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the hour is late
fears keeping you wake
it's all in your head
it's all in your head

the nightmare is nigh
in your tired eye
it's creeping nearby
it's creeping nearby

the danger exists
it's still in your head
it will never end
it will never end
for us anxious folks, the distinction between what's real and what's not can become meaningless
Kalliope Jun 20
I cradle hurricanes in my ribcage
while words swirl around my head.
I try to catch the good ones-
but mostly, I wish I was dead.

I do everything too much-
the joy, the sorrow, the dread.
Yet somehow, I’m never enough-
what a curious truth to be force fed.

If I laugh, it’s always too loud;
my mouth too sharp to make anyone proud.
Crying is a dangerous game,
I could sob away a city, drown in the blame.

My rage leaves no survivors,
as if I line people up on personal pyres.
When I vent, they hear preaching-
a sermon no one wants, a fear of my leeching.

I don’t love, I dissect-
obsessively search for the trap I expect.
I can’t just leave; I burn it all down-
the bubbly, funny girl wears a permanent frown.

I do too much and my inner child feels seen,
She's acting out, we aren't this mean
I just get scared when the vibe is off, and ruining the mood makes the blow more soft.

Despite the chaos I still crave love, an equal partner, wearing fireproof gloves.
If I weather your storms, could you handle mine?
Storm chasers have never been easy to find.
Kalliope Jun 20
Heavily debated deleting my account,
Even though it predates you,
It is forever tainted
with confessions of
love
for
you
Its 8 pm and I feel sick
I'm sick of feeling sick
I don't know why I'm this way 🙃
Kalliope Jun 2
I'd have to **** part of myself to live the life my mother wants
And the worst part is she really
believes that's best
It's 8 am and I'm searching for comfort
Just to be treated like disappointment
Kalliope Jun 1
What's the price on sanity these days?
Could I doordash it?
noon
Kalliope Apr 23
She'll nail the audition, she always does
She even gets the lead more often than not,
But like clock work, her performance declines with each rehearsal
She can't hit the notes,
Her costume begins fitting funny,
Don't get me started on her choreography,
But she'll pursue, until she's booed
Off the stage on opening night.

And this is her curse,
She'll nail the first verse,
And have seemingly no control as she gets worse
Why does every director leave her wondering if there's something wrong with her?
my insistence on existence is getting out of hand
the walls are shaking
ground is breaking
its getting hard to stand
i tried talking to the glass, staring into a new land
the mirror is cracking
voices stacking
echoing demands

i wrote a thesis on my spiral
and signed it in my blood
filed it under "WHAT THE HELL"
and watched it sink into the mud
people seem to like me
tell me i seem vague
i take it as a compliment
then turn another page.
Izan Almira Apr 12
There is this thing about spiraling;
isn't it beautiful in a way?
I am like a ballerina;
turning and twisting against the same spot;
turning it into poetry.
Dude, the imaginary, I love this one. To be honest, I don't really know if it's okay to hype up your own art, but **** I'm proud: I love this piece.
stillhuman Jul 2021
It's taking all of me
to not spiral
out of control
into madness

The world's capacity is full
and i'm a grain of sand
Why is it so menacing to just exist?
Melony Martinez Jun 2021
The world we make
Is a safe place to fall from
Spiraling into one another
Our souls orbit like Saturn's moons
Drawn by an irresistible gravity

The world we make
Is a journey most never experience
An adventure full of new discoveries
And unexplained connections
Guiding us toward one another

The world we make
Is familiar and foreign
A home for healing hearts
And building dreams
From the fractured pieces

Broken and beautiful
Raw and rare
Faith and fear
Grace and gratitude
Ours
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