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I’m not remotely close to having control.
My fingers slip, but I don’t want to go down that hole.
Temptation at the tip of my nose
with her eyes opening up my soul.
My resolve is low, but I’m trying to make it last.
Sometimes in this race, I feel like I’m coming in last,
even though I stick to the goal, and I’m skating so fast.
I just wish to feel whole, but that’s evading my grasp.
It would be so easy to give up,
to lift up, the regret and hating the past.
Holding on is so hard, is this what
life leads to? The anger and grief bleeds through
my words, hurting him, her, and me too.
Is it sad to plead to the unknown when euphoria actually sees you
at your lowest? When you’re unheroic
and have never been stoic? When you’re unnoticed
yet devoted but you can’t keep focus
because you’ve lost all motive?
It’s sobering to deny the malice
but what if you’re too weak to avoid the chalice?
Will falling into euphoria break the chains on my talus?
Does happiness come from self-discipline and earnest effort, or does it stem from the abandonment of concern in the pursuit of euphoria?
Come sit by me
Listen to my story
You will then know
Why , I am the way , I am
Where my strength
Where my laughter
Reside in me
Why , I am so resilient
Why , I want more from life
Why , I am lonely
Why , I still have hope
That in me , I know
I have lived the pain
I learn and grow from it
If , I can still stand up
Then anyone can
With all the struggles
With all the ****
I have had to live with
from birth till now
If , I still breath
If , I still believe
then you can
I can show you
through my story
Can it be
© Jennifer L DeLong 2/2021
Juliana Feb 9
You push me,
shout at me,
pull me around
like I exist as a form of playdough;
one which molds at your touch,
like you are my creator,
and I, just your masterpiece.

Like I am an object,
a toy,
some plastic, a bit of wire.

Even if that may be,
even if you reduce me to
be held in the eyes of a child,
is that all I am?
Am I not more?

Does a child not feel?
Not love?
Not play?

How is a child’s love any less than yours?
How am I any less worthy?

I am not a ball of dough.
I am not to be rolled around.
To be pushed;
to be shoved.

I will not let your words penetrate me.
I will stay guarded;
I will not unravel under the thread of your fingertips;
I will only be picked apart by my own.


Like the last breath of a flickering bulb,
those sweet sorrow seconds of a candle
right before the flame dies down.

I am a flame, and I will be fire,
and I will not be stopped.
yes i did just write an unironically deep poem about a personified bot it. yes that's just who i am.
Naveen Malhotra Oct 2020
Lot of things
Tried to break my heart
Couldn't reach breaking point
Even couldn't set permanent set
So resilient is my heart
It won't break at any cost
Would prefer to stop
The fire within it
consents to be extinguished
Refuses to be cold
My heart is quite smart
Holds stories untold
Every attempt to break my heart
Fixed new vision
Horizons got widened
With every treason
Lots of things
Tried to break my heart
But they couldn't!
manlin Jul 2020
cw: ****** assault and suicidal thoughts

I want to combust.
Not into the traditionally red flames.
Red is my mother’s color; because, it’s
the one that suits her the best.

But the reason why I hate it, is that in a deeper shade,
it is the same color that runs between her thighs
and stains the bedsheets we clean
when men decide that they’re more worthy.

I want my flames to be purple,
the same shade I have been fixed on since I was little.
Purple like the heroine I always dreamed of becoming,
and the edges of my vision when I

swallow the cleaning products,
count out the pills,
pull the belt tight around my neck,
grow so furious with myself that I wish I was just dead.

When I told my mother I wanted to die,
she screamed at me,
“How dare you think you’ve gone through so much,
when I’ve gone through so much worse!”

That is why
I want to explode
into flames
that dare to justify my own right to pain.

But purple is the same color
I see around my little sister’s face,
concern in her gaze
as she whispers, “I love you."

How could the world be so cruel?
Locking a man in our home,
a man who tries to take away every piece that makes us whole,
and forcing my little sister to witness me in such a state.

I can’t live up to being a
college student
big sister,

I can’t bear forcing my little sister
to witness her big sister
lifeless in the room next to hers.

When I go out,
I want to combust into purple flames
because I’m so
terrified, furious, disappointed.

Unlike the men who built the college,
I want to die
without a trace,
and my ashes to disappear.

I guess
nothing would change after I die,
except there would be more
purple little bruises on my sister’s heart.

But would I become
greedy, disgusting, memorable
because I would
leave her?

Leave her like our father
who forgot our birthdays
or when it was his time for child custody,
but could never forget his favorite beer?

When my mother’s boyfriend tries to break into my room at night,
I beg the flames to take me.
I’m too tired, hungry, and weak
to believe I have a right to my own body anymore.

“Traitors,” I whisper to the flames,
hoping my emotions would be strong enough
to ignite myself
and disappear.

But the following morning,
my little sister would knock at my bedroom door,
greeting me with a sleepy smile,
and sitting on my bed to chat.

How could the world be so cruel
to my little sister by making me,
the girl who can’t even protect herself,
her protector?

“I missed you.”
She says, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I just saw you before you went to sleep.”
I reply.

the purple flames that I once called traitors
remind me they were with me the whole time,
burning resiliently.
i'm sorry if i post this incorrectly or it uploads strangely as this is my first time posting on this site. thank you for your time reading.
Sam Jul 2020
i taught my eyes to be vacuums
to take it all in
let nothing out
it’s healthy to cry
Holly Jun 2020
My feet
are burned and bloodied
with the dirt
from which i clawed
my way out of.
Every word
to tumble from my lips
might choke
on the teeth
lining my throat,
but i will still
spit them out.
My arms
may be scarred
with the cuts
of all the thorns
i had to dig through,
and my heart
might be back
in the grave you buried me in,
but I will still
stand in front of you
more alive than
you will ever be.
hybridstorm May 2020
Pieces of broken glass,
Scattered colors,
An orange ribbon,
And a fresh red rose.
Be out of the box. Never confine your potential because of words or worse. Realize that you are not a clone. You are a product of tomorrow. You can never be someone else successfully. So why try?
hybridstorm May 2020
In a dark world,
where the light comes from only
within me,
and none elsewhere.
I limp with swollen feet
and tired eyes.
Tired of the betrayal,
tired of the failure,
tired of the hate.
Amidst the blinding pain,
and the screaming angels,
I decide to fly.
Sometimes we need to bend reality, be different, and change our lives drastically for the better.
Pepper Dove Apr 2020
Left out in the cold,
you leave me here to freeze
shut out from your warmth

I am forced to trudge on
leaving footprints in the snow
I walk towards the sun

drawing me
to serenity

it directs my uncertainty
ensuring that everything will be fine,
if I continue on

my feet will reach the sands
which I will bury
grounding my spirit

stilling me

instilling in me

r e s i l i e n c e
Lyrics to a recent song in the making
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