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L Jul 2018
I'm excited
and anxious
and indecisive

I can't wait
but wish it would
take some more time

more time
to figure things out
more time
to learn
about myself
and life

but I can't wait
to start over
can't wait
to explore the world
can't wait
to find out
what future
has planned for me
thoughts of a teenage girls who can’t decide if she’s happy or not that time flies by so fast
Jean Jul 2018
My heart is on fire
My eyes admire
They called it dire
And I must admit, this plan has backfired

For my body has tired
And I am forced retire
To the fact that I cannot be a liar

For I am sick
Love sick for you
Amanda Kay Burke Jul 2018
I am so close I can reach out and touch you
But I do not think I could make you stay
If you wanted me you would be
With me longer than just one day

I saw the way you looked at me
You were happy to see me again
Everything you did reminded me
Why I haven't looked at other men

Maybe this is temporary
Soon we won't have to be apart
Hope you plan on coming back to me
Instead of wasting my time and heart
Possibly the only thing more valuable than time is love
forestfaith Jul 2018
Called holy, all the time.
Too kind, that's my tag I wear sometimes.
More open is my friend's request.
More curses is what they want to get.

Trying to fit in, used to be my goal.
Now that left me cold.

Holding on to Rocky seas.
Trying to find ground on nothing.

Holding tight to my own hands, I used to do.
But, now I know that makes me a fool.

Silence was my armour.
Voice, was their trigger.
I used to think that way.
And maybe I still do.

My voice, triggers them to shoot me so that others don't have to be shot.
Silence was when they themselves are shot and need comfort when they know it isn't "their" fault.
When silence was their time, their space to finally unravel the war inside their minds.

Voice and silence.
When hand in hand.
Works well with his plan.
God's plan! His plan! Fault like putting the blame always on something else, someone else and sometimes we have to like really be brave and admit it's our fault, the problem is in us. Then we work towards it. And get better.  Just have to know when to speak and when to be silent.
I can't make any plans
Time is not in my hands
I lost another one
That is a year done

Looking at eighteen
Feels like a crime scene
Made it nineteen
Thanks to caffeine

But mainly my friends
They pushed me to seek amends
My greatest committee
That never gave me pity

I can't make plans
Time is in no man’s hands
Neither mine nor yours
Now it's time to open my new door
forestfaith Jun 2018
A heart shaped harp.
Sits in the room.
Mirrors displaying each side of the harp, on each side of the heart.
The darkness fell on one side.
The light on the other.
As my heartstrings sowed hands of silk and thorns.
As I play the harp in the quiet room,
The light formed flowers,
The darkness formed thorns.
But all in all.
It made me.
It all adds up to a perfect plan.
To a beautiful flower it blooms.
So the darkness and pain played a part and so did the gloom.
All happens for a reason! All played a part and it's okay if you are messed up! God still loves you! And he is here to help!
DP Younginger Jun 2018
Twiddling thumbs, stiff with a wobbly fidget,

A slight tick in the present thought of the pending arrival,

A silent yawn and flare of the nostrils, day after day,

A tickle, ricocheting like twinkling stars in the black skyline,

Descending from the kneecap and shivering south like freezing raindrops falling single file down a window,

You sit; I am the passerby,

I smile; You bat an eyelash,

Wondering if I will stay constant in my path or stop to smell the floral design; a future sunk into the bud,

A past with a blooming, yet stunted growth,

A yearning to be in a field with your flower, twisting together a ladder for the bumblebee,

Awakened with the sting of tomorrow and drooling in the waiting, for the patient to cough,

I will clutch my breath until I am called into your office.
A poem about not being able to act on your future in the present moment. Feeling stuck in the now.
Colm Jun 2018
To hold her for hours
And hours on end

The desire of he
Who contends with discomfort
And fights for her future
Be it not his own

These are the paths which only he knows
Lonely though they may ever be
He walks
Steadily into the good night

A light
Alone

Thank God
My sin is my own
You'll know that a man knows how to love, when he thinks of a future that could go beyond him.
Destiny awaits all.
Each one.
Whomever enters
Through life's sacred gates,
Has an appointment
With destiny.
She'll not be hindered
Or prevented by anyone.
May all find their way safely
To that sacred path,
Designed especially for them.
As age is realized, destiny becomes more of a factor
Affliction with mental illness beasts sans,
     depression, panic/ anxiety
     obsessive compulsive disorder
     didst for most of my lix splitting life zap

psychological state plagued with
     sweaty palms, irritable
     bowel syndrome, mind chatter
     constantly doth yip and yap,

whereby extensive stretches of time
     bore cerebral torture
     housing invisible
     mailer daemon nemesis wrap

ping entire corporeal to suicidal ideations
     to escape once and for all asphyxiating,
     gamesomely hectoring imps,
     nauseating non-apparent trap

regularly pitching emotional
     welfare to and fro,
     hither and yon, thence
     lashing out at self - summarized

     with the non medical term,
     yet descriptive word "snap"
though a half dozen medications
     (listed as follows) alleviate

     sensation akin to feeling
     besieged, and pugilistic-ally rapped,
     yet (Quetiapine tab 300mg,
     Clomipramine cap 50mg,

     Fluoxetine cap 40mg,
     Fluoxetine cap 20mg,
     Busipirone tab 15mg,
     and Clonozepam tab 0.5mg)
     prior to prescriptive palliatives,

     aye experienced
     debilitating quality of life, thus I accept
     function-able, manageable
     unfortunate side effects such,

     viz thinning hair,
     necessity to take daily nap
abdominal weight gain, where love handles
     replaced wash board stomach, adipose tissue
     not quite spilling o'er me lap

so in summary burden of proof
     no longer tethers Sisyphean rolling rocks
interestingly enough this figurative lid locks
akin to sealing schizoid "Pandora box).
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