mjad Nov 2017

The world spins
It spins and spins
We never question
Or doubt or fear
What would happen
If it suddenly halted
We are too busy
Walking and talking
Loving and hating
To think about words
That we don't want to hear
The end is inevitable

My sorrow grows
It grows and grows
I never question
Or doubt or predict
What would happen
If it suddenly stopped
I am too busy
Sulking and sobbing
Raging and ranting
To think about anything
That could be a bit joyful
Happiness is invisible

anon Nov 2017

this poem
has a title
so that all who read it
that this poem has a meaning

because without something to reference
a name
or a title
things are left behind

just like me
in all the years
i tried to remain



untitled people
like me
are given no
second glances
first chances
social advances


left behind
like a poem
a name

Em MacKenzie Jul 2017

Many a times I find my mind is static just at best,
my lungs are damaged, and I'm empty in my chest.
The days are lagging, painfully dragging, the time is ticking slow,
then looking at the calendar, I wonder where did this month go?

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and a ton of empty air,
and you could feign to feel some pain,
but the in the end, no one would care.

You're feeling right when you fight,
and you dabble in defense,
and last night you were playing scrabble
but every word lacked sense.
You coat your spleen in nicotine and claim to live just fine,
but you're getting thin, lacking every vitamin,
"you really should get more sunshine."

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and some grass that could be more green,
and you could claim that you're still sane,
but no one knows what that word means.

Many of strangers bring on danger, but most will treat you well,
and with the heat coming from the street,
you'd think I'd be on my way to Hell.
The one you love most is now a ghost,
and you're overcome with dread,
and it's not a faze, we really do praise,
the ones that are now dead.

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and some thoughts that were never there,
and you could feign to feel some pain,
but in the end, no one would care.

One has a lot to say.
One might have just had
A Profound Epiphany.
At other times,
It's just an angry political rant,
Or a complaint about a relationship.
In any case,
As a poet,
One just keeps going.
One doesn't get discouraged
Because even the WORST poem
Is Practice.

Mica Kluge Feb 2017

There is a special kind
of heartache in wanting
something so desperately
and being forced to know
that you can never have it.

Breeze-Mist Sep 2016

Why do you insist
On insulting my friends
I'm wondering if the complaints
Will ever end

When will you stop
Mocking and making fun of
The celebrities and characters
Whom I follow and love

And I understand that
You have your own point of view
And you wouldn't like them
But I am not you

And I understand that
You might just need to blow air
But your comments leave me wondering
If you really even care

Because what if I agreed
With them more than you
What if I had traits in common with them
Then what would you do

Would you still accept me
Just as I am
Or would you turn me away
Like a criminal on the lamb

Ryan Hoysan Sep 2016

This isn't a poem and it's not meant to be. I just want to make one thing clear. This is more of a rant so ignore this if you'd rather not read. My girlfriend broke up with me tonight. She keeps telling me I'm an amazing guy that I'm a great guy. But yet she's leaving me. For another person nonetheless. The things that does to a person... To be told that they're so amazing that their girlfriend is about to leave them behind for somebody else. I really don't know how to deal with this. I'm trying not to just stay here in my brand bawl my eyes out.

I'm not succeeding very well.
Kat Sep 2016

All of those things
Yes "those" things
The ones that keep you up at night
The ones you never want to awknowledge
The ones that haunt you
Yes "those" things
Your weakness
Your pain
All of "those" things
They make us human
And without them
We wouldn't be who we are today
We all have "those" things
We carry them around in secret
We can act as if they don't exist
But "those" things will never be gone
"Those" things will be buried deep within us
And they will haunt us
Till death do us part

Walker Marema Sep 2016

I write this opening line
Such that you will understand the overarching theme
I am disorganized
I am rattling around in a cage within myself
And I don’t want to come out

Listen to the way I communicate
I have fleeting visions
By the time I finish this thought
There is a new beginning
Washing away everything there was before

It is a constant river of thoughts and thoughts about thoughts
That think themselves about themselves
Down the water toward the ocean
Thoughts can only be thoughts
I am rambling you are listening
Take notice of me

Watch me try and traverse this vast stream of consciousness
I cannot reach the shore and if I did it would be disastrous
Got it?

Next page