Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
It's a case of adverse possession
There's no time for regression
No room for hate for their goodself
Don't bother about the herd
You are a different nerd
Engineering, artisans, artistic literacy
Justice and advocacy
You are a peerless practitioner
With a scientific temper
Viewing matter and spirit from that angle
Don't bother about the herd
You are a different nerd
Lacey Clark Jul 8
I've developed a strange type of anger lately
I've never really been an angry person
I've only felt it in glimpses
like when I was a teenager
and my mom set unjust authority,
or a few times
as a younger girl,
when she was drunk and didn't follow through.
Now I get so angry
that I've started throwing my phone
and deleting apps
and taking all 6 of my cheap gold rings off
and throwing them 1 by 1
at all corners of the room
I started ripping pages out of my planner
and throwing them across the room
I started ripping my phone cord out of the wall
and going for runs all of a sudden
and I am sprinting on the pavement
pounding my feet violently against the cement
and I've been collapsing at this field down the street
and laying in the irritating, dry, straw grass
and crying into the sunset
I've been snapping at people
and myself
I've been hyperventilating
and I keep taking my rings off and throwing them against the walls
those quarantine feels.. missing friends and family
NC Burch May 9
Ah, intergenerational envy!
I think we've all been subject
to that impulse now and then.
Like paying tribute
through ritual can change our fate.
Like we can right some cosmic wrong
that left us displaced decades or centuries.

Oh, child of the past!
Gird yourself with books
and records and films.
Barricade the way
leading your present to your future.

Abandon all hope ye who enter here!
For the past is a dream differed,
ripe only for those who pluck it
with a backwards glance.
And the future is grim.
Carlo C Gomez Feb 29
Raised on vaccine
Children of the thorny hedgerows
Lines blur
Minds stir
But lungs breathe in the bloom

Raised on old wives tales
Children of the wide open sea
Sights clear
Horizon blue
But brain dead in the surf

There's strength in numbers
Once immunity is lost
So is hope
Ken Mears Nov 2019
Society has crumbled,

The world has regressed,

Everyone is depressed,

Mentally jumbled.


We think we are above,

All of those dystopian stories,

That we don't fall in those categories,

But they fit like a glove.


Fahrenheit 451?

Who reads books anyway?

There is no keeping the media at bay,

Our screens are on all day!


Orwell's 1984?

Thanks to phones we have no privacy,

Everyone inflicts their own policy,

And agenda evermore.


The Giver?

Our joy and suffering,

Are ****** away by our constant screening,

And pleasures made to deliver.


Ready Player One?

We turn to escapism,

So we can run,

From activism, racism, and fascism.


We think we are above,

All of those dystopian stories,

That we don't fall in those categories,

But they fit like a glove.
Max Sep 2019
As the worlds gets smaller these days,
The distance grows.

As life is being made easier,
Why do the feelings get harder?

Why is it that when we look at each other,
That the the eyes are not the thing we look at?

What is progression if regression is it's consequence?
Thinking in a negative or realistic way, I can't tell the difference.
George Anthony Mar 2019
the razor edge
of living sharp and free
is when the roses lose their petals,
the thorns are all i can see
George Anthony Mar 2019
lately, the anxiety keeps settling in my teeth,
setting them on edge:
an unwelcome guest spitting scornful jest
to cause my brain to second guess
every thought i thought wasn't a mess,
exposing my mind -- a train wreck

i scruff my tongue against them
in the hopes of forcing the enamel clean
but this apprehension's made of harder stuff
that even molars couldn't crush;
the muscles of my jaw clench
their unhappiness, an endless throb
of raw numbness, itching to be expelled
through sound or sick or movement

excuses to flee, suddenly,
enunciated by the bitter desperation
to expel what words fail to express;
there's no sudden obligation,
no needs to address. i'm just trying
hard to outrun the foam of fruitless frets
fizzing into overflow, stomach acid upset
i need to escape this monotonous cycle and do something new to let my mind reset
Dani Jan 2019
Creeping crawling
Waiting stalking...
You sit there in wait
As if a planned date

Of which, I do not know
Why are you staring little crow?
You sit and watch beating hearts
'Til the harvest starts

I almost tune out the evil laugh
That you bellow from deep within your wrath
And almost forget where you reside
That is, within me, deep inside

Your jar of souls collected slowly
You take your time being unholy
You go into hibernation away from the watchful cavists
You do not mind though, for winters calm brings great Spring harvests

You feast and feast devouring bit by bit
You take piece by piece encouraging me to submit
Fighting the pain,
Fighting in vein...

Tearing me down, nonstop
As if I your crop
Little crow caws in joyous evil song
Release me from your grasp, I beg all night long

You come and go
And reap what I sow
Taking my strength and will to fight
Chomping down into flesh throughout the night

Released once more, you hide away again
I almost forget, but you have written it in permanent pen
You wrote "Never forget, sweet child, I am you keeper.
Sincerely,
The Soul Reaper."
Cavist: A hawk which is of proper age and training to be carried on the hand; a hawk in its first year.
A symbol of strength and protection for me.
Next page