Gemma 4d
Take your shoes off ,
Unclip you bra ,
Hang your hopes on a washing line,
And spend some time inside , absorbed by the harsh reality of not feeling comfortable about who you are.
They can't judge behind closed doors ,
And invitations are the only way of entrance ,
The fake smile can be consumed by your quiet habitation,
You can return to your own version of normal.
If you were a secret
afraid of being mocked
hide not yourself in a treasure chest
in case you get caught locked

For what will become of a secret
If they lost the key
No longer an unknown secret
But an unsolved mystery
Poetic Surgery, Copyright © 2018,  All rights reserved
s May 13
you little shattered thing, have
you lost your pieces again?
are you still
seeking comfort
from someone's
apathetic hands?
allowing yourself to cave in
to their abysmal demands?

you stupid little thing you
disappear more every day
even your reflection dissipates
cause it can't bare to see your face

you human-turned-monster
have you forgotten how to live?
didn't anyone teach you how to give
parts of yourself to the others?

you goddamn idiot
why can't you remember the past?
do you just choose to forget?
and why do you lie
about your quiet laments?
are you blissfully ignorant  
or are you consumed by regret?

     your sweet shy soul
     where did it go?
emmaa May 9
i’m sorry i’m cautious
it’s not like i have much reason to be
just observations
mere contemplations

over how it would feel
to open my heart to someone
only for it to get trampled
i don’t want to be another example

of why we shouldn’t open
ourselves to people
when it just leaves us empty
it just doesn’t seem tempting

so why should i
when it comes to love
i don’t see the fuss
over people who don’t give a shit about us
Ella Johnson May 8
eyes meet
holding in the words we want to say
smiles widen
hopefully sharing our mutual interest
voices are silent
hiding all we feel

i'd rather be shy than get hurt again.
emnabee May 8
This poetry, although
in my blood,
is rather new to me.

And considering my introverted nature,
I don’t do social media.

You don’t have to walk on eggshells to get through to me.
But you do have to understand some things about me.

I warm up slowly.
I do not gain speed rapidly.
Sometimes I shut down completely.
Some days no one can talk to me.

Or, if they do, I do not respond.
(I think I know why this happens,
but that is another chapter)

Just please know,
I sometimes get freaked out when people talk to me.
This is why I may not follow or comment.
I simply want to respect your privacy.

Sometimes I have quiet days.

And if your bio tells me what to do
in order to communicate with you,
I will probably avoid you.

Because I’m shy.

I live in mortal fear of offending.
I even hide behind words.
This battle is never-ending.

Thank you for listening.
I’m panicking right now.
c May 3
I am quiet in a line of on-lookers, big-thinkers, hell-raisers
I sing a song to a corner in the room
It winks and blinks along the beat as
Large shadows confidently raise their arms in triumph.

I am sitting still, a floating ocean depth silence
Watching waves crash and clatter miles overhead--
What fun they must be having out there in the world!
Where the blue is sometimes yellow or pink and
All one knows is not only the dark, deafening hush of
The colors really taste like they advertise:
Savory sweet honey orange, supple plump green melon,
Ripe for the picking, these--

These are the pickers.
With their power-tool loudness, their "I can fix it!"
The red-runners, the green-makers.
Their lawns rolling out like gold virgin dresses
Reveling in their own chaste gold underskirts under a matching
Gold sun
The earth bowing her shoulders to make room

I am the crisp subtle crunch between bites
The shamed blouse of the whore
The sufficiently watered bud among a field of tall daisies
The pause in your breath
The silence of an empty house

The quiet lemon shavings left on
The quiet cutting board,
Bleeding rind by way of knife

The metaphor in a poem -- waiting in quiet verse
To rear its head to the reader

How many empty glass bottles can you shove into a bag
Before it all leaks out the bottom
I am the bottom
A soft reflection in the train-car window

I see you all.
I hear you.

I don't know quite yet if
I understand you
Rambling on in high buildings with your
Asses reared high.
Whether love is just temporary obsession or
If one can make it to death without truly living.

But I do know, quite often, that there is meaning
In complete

Kuraido May 2
I shouldn’t have been too shy,

do you know the reason why?

I procrastinated for so long

now I don’t know where to belong

I kept you within grasp inside my mind

My love for you shone the brightest, now I’m partially blind

I poured your essence to fill my heart

When I knew you’d never take part

I never got to see my feelings fly

I never should’ve been too shy
Elaine May 1
It's so hard to watch him with other people
He's not shy about showing anyone else affection
And I'm one of his best friends, so what's different with me?
I know I'm being selfish, that he has much more pressing matters to worry about
Than a hug
Or some handholding
But I'm tired and sad and I just want someone to snuggle up against and forget the world
He's my best friend but i'm kind of a little bit in love with him. Oops
A poet is such a loser
Who only speaks through words;
Hoping a blue moon would occur
Sometime in the future.
But Future is too wild to capture;
Galloping, rushing in a herd.
Soaring like a free bird.

And who am I really?
Just another loser
Who can barely bear
To look you in the eye.
Nothing can compare.
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