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Leah Carr Nov 2020
Where can I go
to escape the damaging rays of the rising sun?

What hiding place is so good
even I can't truly find myself?

What disguise can I put on
to be sure that those I love cannot recognise me?

And most importantly
Why do I want to?
I wonder if everyone who reads this will interpret it differently…
Noemi Amorphous Nov 2020
A borrowed history
A second-hand life
A true heritage denied.

This stranger sapling grafted to your family tree.
And the story told, to them and me;
" You were chosen, you are special, we were lucky..."

So you won.
Here's your prize;
A commodity baby, a charity child
Love conditionality and gratitude implied.
Woken from connection and amniotic peace
To a secret story of threefold grief.
I was taken from my First Mother when I was 10 days old by closed adoption. This was common in the UK until the early 1970s, a process whereby the baby was given to the adoptive family and the original birth records sealeduntil the child was 18.  This poem is about the strangeness of being a strangling, and in no way negates the love of my adoptive parents.  I am now, finally,  glad I am alive and able to share this part of my story, dedicated to all my parents, and all those who have shared this experience
Sabika H May 2020
There is no companion,
Only company.
There is no love but
They are lovely.
There is no curiosity to ask:
“What are your dreams?”
“Your secrets?”
“Your difficulties?”
There’s no desire to observe a legacy.

Maybe the protagonist is to blame.
Years were spent building
A foundation based on
Secrecy and mistrust
But I had no idea
People were happy and willing
To play along.
madeline Jan 2020
We are in this delicate situation. Words can’t be uttered. Eyes can’t meet. And hearts can’t be followed. The world depresses us. I have no choice but to push and push you away, but how, when those mesmerizing eyes caress my soul like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. But I won’t say a word, I can’t. I value you that much that I don’t want to put you in difficulty.
So I will let this be
I won’t say a word.
Violetempath27 Dec 2019
In the middle of Reality and surrealism is where you will find me.
Finding it may be difficult to differentiate.
Everyone seeks to find the way to reality.
Asking for guidance might help gravitate.
Time has always taken it's time.
Causing detachment from everything, everyone even me.
Learning, healing and being is my aim.
Hoping I'll be able to digest the end.
Mary E Zollars Sep 2019
In a far away land, a long time ago,
there was a revolt in the kingdom of Nah.
The people were tired of the king’s dark ways,
and forced him to make a change.
“I do not wish to harm my land,
I hate to hear my people cry,
so I will change my ways to appeal to you,
and to prove it, I will build my castle from glass”
Now the people could watch him work,
And monitor all he did.
Assured that their king was honest,
the people went about their days.
But the king was harsh,
The dungeons were full,
Still the people would say,
“If his ways are bad,
Then why would he put them on display?”
Taxes rose, corpses piled,
And the kingdom fell to ruin.
When the people asked
“What has happened?”
A wise woman said to them,
“You turned the castle to glass,
But what about the king?”
Your sensitivity is framing you
Don't believe it
It'll do you no good
For once, try being
Heartless
For once, try being
Selfish
Just for once, build courage
And try being
The opposite of what you really are

I'm sorry, I can't
It's my fault
Some kind of secrecy binds me
Till now
I just can't figure out the way out of this

I feel terrible sometimes
That I'll be like this for eternity
Hope is slipping out of my hands like sand
I'm on the verge of being helpless
Forgive me if you can
Michael H May 2019
Secrecy
is imperative
and difficult

we work alongside
your regimen
you control me

And I like it
377 I wanted to post another poem that was really good, but ought be kept alone - so I thought to post this one. I like poems like this, and it is more true than you would think ;)
Poetria Dec 2018
without my secrets I am naked
the exposition would feel strange
but I am not my secrets

they are a fragile sheath
I prefer to keep tucked underneath
but they are not me

every piece of art
is defined differently
to each living being
a multitude of meanings

just like the eye
is our all-telling piece
in this gallery it speaks
a multitude of stories
I haven't written a single poem in ten months, so this is me trying to remember how to write again.
The street is silent, as she walks down,
Starlight surrounds her, all around.
She wants to be alone, she wants to go,
But all she wants to do is be at home.

She can't face the life there though,
The reactive circumstances,
Facing everyone else face up to stuff,
The things that she just wants to quieten down.

Pacing the empty streets, she sighs,
"Goodnight to the world, I'll never say goodbye."
She knows she can't walk this path forever,
People will wonder 'what that crazy girl is making holes in her shoes for?'
Never good at saying goodbye,
She goes back to her warm house,
Submitting herself to trying to understand everyone else,
But according to most, she picks the wrong people to understand.

Whilst she stumbles up the stairs,
Because she's not very well,
And she still needs more rest,
She's feeling upset with the reason of her silence,
For this only makes the noise in her mind more violent.
She wants to be heard, and also she doesn't,
Because she knows the importance of the needs of others,
Even when they conflict her own,
So to make herself feel better,
For some of the cold thoughts inside her head,
She attempts to tell herself, it's because she's trying to be a good person first, instead;
Or else she'll think she's being selfish, for wanting to be able to confide in someone.
Maybe a sympathetic person outside the situation,
Could understand how she feels and why she views things as she's starting to.

She just doesn't understand,
Why it's so easy,
For everyone else to cut people out.
This is her come down,
When she thinks that perhaps, she too, would be better off with out.

'Can you get rid of everyone who splits off from others?' She wonders.
'Not really', she answers, 'because there would always be someone else,
There will always be someone to leave someone else.'
'It's okay', she tells herself, 'because eventually they'll all have left me too,'
Because surely after the amount of people that leave her,
There should be a time when she really is completely on her own.
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