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KAE Aug 2018
I remember that when I was a little girl, specifically 7 years old, my thoughts were “I am never going to grow up” “Time passes so slow to be older/teenager/adult” “I’m kinda going to be a kid forever” but i knew that “forever” doesn’t exists.
Now, I am 17 years old, next year I’m going to go to the university, I’m going to study the career that really passionate me, psychology.
Right now, my thoughts are “I grew up, I made it” “Luckily, I am not a kid forever” “Time passes pretty fast”.
And I can’t describe the happiness that I have inside of my small body.
I have no MO....
No particular methodology
I just dream things up
Add a sprinkle of psychology

Season with similis
Macerate with metaphors
Emulsify with emotion
Then get baked... Real high

Let the words cool
while my soul
starts to drool
then I present it
to the night.
Bona Sera, boa noite, bonne nuit
Derrick Jones Aug 2018
We are all performing for each other, sneaking furtive looks at our Facebook while big brother watches every move, so we try to be smooth but we’re mostly fooling ourselves, pooling our wealth into the pockets of the few who can exploit our intuitions and inhibitions, guiding our volitions into the abyss, artificial intelligence manipulating with elegance, effortlessly evading our defenses, we’re stuck in psychological trenches down so deep and so dark we keep the lights on with the spark of imagining our face up on the screen, fame or infamy we’ll take whichever if we can live forever, so the birds of a feather flock together, tethering into groups of similarity, reflecting and retweeting to infinity, infinite me, define me and refine me through the digital lens, cleanse me of my subpar self, replace me with an avatar elf, help me be the best and arrest the theft of my soul, life’s terrible toll, free me from reality by letting the real me, the me I want to be, finally be seen. But this method is madness, a pathway to sadness and regret, hours stolen by scrolling through feeds, reality filtered and enhanced, living for likes and shares from people who may not even care, who are just staring at screens, afraid to go outside, to be alive, because reality is out of their control, but maybe unpredictability can set you free, anonymity unraveling the blindfold we hold over our eyes, deflating the ego that social media’s creating, when you look outside and see how big the world can really be, humility sets you free, feeling small in the best way, resting in each day as a part of the whole, no longer constructing a fake soul for a digital audience to see, instead you can finally be. Just be.
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at https://medium.com/words-ideas-thoughts
Thanks for reading!
Jabin Aug 2018
His left hand flourishes
                                                                But­
The audience watches intensely
                                                       ­     There
The motions dazzle
                                                          ­          Is
Everyone paying attention
                                                   Something
Unexpected
                                                               Else
The illusion is shattered
                                                 Transpiring

           The magician takes a bow.
Sam Aug 2018
Warmth used to fill me
With caring and passion
I would love seeing others glee
Their hearts are my fashion

I used to always try to make others happy
With jokes and soothing stories
I love others happiness madly
If they were pained, I’d be mourning

But as time grows on
I find myself not caring
About people and their own pain
About their suffering or happiness

And now I can’t seem to care
That people are suffering
Because if it doesn’t affect me,
Then it doesn’t matter
Idk why I’ve been feeling this way lately. Like obviously I care about my closest friends and stuff but sometimes I hear bad things and feel nothing. Like it’s not personally hurting or helping me so it’s not worth even caring about. Over the years I’ve struggled with wondering what is wrong with me that way. Idk it’s complicated. Also, the back half of the poem doesn’t rhyme for theme purposes. Much like life, I just don’t care.
Ailene Lee Aug 2018
I find the irony of human biology is that we are taught the ribcage protects our heart from physical harm, and the irony of human psychology is trying to understand what plays a role in emotional harm — yet seldom how to protect ourselves from it.
Maria Etre Jul 2018
Your body
(h)as bec(o)me
a temp(l)e
onl(y)
fit
for
believers
"If I could give you my eyes" Series
Hidden messages
Markus Russin Jul 2018
deeds eviscerated
/ clawing weakness
sloppy cuts /
willpower destructive
present featureless

thoughts enunciated
/ piercing sharpness
sloppy cuts /
likelihood delusive
future unresolved

feelings elongated
/ lasting bleakness
sloppy cuts /
sanity depleted
memories absurd
Tina RSH Jul 2018
Those elastic hands
having but coupled a river of tears
and wisps of yielding smoke
to begin with
a life
unknown and unblinking
like a pair of dead eyes
and play pretend
or pretend to play
for watery dreams
and smokey must-bes
and ought nots
somewhere in line with a broken smile
and a misty sense of senselessness
a spinal cord snapped
so did million daggers shoot out
from each vertebra
tears flooded out of her ears
and smoke forced the air
out of her lungs.
She turned away from the dread
so she could rest her head
on soft shoulders
and yet
none could bear ever the weight
of her sorrow.
Now both lungs dead
eyes closed
lying on her bed
she carries her weight with a finger
and carves out eyes on her forehead
she swallows light to linger
forever in her chest
as a heart
nobody would give her.
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