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Simon Sep 2020
Kyle, you are the unsocial demerit point, because you tame that which isn't within the same parameters as your own guilt of never being able to essentially see past your own guilt, firstly. (Which is entirely filled too the absolute brimful of shame!) Shame that doesn't detest your own abstract mind from taming the logic that truly demands the official reasoning for you too cost more energy for yourself too bear (in order to suit your own needs from depleting even quicker. Then what was first realized.) While being at the demanding odds of something either unfortunate to ALWAYS come your way. Or (for the very first time in my very own simulation full of nothing more than completely realistic prolonged "shackled" days) that doesn't EVER seem to count the reasoning you need the very most. Mostly because life is truly never fair when it ONLY operates anyways, (for your very self first and foremost). On an operating system full of very tempting, unusual, unnatural and a seemingly unrealistic taste for more demerit points to be added in a complete collection full of both "wonder and detachment." Kyle, you’re also the unsocial demerit point, because you have yet to discover your own highs and lows upon your own governing system. It's not bad to be one's own demerit point. (Hell, I've been my own "demerit point" ever since the very beginning when I truly first popped out into this world full of "realistic advantages.)" Realistic advantages full to the absolute brimful of "factually chained uncertainties!" Your nothing more than a sense in your own details that doesn't limit one's own ideology against the world head-on! Instead, you devise a proper program for yourself against the desires of an even more proper exercise in order to free yourself full of the (not so rich) details that blind your own choices, from seeing the choice in it's own decision-making...from ever being able to reach the extension of your own actions. Actions that suddenly prompt its own inadvertent consequences, because the notion is in the very specifics that again demand you too see the odds that try to impress you (without even seeing "why that is)?"
Concluding what exactly...? Well, isn't it already obvious enough for you too "effectively" notice (ahead of time)?! Or are you too busy thinking on raising the bar of the current potential rate of your still rising (to this very day)...demerit points? Because that's what you should always be focusing on "separating" from your very structure of life, altogether. Versus the still ever-increasing rate of such a demerit succession!
Kyle, your more than just ANY ole demerit point. Because you don't lack which other's apparently do (ALL DAY LONG)! Compassion in your very heart!
anon Jul 2020
She walked,
Alone, unseeing of the clamour behind her.
Cold, and bereft,
Yearning - for what?
She left. Just disappeared,
Cocooning further as hands
Invisible to her, tried to land
On her heart.
This is the first poem I wrote! I was proud of it and it still holds significance to me.
Norbert Tasev Jun 2020
Deep in the placenta, the tummy-dweller snoozes quietly, sending messages. The Madonna-faced fairy is still patient and kindly examining her belly, watching! Oh, the first, tiny chubby-angel germination of new existence, now unfolding its wings! In the happiness of the heart, it now begins in a thick stream of rays and sends more and more, pounding its berries of true pearls richly.

Oh, little, blessed unknown guest, strange planets **** the Netherlands to this big world! - While in the cellular caves of the abdominal cavity like a glorious candlelight you are searching for a possible way out and looking for your future mother's swan hands diligently and gently: Now the celebrating soul begins a quiet lullaby, giving prayers to the gracious God of Nature!

Joconda-eyed, blessed love-chalice that has elevated Existence to the altar, you have received the Hearts that love you with a humble bow with a flood of kisses! The common fate of Damocles swings over us that we could have been born into existence from the killer home of fertile mothers - your angelic baby is now

he keeps crying, squinting. He roars proudly as he perceives the warmth of his harmonies, his love, curious about everything. His love and hunger are now growing, as in the instinctive food chain of the deserved hierarchy, and he greedily squeezes, cumizza the life-giving elixir of life, which rises as a source of existence: even open, gaping wounds, from the self-craters of the ******* of the *******: comforts, babusgat and nourishes

so one-eyed child, and perhaps the unspeakable, magical moment of revolving existence! Gordian knots also seem simpler, everything is tactilely homely, realistic!
Realeboga M Apr 2020
You’re the one the I need.
You’re the one that I wanted.
You’re the one I get hurt for
You’re the one that I lean on.

I sit outside contemplating if I’ll ever have the right words to fully orchestrate the greatest love song.
Pondering on the ideology behind each symphony and melody.
Trying to figure out if I can truly compensate for each octave. After all I’m no singer.

I stand before a very large crowd. All eyes on me. I hear each murmur from the background. It would seem they are all waiting on me.
Dressed and draped in black, my hands begin to shiver, sweat trickling down my forehead.
I don’t have the voice for this. How on earth do I put on the greatest show.

Deep breath, inhale, exhale. I tell myself. If it’s all for a love like no other.
Surely I can make this work. Somehow I can. Because if it’s for her. Then I need to become the greatest showman to date.

I want to say things like “I’ve never believed in fate and that every fibre in me believes there’s no destiny. That I always sought love to be superficial or more of a fantasy.”
However I’ve always been a sucker for romance.
And I always believed that love could enhance every bit of our surrounding. And in saying so. I am stating to you that you’re my comfort in ending. And I hope that having a knowledge of this is profound. Because at the end of the day, you’re the only love I need and have found.

I stare in awe at the crowd. At first lost for words. But to the thought of you, I’ve found inspiration. At the sight of you, my confidence sky rockets. I don’t know if you know but you’re my motivation. And for as long as I can imagine, all that I want and need is within you.

I’m a victim of love.
I have stood before Cupid and allowed for him to take a mugshot of me love drunk.
I’ve been in a position whereby I fought love and thought it was love.
But my reality always pulled me out of this dream. Dragged by gravity. I realised it was all idealised, conceptualised misunderstandings of what I thought was what my heart needed.
Because at the end of the day. The love I had given out was never reciprocated. It made me feel as if I was doomed.
As if I was to be consumed by the world and to be hastily chewed up and spit by the people that took my heart only to decide that it wasn’t good enough.

Feeling like you’re not good enough and being put in that situation is painful. I remember fully telling myself that I cannot be that again. I need love that is not only healthy but will help me grow and become better and be in a case of “Finally, I feel at home”

When you walked and came into my life. I never expected that.
I know I was wholly curious about you.
I know I wanted to know more, I wanted to know what makes you smile, what makes you laugh, what makes you happy, sad, confused, confident, what ticks you off, what angers you, what makes you. So you.
And how can I be apart of your life. How can I see that smile everyday and make you laugh and make you see the world the way I see it in your eyes.

And it’s weird. I know.
But when i heard your name for the first time.
It felt like my heart finally found its other half.
I love you.
Jay Lewis Jan 2020
I've met girls who swooned over guys
"Oh my God, he gives me butterflies!"
When I wanted to be moved by stormy skies.
Espresso manic Nov 2019
From time to time
darkness graces
me with a visit.
A dear old friend and she
brought along wicked pain
and compartmentalized stress.
We barter our lifeline
to get the snake eyes that are crucial for success.
The poison is also the cure.
I accept stress and pain
to let out the darkness
and I manage to finesse
a new lesson.  
Every time is the last one,
it grips me
the ****** burdening load.

Then it's just darkness
and I, having a petty blast
and finishing our flasks.
Darkness's reassurance
that life evaporates
like a flame
made me accept
the darkness within.
The poison made me
crackle and under the dark sky
I glowed
in spite of the beating of time.
The leaves have left, the last crow flew away,
the flame has burned, the coffee remains.
Jaxey Nov 2019
i've learned the hard way
that life will never be
as beautiful as poetry
and that we will never be
as perfect as we sound
when squished between
similes and metaphors
so while we don't fit together
quite as well as puzzle pieces
and you sometimes
might not complete me
as well as a cup of coffee
my hand still feels
quite nice in yours

and i don't need a poem to say that
sometimes things aren't poetic
Elizabeth Sage Jul 2019
Don’t give any suspicion, no, not ammunition

I wouldn’t want a repeat, but there’s always another lurking.

You’ve checked my closets far enough, breached and infringed on all my stuff

How does it feel peaking, ravaging the room and sneaking

What knowledge are you peeping?
I see that you are freaking.

Yes, I’ll change, yes, I swear.
Go away, don’t ******* stare.
No, I haven’t slept in days.
I’m pondering my next escape.

It’s really quite exhausting,
I’m either paralyzed or resolving
a bleak and bleary future,
maybe drugs and unhinged stupor

But you know as well as I
That I absolutely need to survive
I can’t afford to die
I can’t afford to die.

If not for myself, I’ll live in others
They’ll recall me when they shudder
Something’s in the room? No, another
Hallucination, some type of clutter.

You’ve built my insecurity,
you’ll fall for false maturity
The doctors will say I’m a-okay
Holy hell, she’s changed her ways.

..

But now?

Wellbutrin’s in the flower,
the flower’s in the tea ***,
resting by my bed side,
you’d never check my bed side.

Razor’s in the picture frame,
I reminisce of when it maimed
my skin and I felt something,
now I feel just nothing.

I tried to hide, these things of mine,
well enough you wouldn’t find

something wrong the next time,
there will not be a “next time.”
Poem about people catching onto your mental health and scavenging your room, breaching your privacy, locking you away, until you take the steps to get out of it.
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