Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
1.Wake up and drag yourself out of your comfort.
2. Put on your persona of the day, channel what you lack until it feels real.
3. Force yourself to speak, you wouldn't want to be left alone.
4. Crawl back into your comfort and waste away in your room.
5. Try to sleep, block out the thoughts, plead with the voices for a moment of silence.
6. Repeat.
Just get through it.
Chase Pamplin Jul 2020
What’s the monthly expense on mental health? About three break downs, a bunch smiles turned into frowns. I’ve mastered the technique of stealth an unwanted characteristic of ones self. Emotions I don’t speak of to much, I’m in my mind a million times picturing how moments should be to much, these thoughts are brewing like a potion, so cheers! bottoms up. I have a countless amount of fears, I dare not show my tears, I’ve been roaming around for years searching for bars just to get the signal clear. I hope you hear me! I’ve knocked a hole in the wall just so you can feel me. A written persona of my own truth just so I can heal not only me but my surroundings.

John McCafferty Jul 2020
This femme fatale
A girl that captures
She be bright and skin tight
Shiny white with youth implied
Conversing in quirky loops
As we jump through her hoops
Slowly showing error codes
Could it be the alcohol
Clap snap of bear traps
Broken from within
Signs of white lines that fracture
Reactions to vast echoes of her past
Trauma tinged before the dawn
Soft but informed
A hardened persona with claws
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Poetic T Jun 2020
In this place where we lived there were
no doors, every room had a mirror.
            A reflection of what was, is.

And each was unique to the observation
that was seen beyond the tinted
                                            frame of creation.

                  Some places were, could be,
not a complete reflection of what was
contorted and beyond the conciseness
                                           of tangibility.

For some places were either hairline fractured,
on purpose or by mistake, most of these had
                                                                ­ warnings.
                         "REALITY DERUTCARF RETNE TON OD,

All who entered these were doing so at there
                                         own health and life..

Some did it for the buzz,  some weren't lucky..
         The Mirror Collective,
that's a posh word for reflective reconstitutes.

Ladies and gents that fixed the flaws,
                         fragmented reflections that
could lead to either two version of reality..

An obituary of an abattoir,  
where the breaks even though hairline
were like papercuts on the flesh.
                   And where they stood is where
the pieces collected upon each other..

Some rooms were purposely fractured,
           for those who broke the rules
were kept in shard rooms..
     These were places where others of less
reputable reflections were kept.

                             Solitary confinement,
there was just a jagged piece of mirror left,
enough space for a paper plate to be left.
Once there sentence was completed  
           The mirror collective would be called
to reconstitute the whole mirror..

If they were of sound constitution, not mad...
Then they were reintegrated in to the society..
                                  What they didn't realise is
the lights of different frequencies
were purposely shone within there room.
            Nearly all were unseen to the eye,
but were used to program them,
sublimely to have a more compatible persona.  

Me I wants like those others, my reflection was
                  always polished. I would enter
a reflection and be the person who'd stepped
through a moment before.

We were a society mirrored on the refection
that everything was meant to be perfect.

         But what we didn't realise that
every refection is distorted no matter how
                              perfect we think it is.

And the perfection we looked upon,
             was cracked beyond our contemplation.
We were just slaves to the mirror of our own
                                                                ­              egos..

But what ever you do don't look at the refection
staring behind you,
                        you looked....

                                                     ­          I'm sorry.....
Samuel Hoffmann Jun 2020
Please put me down.
and yes I know I’m covered with fur
and yes I know I meow
and you say I’m cute
because I am...
Please put me down.

You can brush me
and stroke me
do not pull, push, or poke me.
Feed me food right now.
Please put me down.

If YOU do not like something YOU walk away;
I’ve ran to every corner
under every bed
yet you still find a way

so I scratch you
or bite you
rip and ruin your rug.
Day after day, hug after hug.

Mom says if I do it again
she’ll go to adoption
give me away
—that’d be the day.
Please put me down.
T Inkpoem May 2020
This is my poetry persona
I don't own her
She's law unto herself
Meysa May 2020
my mother's trust issues are leaking into my chest
my father's tendency to forfeit humans for his solidarity
I feel my persona bending to accommodate them
- identity is an oh-so fragile topic
day tripper Apr 2020
funny how time
changes ones persona
snatches time
just to unfold facades
were warned about
mask of destructions
face upfront of lies and
betrayal, only time will
tell when will be its
destruction, a massive explosion
a change for good or for worse
pick which bomb you're
willing to catch
enough to heal you or burn you
till death crawls upon you
like a friend whose trust covered you
like silk that slides through
your insides and cut you
straight out to your guts
ahhh, you'll bleed, silently
painful, at least its here
to cover the wounds your
are afraid to show,
taking its slow
riddance to bid
goodbye, to its familiar
comfort, it took mine
in an instant
swift, unaware
went home to find solace in the chaos
just to find out chaos was worse
back in my hometown
sank too deep, drowning
barely breathing
lost control, drank too hard
hard to hear, in a city
that drowned you enough
with the perception of you are home
a bask of sympathy and a whole
lot of crap, thats right
got too fragile
a thin glass face, immerse with hope.
reconnecting seems different
in this era, an exchange of
opinions only they can
dictate, a personal space only them
can invade, a handful of decisions
only them can decide
rage, thats what got to me
but rage in the end will destroy me
peace, its not what your getting
but instead a mirror reflected of the things
that you are actually afraid of
seeking to haunt you in places
your afraid to step foot of
deep, unfiltered
perhaps a decade will
ravel a new character,
stronger and better.
Open Diary Entry 01
Next page