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Francie Lynch Jan 2019
I took the pen with me,
After signing the parlor guest book,
At the Home.

You might think of forgiving me,
Thinking as good people do,
I took it as a memorial sticking point;
But I didn't know the deceased.

I was acting as a devout escort,
To be seen as doing the right thing.
Perception, you've been told,
Is everything.

So, I made sure no one saw me
Take the pen.

For extra insurance,
To project my semblance,
Following the eulogies,
I attended the luncheon,
And ate salmon sandwiches,
And carrot sticks.
On leaving, I grasped the hands:
Sorry for your troubles;
Came home and used that pen,
To create this.
The End.
V Jan 2019
Don't be at war with your reflection in the mirror,
A piece of glass cannot see how divine the spirit can be.
<3
Carolina Jan 2019
Neighborhood baby
selling her lie
of being bold and happy
most of the time.
Fed up of daydreaming
about a better life.
Pleasing everyone else
is the sickness of pride.
***** princess, lazy lover
who's deepest side
is a madness of beauty
that'll get you flying up high.
But careful who you're talking to
when she's mad, heart dried,
cause she's soft as a petal
and sharp, thorn alike.
kyla marie Jan 2019
the early bird gets the worm, right?
wrong.

the early bird inches her way out of her nest in the morning, longing to stay snuggled up next to her lover.

the early bird leaves early so she can afford the rent on her nest that is falling apart.
the early bird goes to work and gets an early start on her day, just to come back home to an empty nest and sleep for three more hours.

the early bird takes long and scolding hot baths to ease her aching joints and to participate in some “self care”, even though it never really works.
the early bird stares at herself in the reflection of the faucet and dissociates.

the early bird takes some sleeping pills and tries to fall asleep at a reasonable time, so she can be an early riser the next day, too.
the early bird tosses and turns.

the early bird thinks about the dishes that are not  done.

the clothes are not washed.

lunch isn’t made for tomorrow.

the early bird has three tests this week in college and hasn’t studied for a single one.

the early bird hasn’t had *** in a week.

the early bird feels unnoticed.

the early bird feels like she is not enough.

the early bird feels like she will never be enough.
this is the first poem I have been compelled to write after about 5 years of not writing.
I wrote this in my bathtub.
shila n Jan 2019
Empty
She hears nothing
She sees nothing
Just a very dark place

Come here
The voice calls
It's happiness
She flies toward it, with light feelings, while smiling but-

Come here
Another voice calls
It's loneliness
She stops midway
"I'll be right back", she tells happiness
She goes to loneliness with wide arms opened
She was nearly embraced loneliness when

Come here
She hears another voice calling her
It's sadness
She stops.
"Sadness needs me", she whispers to loneliness
And she steps towards sadness
Loneliness tries to hold on her, but she didn't see it

Can you come here?
One more voice calls
She stops again, looking for the voice
It's confusion
She becomes baffled
She wonders whether sadness will be fine
If she goes to confusion now

No, don't!
Come here instead!
One more voice calls!
She turns and look at anger.
She looks at confusion and then anger
What is she supposed to do now?

Come here!
Come here!
Come here!
Come here!
Come here!
Come here!

Emptiness, happiness, loneliness, sadness, confusion, and anger call her
At the same time
Simultaneously
She keeps running and running
In circle
Meets no end
Everytime she reaches the borderline, she runs towards different directions
She keeps running

And she hears one more voice

You don't belong anywhere
Finally, frustration says it
She fell down in despair

Come here
She feels cold fingers around her shoulders
She looks up
There stands the death
Giving her the dullest stares
And creepiest smile
My psychiatrist diagnosed me from borderline personality disorder (BPD), and I've always have thought it was bipolar disorder. She explained to me that these both disorders are totally different.
V Jan 2019
As I was
f
a
l
l
I
n
g


a
p
a
r
t,
I came together
To the person
I had to become.
:)
Sombro Jan 2019
There's a tolling depth to me,
A rebounding chasm
Space a hopeful quantity
Tuned instruments ignore

Where broken column qualities
Lie naked in the unkempt stubble
Undisturbed, those civilised peaks
Mountains for heavens bored smooth by soft hands

Champing teeth abound the wind,
Old sounds of dun legs taking flight
And leaving the knotted trees
That died in the clotted soil

Be warned, beasts have left this barren
Sharp corners have been smoothed for
Once this land was deep and green
And gushed with florid indecencies

Now its depth tolls
With the charter of the wind
Scattering what few collected rocks remain
As bricks for walls built far beyond.
Rakib Jan 2019
Swaying from light to tight
My mind frames friendships might
Swept down then by a swift tide
Stability to chaos arise

The uncanny stress of being devoid
Falling in love, Freudian sing
Hallowed in the morn
****** in the night
Disproportion of both choroid

My heart clutched in rhythm of taste
Wrinkling softly, eight fold distrait
Show me love, watch it break
Such is the tale of my trouble's trait
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