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Ray Dunn Sep 23
Me,
Deep through
The brush
The leaves, dust, dirt—
Stains my breath.
The sweetness
Opening arms.
I let out a smile, my body
exhales as well.
Grounds, nature
Buried in
My bones made me
Run and be free,
As long as I wish.
Again
I will never be
So happy,
There with you
And still stuck
Imprisoned
I could never return I am
Free.
reversible poem!!
Romann Sep 12
My body is a temple
To which I’ve lost the key.
Everyone thinks its outside is wonderful
But I, inside, see how vile it is.

It’s easy to judge beauty
When you’re beholding, and not being.
I feel trapped inside a giant of stone
Unwavering and unbearable.

I want to be vulnerable.
To feel pain, joy, and sorrow.
So why, why?
Why must I remain in this stoic prison?
I've lost sight of what I am. But I know what I am not.
Mary Frances Aug 28
I've come across people who were waiting most of their lives.
Waiting for better ways on how they could live
while others just chose to wither away and die.

There were those who waited too long for love to arrive.
But when it finally came, they were already too afraid
to take the leap and dive.

There were those who waited for the meaning of their existence.
But when the opportunity came to define who they were,
they decided to let go of that chance.

There were those waiting for freedom.
But when the shackles were loosen and finally removed,
they chained themselves back.
For they missed the prison, their pain.

And then I've come across myself
waiting for the sun to rise and shine after the dark.
But when I saw the sunlight in your eyes,
I let you go and turned away with a silent goodbye.
Butterfly Aug 19
I can't hold on any longer.
The words of the people i love cut deeper in my hart then my knife does. I tell myself every night that i can do this.
But all i tell meself are lies to keep me going. I see the truth in the lies that i tell.
And if you keep lying to yourself, you loose all the trust that wasn't even there.
This is a mess but that` bc i don`t have my grammer check on this laptop.
Oskar Erikson Aug 18
i should have pleaded for a longer sentence
at least we’d be talking.
Rebeca Aug 17
In this prison full of lies
The cells are oversize
But the walls...
They ain't made of concrete bricks,
They ain't breaking with just six
Wrecking ball kicks.
And the windows...
Oh, my sweet child, the windows...
They don't even exist.
There's no piercing light,
No chasing dreams, no flying kite,
No escaping hopes,
Just me and my thoughts...
I'm pacing blind
In this prison that's my mind.
One of my first ever poems in English.
Lindy Aug 12
The reason for lockdown is muddy
Bricks stacked in a hole make a room
Of sorts
The roof is the sky in blue 8bit
Infinity framed to taunt a finite life;
Two lives -
A heartbeat and a tree
He cannot imagine the view from above
With his neck craned angular all day
The only way out is up

He gives his water to the tree
Leaves only drops for his prickly tongue
And when it rains he blesses the imprismed sky and drinks his fill

Green flag leaves unfurl
Climbing to search the sun
But he is brown as the muddy floor
Which cracks as the sun rises up with
Midday
Mayday, he says, remembering the boat in the Aegian - the radio spitting static
Maydaymaydaymayday

Surrounded by black water
The desert stretches on
Each wave a fist descending
Always a feast of inpotables.

Progress of the tree is measured in squints, patting the trunk, whispering lines of poetry - whole passages forgotten

How will I escape this labyrinth of suffering
Kiss the bark with prayers.

Isolation breeds desperate dreams
Teeth knocking around his head, falling to the floor
He buries them in the roots
Have one piece more
Grow tall, let me climb
The wind answers his words in the leaves
Yesssss yessssss
This poem is a narrative about an immigrant scholar who leaves his home on a boat but is imprisoned in a hole when he reaches his destination. He shares his water rations with a tree in the corner of the cell hoping to climb its branches one day to escape.
Nigdaw Aug 5
A room devoid of life
no less bland
than a hole in the ground,
but with a little more light
functional, bed, chair, table
and an intangible fear
of something it has (in abundance)
time, and plenty of it
Carl D'Souza Jul 29
Is violence
the intention
and action
to harm other people?

Is the target of violence
joyful and happy?
Ask someone who's been robbed at knifepoint?
Ask a wife who’s being bashed by her husband?
Ask a child who’s being beaten-up by a bully?

Is the doer of violence
joyful and happy?
Ask a person barking toxic speech?
Ask a mother who’s beating her child?
Ask a robber confined in prison for many years?
Joyce Jul 29
v
the walls that protect you
are the same walls that imprison you
yes you're safe...
but safe exactly from what?
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