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xalgia Dec 2019
Driving 220, beltless, with Elisabeth,
Half a foot beside me: Certain Death,
Nature: an incomprehensible blur,
-- Were we rushing to live, or to die? --
That's one thing you could not infer.
Every line has at least two meanings.
Sun Nov 2019
‘rabbit hearted’, my friends say.
they nod, all agree.
my muscle, they know, beats fast,
thud thud thud against its small cage
whenever i’m about to do
something incredibly stupid
that will put everyone in sticky situations.
‘sticky’, they say, ‘is a funny word’,
as my shoes are, they laugh,
‘glued like bubblegum to trouble’.
my old shoes, i stare at them and hum,
have seen a lot of bubblegum,
that much is true.
and my friends, they’re *******,
they smile bright at me, they cackle and sing.
‘don’t you think’, they joke like they always do,
‘that your head is the troubling part?’
so i sigh, and ask why like i always do.
they say, ‘your head comes with malfunctioning brakes, mate.’
so i think, maybe, rabbit hearted as i might be, the impossible chimera that ignites my every move must be a lion, or something that roars just as loud, with no shoes at all.
but in the end, all i say is ‘i can’t drive anyway’.
at least my friends laugh.
Alexander Oliver Mar 2019
When I was a young boy
I met a man with no legs.

“They popped right off! They ran and ran, off to the hills!”
Or so he said
                               Promising him his legs, I ran off

When I was a young boy
Looking for this poor man’s legs
I met a man with no arms,

“They were choking me, so I cut them both off”

Or so he said.
Grinning at me, he told me his tales
Tales of the moon and the rabbits,
                                                Of the turtle and the hare,
         Of the squirrel and her treasure,
                                                       ­                                                              
                               And of the man with no legs.

I took the man’s legs and never broke my promise,
In return I took the old man’s arms
To right my rightful wrong

Looking back now I can see a fatal error,
If only I could have learned it sooner;
You see, I was not a smart young boy
Or so they said
                               For I lost my ears along the way
I love telling stories. This is one of my first attempts at a more literal tale through poetry [after some heavy editing ;)]. "the squirrel and her treasure" is a reference to one of my other stories, if anyone is confused!
Stark Nov 2018
I feel it coming
The rush of recklessness
The active adrenaline
As it surges through my body

I may fall
But I will rise
And continue on

Only one life to live
May it be my last
As I run past
Towards the setting sun

Youth is like a day
Early brightness
That dies out like a star
Jeet Ratadia Jun 2018
Fabricate    the world,
tile                     by tile,
Until the towers sway.

     Overlook the foundations,
     in your                     frenzy;
     cement them another day.
      
           Let the buildings descend;
           frightened            humans,
           their lives        in jeopardy

                They felt         impeccable,
                now are            vulnerable-
                their lives have become tardy.

                               *        *       *
                 the bird soars high above
                 the streets are         empty
                 its screeches                 for
                 we are no                   more
This is a poem that symbolises global warming: we are our own bane.
The poems structure is like a fallen building and the stanza below the Asterix is the foundation (its got a crack in it- : )- )
G Jan 2018
A mask is something we wear to hide our real selves. Some of us wear our masks all the time while others don’t even realize they have masks at all.

Her mask is the epitomy of wealth and prosperity... so why are you on food stamps?

Her mask drives a bmw.....is that why you can’t make your car payments?

Her mask buys fivoluous **** that she’ll never use...is that why you overdraw your bank accounts?

Her mask is a lie she’s lived her entire life....is that why you wasted all your money?

Her face tells the real story...your irresponsible, self-serving, with an insatiable appetite for anything that you can’t have.

A mask helps you pretend to be someone your not.

But the thing about masks is...

They all have to come off eventually.
Dakota Aug 2017
my furniture is sentient
and i am not as real
as i might like to be.
mild hallucinations,
like dramamine
without the paranoia.
is this a dissociative?
i did a little research
and i was going to have a sitter
but it came early and i
wanted to try it and - yes
i am just one bad decision
away from prison, one bad
decision away from lying
unconscious in a ditch.  
salvia is legal  and
causing me to calculate
the realities of the life
i am choosing to steer
with reckless ambition.
Shruti Gauba May 2017
You say you love all of me,
like I am your better half.
But half of the things that go through my mind
have only made you laugh.
You say you love my madness,
but your love felt just lukewarm.
While on the inside I'm a commotion;
a constant, violent storm.
You touch me with tenderness.
and I lie that I like it too,
but the truth is that I feel myself
when I am not with you,
because passion and recklessness
find a home in my soul;
so when I am set on fire
is only when I'm free and whole.
Tempting,
to test your luck, to push
the boundaries until they
break and let loose like
floodgates.

It may destroy a lot, but it sure as hell changes the landscape.

Besides,
there is a sort of sick beauty
in watching something
come apart, something
terrible and mesmerizing
about destruction.  

See, there are some parts of god I understand.

And you,
always you with the other
answers, about love and
mercy and all that rot.

Together we sing the pieces, you said.

It's all we can do.
It's all we know.
more stream of consciousness than anything
raine miller Feb 2017
i want to live as if i were a firework.
it is an absolute ownership of the self
to recognize that none escape life without burns,
and to charge forth recklessly.
screaming across the night sky,
fireworks cannot go unnoticed
with their gaudy colors and thick trails of smoke;
i wish to be myself as unapologetically.

brash and impatient,
i want my voice to reverberate across the masses,
whether i speak to one or a hundred thousand.
my words will echo the raucous thunder of fireworks,
in the ceaseless recognition that i am alive, that i am something;
be it nothing more than a camera flash against the smudge of time.

do we not delight in the glare and promise of a simple firework,
a chemical accident launched into being?
if a firework can be beautiful despite its brokenness,
then i too can rise from my own ashes,
cry into the void, and flourish.
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