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E over c2 Mar 2018
we're only human, don't you see?
little humans on a big blue marble
little humans
little humans with their little human problems
like little human love and little human death
little humans coming and going and sometimes a stay
so stay
stay here

little humans like you and I
who's pasts are shrouded in do or die
live, let go and pass on without fail
but i wont let that memory stale
that sweet memory of you in dim light
where doubts were set alight, delight

so let me see what us little humans are
every mark
every tear
every moan
every scare

even in heaven, one must cry
for little humans will always try
always try to be the best they can
even when things don't go to plan

so let your little human be,
let me see all there is to see
don't be ashamed, afraid, insecure
for little humans are all these things and more
little humans like you are beautiful and wild
so don't let the little human problems be exiled

let them live in the beauty that is you
let there be sour in sweet
let there be tears in talks
let there be solace in sadness
let there be little humans
with their little human problems
like little human love and little human death
little humans coming and going and sometimes a stay
so stay
stay here
Mr Passerby Mar 2018
We wonder what separates us from the others
We wonder what makes us different
We wonder if there is more like us
We wonder if we're just ignorant...

We're all in a room
We're all friends here
We're all wearing costumes
We're all hiding something here...

Why are we so blinded by our interests
Why are we so deafened by our shouts of happiness
Why do we turn our heads away from the horrors of the world
Why do we shut our ears from the desperate cries of help
Because when we do look, nothing's there
Quiet, silence, calmness

Even in the same room we hide things from each other
We eventually kept to ourselves
We eventually don't talk anymore
We eventually became selfish
Our friendships still last virtually

Suddenly,
The room exploded, shining lights everywhere
We covered our eyes
We blinded ourselves from the trouble
We shut our ears so we don't hear the cries of pain

We pretend not to see, not to hear and ultimately we say nothing
Our lives remained normal
We went back to business
It didn't affect us
Why Should we care?

We went back to our daily business, pretended nothing happened, but still kicked the bodies with our foot, pretending not to feel anything.

Life was normal
We here things on the news everyday. We think it won't happen to us, therefore we don't care because it doesn't involve us. We grow into this cycle. Every morning we turn on the TV, watch the horrors on the news and resume business as usual. We don't contribute any help, simply just pretended it didn't happen and someone will take care of it. Change that, please, don't ignore the problems, the cries of help.
Hanna Kelley Feb 2018
I don't talk about my problems because I don't want my problems to become yours.
I don't want you to adopt my destructive habits and thoughts. The way I avoid questions and disguise bad situations.
I don't talk about the things I have had to experience, not because I don't want you to know those things about me, but because I know that they will change you. In some way. Maybe they will change the way you see me, the way you treat me, or maybe even the way you see the rest of the world and yourself.
I don't want to tell you every detail about my relations with men because I don't want you to fear them as well.
I don't want to tell you about the harassment and torture I endured throughout the years because I don't want to reveal the things that hurt me.
I don't want to tell you about my eating disorders and the way I think because I don't want to give you an instruction manual on ******* yourself.

I avoid becoming too personal with people because it makes me vulnerable. I do not favor being used.

I get irrationally angry when I see that my friends are going through the same problems as me. Maybe it is because I care about them, or it could be because I am jealous. I honestly don't know.

I feel like I am doing a lot and not enough at the same time, and I hate myself for it. I punish myself with restless nights of crying and bleeding, torture myself with challenges against successful people, push myself to the brink of pain and defeat because I know I am cable of being successful. So why do I not just do more?
a polkadotted
napkin
full of problems
tied to a stick
slung across
my shoulder

strutting
stubbornly
from one place
to another

never questioning
why I bother
meandering
all over

a runaway
to sunny beaches
gloomy cities
far off reaches
of far earth

with stars poured
in my eyes
and hard-earned
pennies in
my purse

hoping that
this time will
be different

it couldn't
be worse

?


©2018 Adelaide Heathfield
Ever the escapist. Seeing new places with rose-colored glasses. Believing that everything will be better "over there". But forgetting to deal with my problems before I leave.
T R S Feb 2018
So often it is dead.
Said God.
Of others, instead build buildings.
Mount up, ready, set for your favor.
Mounds on God's ground goaded
Hoards and hoards
about bounties.
Beautiful shapes soften lines on hoards and hoards of faces.
So instead.
Glisten along raceways, gilded in filigree fasteners.
Spreading, trace fingers, lips,
So, space is how our hour owes us
Heavy Hearted Feb 2018
The most superficial of all my troubles-
My backache does prosist.
Throughout all my other ****
That dull pain still exists.

Tucked in every lonley smile
And every insatiable crave
Is that pain, sciatic style
Despite how I behave;

Yet dealing with much more then a backache am I,
Addictions, Predictions, prescriptions, I lye:
Here in my bed in my room in my shame,
harbouring my bodys everworseing pain.
My problem is I fear.

I hold on.

I never know when to give up.

I blindly wave my hands in front of me in hopes that I'll find a hidden door to paradise,

Althewhile I fully expect to never find something that will allow me to stop wandering.

If that wasn't enough,
I drag the locked doors that I find along the way behind me in hopes that,
one day,
they'll magically open.
Anxiety written in a way anyone can understand.
Danial John Feb 2018
If I want to die
                           So what?
If my beliefs are just complex lies
                           So what?
If my friends don't exist
                           So what?
If there's temptations I can't resist
                           So what?
If the broke stay broke and the rich get richer
                           So what?
If I can be reduced to 140 characters and a picture
                           So what?
If my faults are my own and not scars gained from the places I've grown
                           So what?
If I'm cold and alone, impaled on a fork in the road
                           So what?
If reality is meaningless and godly morality is diseasing us
                           So what?
If the good die young and the evil get to continue on
                           So what?
If the world is a beautiful place and the problem is the human race
                           So what?
If this poem rubs you the wrong way and you vow to make the unjust pay
                           So what?
If you feel like I am wrong or I went on to long
                           So what?
                      So what now?
                  So what do we do?
                So what is the point?
                 So what about you?
I wrote this, so what.
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