Your eyes for me
Holds no sparkle
Or joy or love
For that matter

Only contempt
At the thought
That I am your seed

You spit phlegm
In spite
Of my existence
A regurgitated reminder
Of you

There are no complexities
In truth of procreation

I am the
Mirrored continuance
Of your self-hate
At war with myself

In a battle
Where no one
The victor

Covered in
**** stained shame
A biblical ***
Resign
To live life
Shunned

At the bottom
Of your
Shiny
Brand
New
Shoes
Smoke and Mirrors
“But Eve… Different isn’t always a good thing.” Said Annabeth, oblivious, in a state of self-loathing,

At first, Eve was silent, basking, shocked of how this lively girl just spoke not so lively. But then…

“Different is always a good thing. In the simplicity of society, where each and every body is demanded to be the same, where everyone aspires towards fitting in with the standards shoved into their faces, and where those who stray from this very path are labeled as outcasts, change is a good thing. In fact, change, the metamorphosis of the very nature of this world, is needed. Without it, everyone would not even know that they are following the direction in which our community persuades. In fashion, you are not. Astray from the normal, you are. But do not ever think of this as a terrible thing. You, with your skinny frame, blatant display of ribs and bones, bloodshot eyes, pale skin and the miniscule amount of hair on your head, though may not be perceived as something normal, are more than what they are- those who label you as such. Do not listen to those who tell you that you are sick and do not belong in this world anymore. You are not sick because of that, but because God willed it. In all his Glory, he willed you to be sick and come to him quicker than anyone would have thought. That, my dear, makes you special. Different, a definition of it is to not be like another person, and life, my precious Anna, would completely miserable and uninteresting, you see, if there were to be a world of sameness. A personal hell, I would call it, a wormhole of insanity. So, Annabell… Different, as you and every other person on this Earth is, is actually a phenomenal thing. A phenomenal thing indeed…”
The air doesn't suffocate
Where you come from
I inhale sadness and
Exhale hope as I
Watch my dreams
Turn into carbon dioxide

The grass is greener on
Your side of the world
You water it and flowers grow
In my garden the ground is ash
And the trees have been dead for long

The sky is blue and white
On your planet called utopia
And at night stars grace you
With their celestial presence
Mine is dark and frightens even the sun

Artists write and sing and paint
And bow to this beautiful place
But if all they say is true
Maybe I am from outer space
GaryFairy Jun 2016
i've been living on the fly for a while
a dive from the sky for a sight of the vile
i tried to find out why they can cry with a smile
but they decide to lie and die in denial

they divide the ties and put eyes on trial
hiding behind a blinding pride with guile
buying is their guide to arriving in style
vying for the high life with titles they compile

and i have no way to get home

looks like i'm stuck in the muck and the muddle
out of luck where i was put just to hush in the struggle
cuffed to this crust is just enough to bust my bubble
another **** to fuss and cuss in the dust and rubble

https://soundcloud.com/gary-loftis/alien-report-3
originally title  "alien report 3", then i realized that i could't find alien report 3
Amongst vibrant flowers
In a grey field
stood I, a black bud

I lived no where
but in their shadows
the rays of light peak
as I try to get myself,
to stand upon it
to shine, to be heard
but as I try to do so
the sun goes down
It goes away
like its afraid of me
and I have nothing else
but the moon
it shares my flaws

-Kaya
Mayela May 2016
People don't see that it's a real disease,
Acting like it's all a breeze,
Telling me what I can and can't see,
Saying the fear isn't real,
And that I technically shouldn't be able to feel,
Its like reading a sign that says it's left but pointing right,
I know that I'm alright,
See i may have a problem but it's not me,
It's all the people that can't see,
That normal is a factor of weird but if you aren't the right amount your considered a queer?
It's not about the categories of A,B, and C,
But it's about understanding me.
For the people,
That have a mental disease, and for the people who undertand what that means.
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