Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Caage Gaber Sep 2020
Why is it that you don't exist in my mind
When I see people why are they just shapes
My thoughts, why are they shackled in a selfish bind
How do I uncover my empathetic eyes behind drapes

I so badly wish to be a good person just once
Yet one moment of right is delved in false intentions
All of my attempts to be a hero are only theatric stunts
Why do I constantly and carelessly crave attention

Where did my wretched personality begin
Could I have been born covered in expectations
Did I see their lightened gaze and grow dim
So absorbed in what they say I can become, stuck in elevation

By pushing everyone away did I raise the anchor
Or did I trap myself in a shadowed cage called loneliness
Was all my love, kindness, and joy the ploy of a faker
Possibly a plea for some guide of life; though useless

Why is it so hard to be great and virtuous
I may never know after detaching parts of me
Why is being great compared to goodness so arduous
An evil king who kills and the poor people who die innocently
I wish I'd chosen the ladder
Some people aren't willing to say it out loud but honestly being great does require harming people in way or another whether unknowingly or not. So at times just being normal is fine
Jasmine Reid Sep 2020
cut open my stomach,
and gut me

dissect the tumour,
that you left in me

do i still look like the girl you used to know?

with my intestines on display,
and a smile on my face

remember what you did to me
Saïda Boūzazy Sep 2020
Psyche has moods
Sometime happy, others  gloomy
Psyche  has moods
Sometimes wise,  other times  fool

psyche has moods
Sometimes, I wander
Others, I surrender

Psyche has moods
Sometime melancholic,
Others sanguine
Psyche has moods
sometimes  choleric,
Others phlegmatic
Talia Aug 2020
I hold her tightly
Her skin against mine
Soothing her pain
For I am to blame
for the scars inscribed
on those innocent thighs
And my words are the bullets
that tore right through her
It was my name
etched into the tears
I forbid she shed
And I who introduced
that strong body, to Abuse
But still I wrap her
in apologetic arms
Seeing the beauty and worth
she has always had

We join forces
stilling the battle of two
I am whole,
on my own
in my own
forgiving, loving embrace
Psychological splitting is a common defense mechanism whereby your thoughts aren’t able to form a cohesive realistic conclusion, rather a very black-and-white thinking of extremes. I have certainly done this and the poem explores my bullying and extremely negative alter ego dominating my innocent self. Since engaging in spiritual and mindful practises my capacity to forgive and love has allowed me to uncover and accept my true ‘self'.
David Jul 2020
You'll never get to experience the depth of the still water until you're submerged.
The iceberg of the mind...
There are no mistakes, only lessons manifesting in various degrees of challenge.
Adversity is the crucible through which character is shaped.
Let my equanimity be mistaken for indifference,
as my tolerance is for acceptance.
Because the mountain piercing the heavens is actually a dormant volcano.
Augur H Aug 2020
grow a beard
two times a year.
let your hair grow down to your shoulders
and then cut it.

take selfies at goodwill,
wear the same seven outfits.

never smile, it draws
attention :)

stay at home
like a ship at the dock,
and observe seashells
from the deck, never straying far...

download a dating app
to keep tabs on the ex
for you know not
the day or hour.

is there something important
you've been ignorant of
your whole life?

wonder what the cops think
when you pass them on the street,
now that they know who you are.

wonder if
the Man might motion
to **** us all then run
to their bunkers without
a second thought.

ablute truth and wonder
if its an illusion
or if you are subject
to global delusion.

come on now,
don't fake it;
don't say you
can't take it.
August 2020
(Vigilate, que nescitis enim quando
dominus domus veniat...)
Coleman M Lowe Jul 2020
Into this world world will come,
A few,
Very precious souls.
Who  will not fit
Into your cookie cutter molds.
Yet,
To your ideals,
You try to make them hold.
And never realize,
They may be,
The purest form of gold
I wrote this when I watched the staff in a "mental" ward openly laugh and make fun of someone who was challenged when they attempted to make him the same as almost everyone else.I don't conform either and was quite upset by their actions and treatment of this individual. I simply say that they are "differently enabled" than others and  staff would have used resourse myuch better to find what the person was good at instead of forcing them to comply and making fun.
Jane Jul 2020
Confess, I have to confess.

Who's on the other side of my confessional?

I've thought wrong, I could've thought another, why can't I control what I think?

Confess it, lay your sin.

If I confess my thought, I fear it'll make it real. It's harmless in my head, it's abstract.

But is it?

Look at who you've hurt, the person you love. But never you, why would you care about you?

You should be perfect. Be your best self.

When my best self is deconstructed, all I am is fear.

So confess it, lay your burdens on another.

Be selfish, lay your irrationality for someone else to detangle.

Your strength is fragile, trust me.

I know you,

I know all of you, your deepest fear, your subconscious.

Trust me, you're all that I am.

So confess, give in.

I'm your religion, I'm your truth.

The truth is,
you're not worth love.
the tip of the iceberg
Aditya Roy Jul 2020
You can restore yourself
Heal your loveless heart if you must
Because the love you have now
Is just an idea of what is about to come
I am talking about the journey
You will cross many roads
Meet many beings of strange souls
Some may not even have souls
I do not mean evil, but, anything
That has words has no soul at times
Imagine, a parachute that tears mid-way
But, saves your life
These are what lush pastures in the mind present
The living daydream that human consciousness is
And nightmares that dreams are to many men
That live in the past
Some thoughts on symbolism.
Next page