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s y kalindara Sep 20
Two years since I've been here,
and I'm still pacing, and asking
the serotinal skies why you left.

I'm not one for letting things (or people) go
until I've purged the questions from my soul,
and this is me trying my best.


Copyright © 2021 by S. Y. Kalindara. All rights reserved.
I have no idea why things ended, I can only guess and overthink it, and try to move on without any closure.
perfection is a myth that we try to overcome
anytime, we can do our thing without pressure
certainty might not always be on our side, and
it may take time to gain strength, will, and courage
nevertheless, let perfectionism victim none of us; let us
grow and succeed within our own ways and time.
in this times, let this be a reminder
written 24 apr 2020
PoserPersona May 2018
Try utilizing meter and form
Stanzas that can be adored
Not necessarily rhyming
Though at least include some pacing
Prose riding rhythm
Consider a little alliteration
Free verse certainly has merit
But too often excuses ****.
Give us not what is convenient,
But that which is brilliant.

Always,
One unwilling to partake in your portentous ****
Yes, I think there is a lot of great contemporary poetry and poets, as much as any other genre, but I just feel free prose is abused not for its brilliance, but for the apparent convenience people seem to think it affords them.
Donna Jul 2017
In a mind where it
never stops chatting , I sit
in a boat and wave
Sometimes it can be annoying especially when anixety creeps in but  I'm use to it now. A nice walk outdoors and a goodnight sleep helps lots x
Amelia Crake Mar 2017
Have you ever been so
enraged that you literally
can not stop moving,
walking,
pacing           back and forth
                                                           ­           back and forth

                                  back and forth?
It's the same type of rage that makes your hands go    numb
and your  brain  leave your body.
The kind of thing that leads to other things like
bad decisions,
mistakes,
proving people wrong,
crying tears that burn like Fireball and 151.

Who knew the impossible
was achievable
in hazy fits of rage and uncertainty?

Because maybe a relapse is worth it
if it makes the *** stop boiling over,
the fumes dissipate,
the glass put itself back together.

Judgement c l o u d e d,
vision c l o u d e d,
foggy brain means you feel nothing,
hear nothing,
become nothing.

Slowly spiraling    
                               down,
                         up
getting ******    into a black hole
and it doesn't even matter
because at least in there
you can't be angry.

— The End —