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neth jones Oct 2019
mechanism
promotional sow of proceeding
boring out generations of teachers
we flutter out our lives
in a rainbow of seizures
withering off of this diet
we have crypted a pretty rot
a pattern of the dis-eased
hide our ill gotten health
with our nonsensical biography
the sooth-stones of our deceased
our distraction by wealth
and our vicing with biology
velocity increased
cowed in with our filth
model no apology  
wilt
and work on our space program
a rant at society nature at its most frustrating
s Oct 2019
breathe in breathe out
pulling over to the side of the road
trying to breathe
trying to see through this fountain
of tears on my face
usually i can pull myself together
enough to drive,
but not today.
breathe in breathe out
finally i get distracted focusing out at the window at the leaves dripping from the tree making crunchy colorful puddles.
i peel my hand off the steering wheel
because i was gripping it so hard
breathe in breathe out
resting my head against the cool glass, honestly i don’t know why i’m here or what i’m doing
my hands are shaking
have you ever felt this way..
it sounds almost as if i am describing a close call to a wreck, or bad news on a phone call.
but no
this is the result of living.
i have to distract myself when it gets this bad.
people wonder why i love nature so much.
but it’s because it’s the only real thing in this world of fake ideals.
have you ever looked at your hands and all the cracks/scars/lines that are unique to you?
it’s crazy that everyone
has different lines
different lives
Rose Amberlyn Oct 2019
I don't like sharing.
Or letting you into my space.
I have a hard time with being kind.
Judgements come naturally.
Strangers can be punchlines.
Your feelings may bother me.
I want you to like me.
But I may not like you.
My first impression of you,
Sticks even when I'm wrong.
I don't like how I am.
I've said I would change.

I haven't.
But I wish I would.
Vic Sep 2019
Okay so I was listening to Beetlejuice, and he sings
'Jesus pass the Dremamime'
And I knew it was a drug, but I didn't know the effects. Turns out it causes halluciations. Well, that's the main thing, there are a lot of side effects. And to be honest, hallucinating explains a lot about Beetlejuice, and the whole musical.
You'll get a whole lotta these
JB Sep 2019
I'm not going to rant to you
as you may not understand

You have always said
promised to me, over and over again
that you will be there to talk to
if i ever dare feel the need

In a moment of weakness
i try to use the words
that i know you will not understand

english is a harsh language
With hard, stiff, stone letters
Sharp words
Blunt
The tough, callused hand
better at beating you down
Than helping you up

Other languages
A way to comfort you in a relation
a way to turn these stiff ways of the tounge
to silk and fresh water
to something
easily, gentally, softly felt
As smooth as a cold, gliding glacier's stream

English is the langague
for facts, explanations
plain, blunt topics
It's hard to have words for feelings
Emotions
ways of the heart
But other lanauges don't have words for such things
They have words, phrases, exchanges, dialects, customs
for moments
for memories
for dreams, almost out of reach

So when I try to explain to you
What i am going through
behind the "I'm fine."

"You know what I mean?"
"Uh, not really"
Well ****
Now you know the thoughts inside my head
Twisted by your interpritaion
your intake
of me
Aaron LaLux Sep 2019
...on a tangent,
writing lines on my laptop as my emotions run rampant,
in a parking lot outside a Sprouts on Santa Monica Blvd.,
typing vows like they might make some kind of difference,
woke up, restless, on the wrong side of the bed today,
welcomed back, to this Waking Life with tightness in my chest,
& this relentless feeling of eternal loneliness I can’t shake,
which has got me thinking, maybe some souls can’t be saved,
& maybe that’s why I’m now sitting in my car,
with tears in my eyes & nowhere to drive,
because there’s nowhere I want to go,
other than back to the one place where my love was denied,

the only place I want to go,
is back into the arms of the one that let me go,
but she’s so far gone memories seem like only dreams now,
even though I’m not dreaming, I’m wide awake, woke,

I feel so far away from her, for real, it’s almost unbearable, tears start to flow, I think about taking my own life, but don’t,
instead I shake it off, write it down, get these words out of me, to show we all hurt & it’s okay to lose control,

& yeah I know I’ve got nothing really to complain about,
because I’ve got a great life & all that,
but knowing my life is better than most of those in this world,
doesn’t really make me feel better or enhanced,
in fact, it actually makes me more depressed,
it makes me wonder what hope we have left,
as the forests burn, the wars rage,
& the polar bears frantically panic on ever melting ice caps,
& I’m constantly aware of all of these obvious facts,
& maybe that’s why I’m in my car with tears in my lap,
lost with no motivation running out of time & patience,
can’t see a future, feel the present, or remember the past,
This Unruly Mess We’ve Made looks great, shout out to Mac,
but it wasn’t built to last so how much more can it withstand?...

excerpt from poem #63 of THHT3:
The Hollywood Hearts Trilogy Vol 3
available worldwide 9/9/19
Vic Sep 2019
Yeah, You're really easy to write about. Some people are hard to capture. Not because they aren't 'deep,' but because they just don't have that thing. That thing that makes you turn your head around again becuase you just want to have another look at those eyes. Maybe this will help explain. You have people, and some of those people are really good at writing. And some aren't. Now imagine if you take a really good writer, and someone who struggles with it, to write a poem that captures the beauty and feeling of, for example, a broken window. Someone who's good at writing, good at seing the beauty and the broken in things, can write it down with so much ease. On the contrary, someone who doesn't see it, it's way harder to write everything just about right down. I feel like I'm one of those people who can turn everything into poetry. And you said, you never expected someone to write about you. But I know, and I'm sure of it, that if you ever met another poet, they'd write about you too. Because every poet I know, would turn their head around too.
I sound stupid af but this dumb **** needed to get out.
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