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Nigdaw Dec 2021
so I surrounded myself with stuff
it made me feel better
worthy, an achiever
bolstering my confidence
stuff came through the post
parcels to open everyday
it was like Christmas
stuff was in shops
where people were happy
to help spend my money
it was like they were jealous
wanting to live through me
getting the stuff they wanted
but I was paying
then I began to worship stuff
exclusive stuff
one of a kind stuff
then I woke up
literally opened my eyes
and saw all this ****
how I had coveted it
no friends, no relationship
no emotion, no soul
I was effectively dead
some Egyptian mummy
preserved in a living tomb
full of all all the ****
I'd need in the afterlife
because I had no time
to appreciate it all now
so I sold my ****
to people who were like me
and I looked at them
slavering over my old ****
and I hated them
like seeing my image in a mirror
they were so pleased
carrying off their prizes
not realising it was all cursed
they never owned anything
just stuff someone would
prize from their cold dead fingers
Ryan Seth Cole Jul 2021
The sun rises over the hills touching everything turning it gold. The dew rises from the cactus as the scorpion rises from it's slumber; surely a sight to behold.

  Another day has begun another story is yet to be told. For it has been written so many times it has became a story of old. But today is no different. It is the day the world was sold.

Our protaganist a young man is not carried by the plot. He is not conflicted by his emotions. He needs no changing of his thought. He instead drives the story forward with the unraveling of his soul.

He finds himself pitted between himself and the world. Like a tree that is battered by the wind refusing to fold. He is no ordinary man, he himself has a well defined goal.

Although his expection is not certain he has yet be told that the road ahead is trecherous; it is filled with opstacles and it has many holes.

His plan is to stand his ground and by no amount of money can this man be sold.

If you find this man to be unwilling to change, there is something you must know; this man has been here before.
This man has seen with his eyes just how the story goes.

His countrymen are in turmoil held captive by the idea that a tyrant would have complete power or complete control.

They suffer from hunger for lack of rations. They trust not one another for fear that they may delivered over to the one that is in control. They our desperate for a hero

But little do they know that one of them would spark a fire that would trigger a movement that no authority on earth could slow.

Rumors of his valor would spread across the land. Surely this is he that would take the stand. All to soon would the time be that a man would rise to power. That there would be a new king in the land. One who could break the powers and fairly distrabute the wealth by the turning of his hand.

The people were filled with hope while the weak could barely stand.

His movement grew in numbers his trust would cascade in the enemies betrayal amongst themselves. Even the powerful tyrant's minions would show support for this man.

The moment was here so fast as if it were controlled opposition. Now it was time for the peoples voice to be heard. It was time they take a position.

Put they're trust in man or support the opposition.

As you would guess the choice was all so easy, so many would say. Little did they know that would be when they gave what little they had left away.

Plunged into chaos for the people had been betrayed. This man was not they're hero. He was the embodiement of they're willingness to give it all away.

A simple parable of trusting others to do what you must find in yourself to do.
Sometimes the beta has no choice but to be the alpha.
Caleb A Johnson Dec 2020
The clock on the wall is busted
I don't think I'll fix it
What causes the hours to fly?
Maybe our trespass to count it
The clock on the wall is slow
I don't think I'll speed it up
Why am I always so stressed?
It could be I am possessed
The clock on the wall has stopped
I don't think I'll start it
Why can't I not be still?
Perhaps that machinery is my ill
Is time an outdated concept?
Alaina Moore May 2020
What if I allow myself,
to be myself,
while still being happy?

What if I stop
being the bully,
and become cheerleader full time?

What happens when I just trust myself
as a default?

Well then I guess,
I'd be free.
Roadblocks? Move em.

Also title is a quote from Taking Back Control by Sparta.
Music doesn’t belong to me
It never has
I thought I’d discovered it

Well, actually I did
It’s just that others
Had gotten there before me

I wanted it to be mine
It made me feel
Alone but
Less so

So many dead musicians
So many unborn
So many much better than I

It’s ok

Because I
Discovered music
melli7 Feb 2020
Who owns grief?
The one who cries the loudest?
The one who acts the most disturbed?
     Or *******-ish?
     Or eerily withdrawn and quiet?
The one who had The Best Relationship with the dead?
     The most unresolved?
The one who feels the most guilt?
     Who feels out of place at the funeral?
     Who resents the world?
     Who is named in the will?

How many people can have a share?
Who is allowed a say on the Board of Grief?
     Are children underage?

How powerful are the grieving?
Enough to command a neighbor’s chicken soup?
     Family heirloom?
     Family entire?
     Telephone call?
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2020
Hey there,
my darling Debt,
how is it
what's yours
is not necessarily mine,
yet what's mine
is already yours?
John McCafferty Jan 2020
Did I
Provide the cause
With all my flaws
To take ownership
For these faults
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Delia Grace Jan 2020
This vessel is not yours,
But the wheel will still turn
Under your hand.
She creaks at your step
As though you may break through
Her soft Swiss boards.
She is stronger than you.
And she is still yours in part.
Do not forget that this
Is the only reason you do not
Crash below her decks.
She may turn for you,
But you are not welcome
Under the floor you let rot.
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