MBJ Pancras Jan 13

Living on paper they walk away,
Denied of leave and holiday,
Simply seeing through masks,
Waking others who walk with them,
Helplessly sinking into the marshy bog!

A philosophical concept written in the fomr of Limerick
nycteris Jan 13

All of the words I have ever said
have been said before.
The life I have led
has been done before.

Such an average life
that doesn’t deserve notice.
A paper doll cut out with a knife
aiming for precision but left with
jagged edges.

What started out as a little thing
in the womb.
A life to be born with wings
torn to shreds when first sunlight
touches the skin.

Typically cradled by a loving mother
left to fall to the ground
without a bother.
Welts and a scarred heart
on the little baby.

Once a paper doll thought to be cut evenly and equally
like the other paper dolls of its kind.
Instead of scissors, a knife given to unworthy figures
created a paper doll.
Modelling it in their own image
destined to carry on its lineage.

Inkedpgs Jan 13

He made it to my paper after having his way with my heart

Rick Jan 11

one girl pours out
her heart and soul
on paper with ink
and shares her true
emotions with the
world but doesn’t
receive as much
well deserved
recognition as the
other girl who has
only her tits to share

then there’s the
other girl who
has it
the emotion
the heart
the soul
the tits
which essentially,
has nothing at all
but with the right know how
she can rule the world

I guess,
you have to die a little
if you wanna make it fast

No disrespect to women. Just an observation I’ve been noticing on other social media sites.
Nayana Nair Jan 11

Here on this paper
my lies have no meaning,
no purpose,
no responsibilty of the aftermath,
no hearts broken.
Here, lies can be cherished
for the beauty they are.

My body pressed down by stacks of dictionaries and thesauruses
And people desperate to iron out my creases before they need to use me,
I lay flat against the map of the town, my cheek brushing a tree’s branches.
The paper town is pretty to perfection, all done down in diffused pastels
It’s long and tall, but it has zero broadness to its name-
A perfect match for me in those days leading up to a stint in rehab
But SHHHHH!! We’re aren’t allowed to talk about rehab.
The river that flows unassumingly through town traces a line across my thighs,
Covering up with its blue murk the lil red scratches that paint my skin
But SHHHHH!! We’re aren’t allowed to talk about those problems either.
The paper town is quiet and quaint on the face,
Which is good given there’s not much else to see here.
The infinities wasted here linger below like the taste of peanut butter
But anyone could see from a glance the lives frozen in one serene moment
What they can’t see, the part that’s hidden under the soil, the second layer of paper
Is that the moment is surely fading into a photograph
And slowly, slowly, slowly… the paper town is home only to pathetic paper people.
Picture perfect. Perfect picture.
I can feel my heart disintegrating with each passing day I can’t give it any meaning
And I can feel my blood boiling with each day the powers that be control me and I don’t know why
I can’t find any rhyme or reason that works for me, I can’t find a meaning to be me, or being this
I’m made of paper, blowing in the wind wherever it wants to take me
I’m a powerless slip of paper with a painted on smile fading in the brilliant sunlight I’m driving into.
I fade. I’m not even a fresh paper anymore.
But I feel doomed to be a paper forever. So I fade.

Ray Shek Jan 3

folded within brushstrokes,
paper heart.
open slowly
but never fully;
burning shadows bright
fall away—



crumpled leaves clutching
broken branches,
whisper-waver songs, what
can touch the flutter hidden

Rebecca H Dec 2017

I write,

not with a keyboard or
even an old-fashioned typewriter;
but with a quill
dipped in my blood.

What a lovely shade crimson is,
against rice-white paper.

- every word is written with my blood -
Tate Dec 2017

There you are- minding your own damn business
Getting the shit done that you need to get done
And it hits you
A fucking papercut

Funny how something so seemingly harmless and innocent
Can cause so little damage
That bothers you so fucking much
A drop of blood and days of discomfort

Something so miniscule disrupting the simplest of tasks
Stinging like screams for attention
How are you supposed to move on
And make lemonade out of what life hands you
When the juice stings your fingertips
When relief is only resolved
When the issue is acknowledged.

But it’s fine you know
Everything is fine
Plenty of people use paper everyday and live to tell the tale
So really it’s not a big deal
Get enough and your fingertips will callus over
Soft things don’t go well with hard edges
Maybe by not being soft, then you can get more shit done

But by getting hard you’ll feel less
And wouldn’t it be nice to feel all things
Knowing fully well it’s worth the pain of a goddamn paper cut

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