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Mona Aug 24
regrettable regret

                          cemented with regret.

empty threats,
heaving with regret,
heart is vehemently set,
yet my mind seeks reset.


expectations left unmet
tossed the dices, a bet
i am forever in debt
prophecies set

                          cemented with regret.
Kasansa Kuya Jul 9
In this world of deception and lies.
Where life seems to pass me by.
My dreams exist in an immaterial plane.
Manifesting in feelings I cannot explain.
However, I struggle to expel all the garbage I've been told.
And my mind is fit to burst out of its mould
The mold that grows on the surface for all to see.
will not silence the real me.
So this is my story
As told by i
How I cured the rot
or dared to try
Growing up in South Africa and then moving to Asia showed me how much of a hopeless state Africa is in. But that's my story, I feel like this poem relates to those who are trying to escape poverty, stagnation, and trying to transform. Its a story of maturation in a place that stunts your growth.
Alice Swatridge Dec 2019
Looping and looping
A single day-dream
She’s trapped in between
The light where she cried

She eats the same cereal
Every single morning
Not a single morning
Since the day she died

I keep on walking
Staggering on the roads
I keep on the go
Leaving her behind

She likes the same bands
She wears the same clothes
The same thing she loathes
Since the day she died

This age is temporary
Changes every month
Another status done
Another band new sight

Stuck in a phase of life
She can’t advance at all
Stuck at a single fall
Since the day she died.
This is a poem I wrote in November of 2016 about the death of my older sister. It depicts the way that the dead stay exactly the way they were when they died whilst the living keep changing. In it I contrast the stagnant state of my dead sister with my own live one.
mysa Nov 2019
i feel like a tiger
pacing in a cage
it is not poetic
in the way that
if the bars were opened
i would burst out
like a firecracker
it is instead in the way that
i would lie down where i stood
unable to leave.
wrote this back in october
neth jones Oct 2019
home ; i ought wish from

comfort slums the fallow feet

means of revival

travel
Anti Haiku
Running in place is all I seem to be doing.

Wanting growth is hard when you don't have the means,
but the will is so strong.

So strong is all these people ever say
wanting to brake you down with expression
coupled with envy.

My walls cave in
the pressure seems to crush me completely imploding my body into matter.

What's the matter now?
What's next
Im waiting.

Waiting for the light to shrine through
to carry me up
to somewhere new.
i wrote this while struggling to find a job shortly after i found my dream job
Devin Ortiz May 2019
Where is everyone off to in a hurry..?
Why am I still waiting..?
Graham Kellner Jan 2019
It feels just like yesterday, whispers
a croaking voice inside, so familiar,
but ownerless, like that same white van
passed on every morning’s commute, a canvas
where somebody beautiful took the time to
spraypaint in pukegreen bubbleletters
“WELCOME TO HELL”, to
urban sprawl, or capitalism,
or something? Something, slinking like a
roach through rotting throngs of desperation
marching blind through subwaycar shackles,
carrying away the hopes of tomorrow on
yesterday’s dollar, building justifications
for plunder out of cold metal and glass…

eyes open. I open the morning door,
pierced by a crow’s shadow at
oppressive dawn. Bleary, half-formed,
each step out of the homeshell and down
the street feeling slowed down, like
the air has hardened into a sea of fudge,
saccharine bliss of ***** birds resembling
the endless sobs of the guilty, keeping them
down, today, locked up inside—

I have wasted years
apologizing for not being
enough to replace this futility—
I have no butterfly net
big enough
to seize the day.

On the far side of an idyllic fence
a groundhog darts out from a hedgerow,
barreling awkwardly, shamelessly,
away from the familiar cover of the underbrush—
Sparkling, from this distance,
playfully glazed with new sun
this shuffling ball of fur
hurtles through the empty field…

Why can’t I?
Stepping up and into
public transport, metallic husk,
the question remains, lingering
far after the sounds fade out.

--Graham Kellner
first poem on here! :)
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