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Perla 4d
A reality so sharp that it hurts. Let me be like an olm so accustomed to everything leaving, falling apart, mending itself, and tearing itself apart again that I no longer need eyes to see that which I know will inevitably happen over and over.

Submerged in cold cave water; wading hands--slow moving and no longer paddling about like a drowning man. In the darkness of environment and of loss of a kind of overwhelming sight this is all that matters. A blunted reality diluted down to what is ultimately real.
Anais Vionet Nov 4
(this is another throw-back - a piece of writing, from high school, used in my Yale applications)

I pound the pillow, curse the clock and mock injunctions to rest.

The sun finally rises and its rays slantwise fall through the curtains as I dry my hair.

A meal, like a forced dose, we soak ourselves in wasted, nervous time.

Finally! We arrive at the competition...

Tension is here and tireless pressure.

The players waiting stiff as straw, tongues playing over dry lips.

Teachers and coaches unapologetic in their pallor.

Music drifts behind us and occasionally gasps, as imperfections play like daring circus tricks.

The sparkling prodigy returns disappointed, grimace of a smile, stricken, he stares away as we search for words, oh! clumsy, unrepairable prince!

Suddenly, its time and I wonder why we are hurrying, feeling weak, momentarily frightened to go there.

On this stage in this great, hushed hall, enormity suddenly dawns with mass enough to crush me.

At last, I sit before this odd Steinway music machine - my dearest mechanical friend.

A tremble resisted - the reward of mortal afternoons - endless practices fruit.

Eyes closed I prepare my best self - pushing all fear, all doubt, to the margins - and begin.

I hope, to recreate, one note at a time, Chopin's ancient impact - with hands flying, like tethered birds, I hammer out his timeless melody explosions, his streams of crazily exact math exam fiery semiquaver motions.. then, almost suddenly, I'm done.

I stand, joyously, nearly crying.. The world hasn't ended.
.
.
Songs for this:
12 Etudes, Op. 10: No. 4 in C-Sharp Minor by Vladimir Ashkenazy
Part of Your World by Emile Pandolfi
We gather together by Emile Pandolfi
I thought I was going to be a concert pianist once - before covid.
Did you know there are piano recital competitions?
I wasn't a prodigy, I practiced endlessly, only to lose, eventually, to one of the prodigies.
I competed in 7 'big ones,' two were international, and I came in second every time.
My joke was, "I'm the second-best pianist in any room."
I only switched my goals (to medicine - sort of the family business) when that fell through (Thanks, one more time, covid).
Luca Scarrott Oct 24
Tripping over myself, bleeding myself out
trying to confine myself
to the confines of your categories, the cages
that barricade us in. I have rapidly outgrown them and
now they splinter skin.
When should I begin to cry out?
I have seen others leave it too late —
their bodies impaled by cold, hard metal
their organs pooling on the floor, their hearts’ still beat
once, twice,
they stop.
Is it possible to shrink? tweezer out the splinters
before I am spilt
pull out my own bones until I fit.
Hypocritical to myself I encourage the cries of relief
as the brave ones
break free —
Will I be consumed? Or will I break
out
sometimes the pressures of fitting into the categories that society tries to shove us into can get overwhelming whether that's: cliques in the school setting, family expectations, gender roles, racial stereotypes, sexuality stereotypes, even the trivial desires to fit a specific aesthetic. We are categorized in a multitude of different ways, and I often struggle to see where I fit in, who am I within and without these categories? Do they (the categories) help or hinder us? This poem is about the latter, the dangers of categories, stereotypes, and expectations that mold our existence.
Immortality Sep 30
I just laughed it off,
but was I happy?

They look with hopeful eyes,
but was I ready?

Their expectations
pushed me into deep hell,
where Lucifer asked me,
"Are you fine?"
Societal expectations will bury you deep in hell....................................................
kel Sep 30
i looked over at my parents
all their gaze on that laptop
listening to that stupid course
while i eavesdrop

the course is about
how to handle teenagers
and all i could do was
do what teenagers
do- ignore.

i tried my best to not laugh-
i mean after all-
they made the effort to try
but i don't recall
them treating me the way
the talk taught them to-

and all i can do is just
cope with all the
disappointment
without saying huh

because i'm confused-
i'm trying my best
but i'll never be enough for you :)
Emery Feine Sep 29
In, 2, 3, 4
Out, 2, 3, 4
What's this feeling
I just can't ignore?

In, 2, 3, 4
Out, 2, 3, 4
Need to close my eyes
Need to lock the door

5 things I see
4 things I touch
Everything around me
Is just too much

3 things I hear
2 things I smell
I can't seem to breathe
Hear the ringing of a bell

And finally, 1 thing I taste
But I'm anxious still
Let me experience life freely
Or just go in for the ****.
this is my 54th poem, written on 11/25/23
Uzziah Ruffin Sep 28
You accuse me of all the blame,
Ignoring your own mistakes,
Trying to belittle me with words,
"Don't burn the bridge that leads you home."

Once, it seemed you were on my side,
Until things went askew.
You urged forgiveness, yet blamed me
For how everything fell apart.

For 22 years, I held it all in,
My smiles strained and false around him.
I voiced discomfort, but you kept him close,
A room for him always next to mine.

You delight in tearing me down,
"He gets that from you," you said,
When my brother spoke of his pain.
Your love, I question deeply,
Unable to even change your mind
About something as simple as cutting grass.

I find more reasons to resist returning,
I was enslaved by your expectations,
Yet I found the strength to break free.
Returning now, I fear,
Would bind me once more in chains.
Context: my older "brother" molested me when I was a 3yo child. My mother knew about it and I was expected to bury it for years and years. Finally at (currently) 25 years old, I completely broke down, had a panic attack and had to go to the hospital over it. When I got back home, I was forced into a family meeting with him where he apologize and I was asked if I could forgive him. Which my response was "No". He left and after a few days, I get a text by my mother saying he's homeless thanks to me. I confronted her about the texted, and she told me she didn't want to talk to me and that she was *******. I ended up self harming and going to the hospital. When u came back, he was there and the door to my room was completely removed. I left that house and we only spoke once after one the phone. She told me before we got off the phone "Don't burn the bridge that leads back home".

Context for the brother part: he came home one day when he was little and apparently he was talking about self harm. When I went into the room to see what was going on, she told me that he gets that from me. That happened when I was 14yo.
ro g Sep 25
the north star
leads as the king of the night,
a vision of light and hope for all,
shining brightest, fated for greatness,
guiding lost souls through harrowed nights.

however isolation follows, shrouding him in sin.
he carries the darkness and burden of the night,
even in a constellation, will alway be on edge,
as his crown lies in thorns.

despite his glory, he is alone.
Inspired by the "Are you 'Soldier, Poet, King'" trend
Beans Sep 9
“Don’t fail, never falter
You can’t afford to lose
You need to be perfect
Or else, who are you?
You’re a writer, a good one
You cannot stray from there
No plot holes, no mistakes
You must be like a hare -
-Running from the problems
Lest you get confused
Mistakes are condemned
You must know who is who.
So if you fail or falter
Someone’ll take your place
Be the perfect, be the model
They can’t forget your face.”
"You built it, now you must live up to it."
silvervi Sep 8
I'm not worried about my life
I am worried about my image
I am trying to strive and strive
Performing on a stage
Called life of strife
This life of strife

Hör auf, listen to me
Du bist nicht so wichtig
As it seems to be.
What? You feel hurt again?
I don't know what to do
My friend.

I don't know what to do, my friend.
Speaking to myself, to my Ego, trying to support myself, but there was certainly self-pity involved. This was back in 06/2023. Glad, I'm not in that dark place anymore. But if you are, keep going and moving forward in any imaginable way. Don't stop believing. Write as much as you need to. Be compassionate with yourself. Don't be ashamed to ask for help. You are a human being, too. <3
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