Centred
Yet no attention
She craves attention

Society gives her a reflection
Yet she gets no acception

She tries to be the everyday
Projects failure
Has no savior
No hope
The struggle like night and day

Still no acception
Becomes too much
Thinks she's doing the norm
Doesn't realise she's stepping on a thorn

Here comes a storm
Critical rhythmatics
All against her
Cause she's tryna be her version of the norm

Nylee 4d

Hello , how are you ?
Hope you are enjoying a nicer view .

Hope you know and understand
the mistakes , I am making these many days .
And even in future  , making new set of them ,
But I hope you are braver in the face of problems .

You know ,
Life could have been much easier
if you could write back .
But ,
that way , maybe
each time , I would be re-writing you

Talking to future me

I lost my path twice
as I climb the silent hills
through the misty forest
by the Paraná river

I thought my compass was broken
that every roads and rounds
lead nowhere I planned
but home

Yet, it turns out to be
that I'm the one who's broken
and sometimes the only way is not
by escaping or go around it

Instead, by embracing it

By Arcassin Burnham


Get up off your ass and do something,
cause you don't need to shy away like that,
give them ambition as it was intended,
you're conscious,you know how to make your mind up
like that,
the next 90 minutes I want you to dance and let your troubles go,
let the giggles out,
let the world know,
you're not afraid to be who you are,
that's how the story should go,
I'll be the friend you need when there's no way out,
let me build a dam for you when there's no drought,
it's five o' clock in the morning what are we doing now?
We're fixing all your problems without a little doubt.

©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/04/526.html
Druzzayne Rika Apr 14

Morning rises
when night is dead ,      
and darkness disappears
the night terrors end
The day starts ,
with its drama and real problems
and its hard to get through them .
Peace is long last dream
and you do not have time
to ponder over it .
The days like this pass by
ages you , and leaves you
with nothing but regrets

How is it possible to love that  which I hate so much.
What sort of mind-warp enables me
To seethe one moment and smile the next.
What eraser clears the blackboard of my anger
So an hour from now it’s empty and
All ready to be scrawled across again.

I don’t understand why I settle for moments
When what I really want is a  lifetime.
To be the yang to an extraordinary yin
Instead of mama chicken shepherding her brood of one.

Why am I above the ground when who I am
Was murdered years ago.
Aren’t the dead supposed to be interred?
Am I a zombie of neglect and co-dependence
Hulking, blind of eye and blank of soul,
Across an aching painscape.
ljm

A marital rough patch in purple prose

How is it possible to love that  which I hate so much.
What sort of mind-warp enables me
To seethe one moment and smile the next.
What eraser clears the blackboard of my anger
So an hour from now it’s empty and
All ready to be scrawled across again.

I don’t understand why I settle for moments
When what I really want is a  lifetime.
To be the yang to an extraordinary yin
Instead of mama chicken shepherding her brood of one.

Why am I above the ground when who I am
Was murdered years ago.
Aren’t the dead supposed to be interred?
Am I a zombie of neglect and co-dependence
Hulking, blind of eye and blank of soul,
Across an aching painscape.
ljm

A marital rough patch in purple prose
Kevin M G Apr 6

I’m worried

that my impact on the world
is going to end up a net negative,

and I’m worried
that my knee will never fully heal again.

I’m worried
about our next big transition,

and I’m worried
about a fire starting in our apartment
while we’re out running errands.

I’m worried
that the federal government is about to collapse,

I’m worried
about the moods of quiet marital rage
that I have inherited from my parents,

and I’m worried
that I may end up completely grinding down
the nail of my right index finger

from having compulsively pressed it into the top
of my cubicle desk from nine to five each day.

I’m worried that next time we’re at the beach,
Poseidon will send a wave up out of the sea
and mercilessly steal our little one from us
while we’re running and playing with him.

I’m worried that someday there will be an earthquake
and a tsunami that follows,
and we will have to scramble to get to higher ground
as we fumble away our dearest possessions,
the pictures and letters,
from our ungainly grasps.

I’m worried that
I don’t have a project to work on anymore,

but I’m more worried
that you have become my project.

And I’m worried that all this will turn into
something like one of those old tragic romances

from the black and white noir movies
that we watch together
so regularly
every Saturday night.

And I’m worried that most of my time has been used up,
and that Time won’t send me a warning
when I’m finally about to overdraw on my account.

But I am not worried

about having ever lied to myself
about what Love is
or what Love requires.

And I’m not worried
that someday I won’t want to hear the sound
of our bedroom door
as it brazenly rubs against the doorframe

early in the morning
when the sky lightens,
and you come in the room
to show me that you love me.

And I’m not worried
that I won’t claw
and gnash
and fight
and rage
and spend every ounce
of the strength
that remains in my unraveling body

to make things work out between you and me
in the end.

I am not worried.

For Lisa
María José Apr 5

My world is no longer colored red
I'm not pulled by a deafening rage.
No longer wishing to be an angel of death,
my dramatic self finally leaves the stage.

Slowly, I gain back control of my mind.
My breathing normalizes.
That part of me is gone, but what's left behind?
Everything has now turned to ashes.

"Will you forgive me?" I say, watery eyes,
face contrived by shame and remorse
you say you do, but your stare, cold like ice,
makes me feel that soon I won't be yours.

Next page