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Dallas Jul 9
I dont care about certain things anymore.
Am I growing up?
Maybe I'm just closing off.
When a person is dying the deemed less important organs shut down first. Last being heart and lungs, our heart strings singing their parting song.
Tell me, what is worse, unexpected tragedy or seeing the cliff and marching toward it anyways. Pretending I have a relation to our dear Icarus. I walk towards the pit, leaving a trail of feathers and candle wax...

I do want to come out of this.
I can come out of this.
Happiness is achievable-- but not if I keep pulling back.
I want nothing to do with anyone. I dont even want anyone to know my real name.
To be seen and discarded but yet worshipped.
But all I have is this grave indifference.
I refuse to bury myself.
Hannah Jones Apr 4
Cut the pretense.
We both know
--we as in me
and myself
looking in the "I" of the beholder--
that you're scared.

Every fiber
of my being
fights against this pen
this hand
these thoughts

What to think?
Maybe forcing thought
is my form of rebellion
You can't invade
if thoughts are
my barricade
so I build
piling high rhymes
pseudanymes for good times
--words that are not my own.

What do I own?
I borrow my words,
my thoughts,
my emotions.

Do I go through the motions?
Or have I learned how to respond
as anything besides a pawn
in a game I don't even
know how to play?

Just stay.
If you're in quicksand,
If you're thirsty,

And  t h i n k.
Think for yourself.
Your mind is your weapon
as is your heart
so play your part
with courage
for you were cast for a reason.

Embrace your season.
Bear the cross
and let it be messy.
Nobody believes that it's easy
so stop resisting
and start lifting
Let yourself be strong
Let yourself be weak
Let yourself  b e.

Your strength is your presence.
Your weakness, your solitude.

"Yourself to yourself--"
too near, or too far?
Can you even determine
when reality and reverie
blend more often than not?

Be at peace.
Stop resisting.
Know where you stand,
and have a seat.

We've been waiting for you.
Prompt: resistance
Result: unnamed inner demons coming to light
mjad Feb 1
This is a soul that cares more about itself than the expectations for the vessel that hosts it
do __ understand ?
Mick Jan 5
When did this become so difficult?
writing just to write,
feeling to feel,
are you speaking to speak,
or speaking to be heard?
I am speaking to myself
for myself
by myself
with myself
to better understand what secrets my conscious knows about me.
Ron Jul 2018
Always up
Late at night
Smoke alone
Feel alright
Thoughts wander
To the great beyond
Into oblivion
Searching for a brighter Sun
Light another one
Chase away the dark
Searching for another spark
I need a little hope
I've been lacking that
Stuck on contemplating past
Choices, I've been forced to ask
Is this worth it?
Will it pass?
Am I destined or am I ******?
Hannah Christina May 2018
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
Johan Nel May 2018
Let's stalk each other and love to like
In every moment we can capture some arbitrary tripe
And hold an infinite amount of empty memories in our hands

They want to roll in pastures, green and lush
      Beyond that untouchable fence
The herders are watching and they know what we need
To be heard, to be seen and to be

But some of us would like to break free from this insanity
And go left for once when a right is the only way
When red is go and the hanging space of yellow does not exist

What have we done to the little lambs who follow Mary's every move?
And why is opinion a matter of fact?

A great sadness can only be met on this path
The power to leave this system is not found in my self-aware wrath
©Johan Nel 2018.05.21
Janery Alban Feb 2018
Arms strong enough to hold anyone up.
Can they help you?
Red is not the color of love, it is the color of sweetness incarnate, often tinged with a hue of ache and longing.
I am seeing the masterpiece I created in my head.
Dabs of insecurity and strokes of emerald.
I thought I was going to unveil a work that Christ Himself would like to hang in his home, but when I stepped away it was all pitch dark.

I had made an abomination.
Coming to terms with my issues, and washing off the shame.
Mae Jan 2018
My dream was just like my everyday
walking about
watching my nieces play

Perfectly aligned with reality
in the restroom I gaze into a mirror
viewing myself with perfect clarity

Lifeless eyes
with redish-blue bags underneath them
Hair that had been cut all off
and dyed to resemble a rotten plum

My skin as pale as can be
Is this how I see myself?
...or is this how others see me?
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