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Vulpes Nov 2017
We are nothing but an empty shell,
Filling our voids with warm things to feel alive,
A composition of ravished corpses of once
Living beings that will warm our dead inside.

We are nothing but animals,
Playing human every day, faking empathy and emotion,
Playing God every day, ravaging and killing our host,
Beautiful lands left with nothing but corruption.

We are nothing but greed,
A broken people cutting their skin with green paper,
Pretending this is what true happiness means,
Killing each other for the bliss of coins.

Desperately fighting my rotten ego,
I pour blood into this empty vessel, the cage of my soul,
The core of a virus pretending to live righteously,
Yet I know that this version of me is indifferent.
A parasite.
Vyiirt'aan Nov 2017
If I were different
Would the sky shelter me
Would the clouds
Cover my head

If I were different
Would nature accept me
Would it nurture me
A thorny embrace

Thoughts cascading
Internally
And I wish that
Hopefully

If I were different
Would you still love me?
What is... perfection?
Samantha Symonds Oct 2017
Golden brown or yellow livered
a field of blows await
Spring to be delivered
as waters turn from
snow to dew
Your yellow crown peeks and pushes through
over summer's flowers bloomed too soon
underneath Your shadow wilt and swoon
as long as roots can drink their fill
remain reflecting in Your windowsill
Echoing I'm your Daffodil
Meg B Oct 2017
SOS
Why is it so hard for me to love myself?
Things that I see in others
I see with such admiration,
but when I see myself,
it's as if I've become blind.
What I know of so surely as good
is somehow bad as it pertains to me,
and what I recognize as existing in someone else
suddenly becomes unrecognizable within myself.
I focus so earnestly on my feelings for you
and for them
and for everything, everyone, every cause around me;
so, then, why don't I focus on the same
for myself?
How easily can I tell
a woman abused that it wasn't her fault,
that she should bare no shame,
yet somehow, all the absuse that I suffered,
I was the cause, I am to blame.
I know they say, whoever they is,
that you can't love anyone till you love yourself,
but most days I feel I love everyone
except for myself.
And it's truly strange,
because it seems to come in waves,
and now that I'm toying with the idea of
loving again,
I am struggling to wade in the riptide.
I can't drown in you if I can't stay afloat,
I can't swim with you until I find myself
(a life boat).
Shukorina Sep 2017
The word potential is one of self sabotage.
It is dedicated to those unable to put their dreams to work.
Potential is a word given to the indicated who are poised to have talent but no drive, ambition but no discipline.
Potential is given to the abundant group of people who are able to breathe but never live life.
Potential.
A word made to create your grave before you've died.
I haven't figured out how to stay away from the trap.
However, a promise to myself is that I will do more then breathe.
Shukorina Sep 2017
In the pit of every person, there is a child.
Each child is different.
Some beg to be loved, some beg to alone, some so timid they know not of speaking, let alone the art of begging.
It is undeniable however, that we each have one that lives in us forever.
A child that we groom, prime or contort depending on our conviction, so that we become unrecognizable as we grow into adulthood.
Mallory Jun 2017
Dirt under my nails
From trying to bail
out on reality
The night before.
Shakes, spins, sweats,
and I can't wrap my head
around the kind of self sabotage this is. If it's not helping me, it's hurting me.
If you're ignoring me,
don't think I won't leave
because I will.
My footsteps are heavy
and slow;
steady
I know.
but I have come a long way
plenty of suns before.
there is no way to go
that is too far.
no companion
that tries too hard
And nothing that grounds me more,
Than love.
Hong Denice Jun 2017
Chasing your dreams does not mean leaving behind your morally right and christlike values, character, behaviour, people and the most heart breaking is putting God aside. No matter what you believe He exists or not....You will have to take responsibilities of your mistakes or the better word sins.    Mistakes are mistakes and sins are sins  Those are two different things.
Camilla Green Mar 2017
It's raining outside...
with drops of a different kind,
tarred with morality and sin.
I can feel it, but not on my skin
it melts, like mired paper snow,
eyes brim with flakes of commas, ellipses, and unblinked zeugmas
that they thought I'd never know

But I absorb every drop-
every antidote, every toxic remark
they eat away at my soft and white
cancerous to gently marrowed bones
yet I long for the slipping
of soft yellow butter on flaky warmed toast
simply resting onto the surface, eternally
What must it be like...to be oblivious?
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