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Aisling Jan 2017
sometimes I feel like my brain is melting and likely to ooze out my ears at any second but sometimes I feel like my brain is swelling and the pressure is too much for my fragile skull and my head will explode and it will be hell to clean up.

sometimes I feel like my skin is too tight and one wrong move will cause it to split open and reveal bones and blood and gore but sometimes I feel like my skin isn't really /my skin/ like I'm slapping €10 moisturizer on some strange mask that looks like skin and feels almost like skin but just doesn't feel quite right on my body.

sometimes I feel like drinking ***** like its water or swallowing xanax like they're tic tacs and washing everything down with cookies and maybe a bottle of €4 wine but sometimes I feel like drinking peppermint tea and eating sweet red apples and the only constant is that I never feel like nourishing myself properly whether because I don't deserve it or because I'm too exhausted all the time I'm not sure.

sometimes I feel like I haven't earned the love and trust and intimacy I crave and that's why I don't ******* have it and sometimes I feel like **** for thinking that because I know realistically I have family and friends and blah blah blah but the idea of speaking completely openly to anyone terrifies me to the point of xanax ***** rinse repeat and I think maybe that's what I want
that being someone who definitely will not leave or want to or be disappointed no matter what I do and maybe that's another reason why I can't talk to the people I have because I can't bear the guilt
my shoulders are so knotted and tired they can't carry the disappointed faces too.

sometimes I feel like the biggest hypocrite alive because I tell myself one thing and my brain fights me on it and I can never tell who's winning only that there's a mess now because I didn't listen to the facts and sometimes I feel like this mess is exactly what I need because I don't know who I am without it.

sometimes I feel so much my toes buzz and my eyes black over and I can't breathe or stop sobbing but sometimes I feel nothing at all and I think I know which one I prefer and I think I know it's the wrong one.

what is it like to feel steady.
stream of consciousness I wrote a few months back and vaguely edited today. still relevant.
Isn't there a better way?
O'er this snakeskin shedding,
Than this slow emotional death
Looking for cartharsis
Never to be?

Please, make me, me.
Release me from the birdcage,
And tell me where to dream.

Ah, I look for a tool of my own,
Somewhere buried in the dirt,
Because I am a plow without purpose,
A sword in peacetime.

Sheathed, but mostly lost.
Meaningless, but not wandering,
and so there is no journey,
no art.

Stagnation. Ah.
And a slow morose breath.
Just one long, inhale
For no greater cosmic purpose,
Than the exhale, fleeting.

What a beauty, she said in my agonizing reverie.
Smiling, turning, leaning,
Oyasumi, Good morning.
And the sun's lights ne'er did beam.
The morning stayed dark.
I died, there
heart still beating.
Autumn Briarhart Mar 2016
Cursed by technology
Born to be a prodigy
Roamed the earth to become well versed in ecology.
Broke the dirt with the farm hand’s anthology

Made a stony hearth from the girth of this broken land’s economy.
Pitched my yurt where the man can’t bother me.

On top of luscious greens,
In the field of dreams,
No more do I pull the weeds of society.

All my proceeds grow seeds
I don’t need deeds just look at these feats
Grab an ear of corn if you haven’t heard of me.

Burn what you don’t need,
An idea of greed, the illusion of necessity.

Brought to you by bold thieves
Who trade lives but don’t sleep
Hold banquets but don’t eat
Grow food but don’t feed.

Ripped from your roots.

Dropped on the streets
in the sweltering heat.
Drying like souls of the ******,
every last one of us lost lambs.

What they want for me, it’s not a part of me

I won’t take place in the injustice that’s been bought for me.
But what I brought for me is a hypothesis,
Tranquility so deep a Buddhist monk couldn’t offer me
More than what my coffers could proffer me.

I’m not crazy but I have started the uncoupling

That’s got me to this mental brink,
Out of this poisonous sink,
No longer do I drink- from this sea of doubt
Where the irradiated mind has its teeth pulled out.

I put my knowledge of “earthology” into this horse and plow
I raise sow in the north for truffles of course
Sell them for hundreds of dollars an ounce to chefs in New York

I make herbal oils richer than kings from thorny things and rosy beings
Contemplating the meaning of life while looking at my fig-leaves

And I will pick the fruit and share it with you
Confuse me not with a more treacherous youth
Whom only seeks to toxify you with some new indoctrinated truth
Give you some of their lead paint proof, glyphosate too.

Their cell phone hooks filling your time with
Facebook looks,
And a MySpace laze
With honeycomb glaze
There in your man-made maze
Where you don’t speak for days.

I have seen the ways good people choose bad things to happen due the deceit
Of the industry they’re tapping’
Where is the Chaplain?
He’s got this book , and his grubby hands are in the pocket of the fat man
Who takes the holy waters and turns them to black sand.

Tossing grains in the air it’s unclear “whether” we can breathe it in
With no name and no face one rigged rat race,

We look for those Rebels M.I.A.
This was a stream of consciousness that I wrote on the way to a farming apprenticeship.
Torin Nov 2015
Hello beautiful
Do you feel it?
The dreams you had
Coming true

You are beautiful
Are you beautiful?
At least I think you are
It is my truth

That what you feel
Is what is real
Do you feel beautiful?
Do you feel love?

Just a throwaway poem
For someone that I'll never know
Someone who is beautiful
Its my way to say hello

So hello beautiful
There are fires in hell
And storms on the seas
And darkness in between the points of light
There is loss in life
And pain in love
And hope in the bitterness of sorrow
And then there is you

Hello beautiful
Just a five minute stream of thought poem, my way of introducing myself to the community of poets
Cordelia Rilo Sep 2015
The gardeners are too noisy in the morning
I can't stay asleep
I hear the chainsaw's screams
I feel the rose's pain

My head throbs from not sleeping
Long nights buried in books
Cold nights wrapped in blankets

The cats fight and the babies cry while
I let the shower run hot
Chest burning
Suffocating breaths in thick steam

I went to bed early
My hair still wet
I closed my heavy eyes
Searched my pill box
Frank Ruland Feb 2015
man, i'm not ever sure what i'm
******* doing anymore. i mean
i am
ing ink on cyber
paper hoping that
one w
ill co
me an
d feel
the w
ay i do

no...                           i dont
mean                        that. i
want                         people
to feel                        someth
ing si                         gnifica
nt. to                         have s
ome                           meani
ng. why should everyone s
search for clueless answers? no.

it's just... somedays i wake up
and question everything i kn
ow. and
for what
? i learn
g. i only
find m
yself s
o much
deeper in a pool... no! an ocean of
ambiguities where it's all the same.

Well,                                     at the
end o                                f the
day,                               all i
can r                           eally
do is                        go **
me, sit                  down
, and               ponder
how every thing
prom         ises t
o come           toget
her, bu                t i kno
w that                    i seper
ate my                      self f
rom ev                         er kno
wing:                            DAFUQ
a really bad attempt at concrete word art that i fused with stream of conciousness. I tried to be a little philosophical
Frank Ruland Jan 2015
man, i'm letting words spill from the brain
feeling just a little      dangerous
like Russian roulette with silver bullets
but can the ink **** the monster inside
the ****'s got me feeling drained
all I wanted for Xmas was Xanax
but I got taken for a ride
now my truck is running of fumes
and if I ever see my ex it'll be too soon
****, i've never wanted a beer so bad
nerves so shot, and the collar is hot
i wanna glass of morphine
because I'm all out of animals crackers
I never liked the zoo, but what can I do?
my mom took me when I was five and I nearly died
I swear that clown was out to get me,
but that doesn't matter, cause I'm no slacker
man, i'ma slap some words onto this paper
and just call it stream of consciousness
all my buddies contributed to my gang slang
so now I curse when I talk and walk when curse
and *******, my transmission has no reverse
but hey, I'm not complaining
you can't not expect a little mud
after ******* that it hasn't been raining
so I don;t care what the weather man says
just let me do what I do
I don't care who knows who or what comes next
I'm just trying to pass this test
hopefully I'll get an A+
but if I don't, I'll just go back to my day job
I really hope you liked this nonsense
this was my first serious attempt at stream of consciousness writing. I hope it's received well. Thanks guys
rsc Aug 2014
Cell phone shield in hand,
the mirror-me peers
into a shoddy, cracked up
dream reflector-slash-protector
as I make amends with
my agitated mitochondria and
attempt to drill miniscule holes into
paper dolls without ripping them.

So screams the wall hanging!
Banshees dance, falling
into cyclical romances as
cream colored microphones peek
out around one-way windows wondering
whether or not the smiles will hold.
Eyes still,
eyes wrinkles crinkling,
spit spray sprinkling.
Connect to the dreamers.
Push your plug into
my cracking wall sockets,
pull me apart at the seams.

So cries the doorstopper!
Knees bleed from
street corner séances
and eyes green grass
that's afraid to ask
where its clover went
but heavens, it's bent for hell.
Pray tell me, burping chickadee,
when did your teeth glass over
with a film of cerulean and
your bones start sailing
through tepid reminders that
you may end this life a failure,
swallowing Uncle Ben's rice packet trash
at the dark black bottom of the Pacific?

So sighs the statue!
Broken walkie talkies
feed red back to nothing
and knick knack hoarders note
the familiar festering of deadly bacteria
in the lungs and on the
tippy top of the tongue.
Space cadets rocket
through concrete jungles containing
apartment after
apartment after
apartment filled with
mannequins filled with
sand filled with
unevenly severed hands.

So speaks the ornament!
So declares the dashboard decal!
Sensual scholarly seekers
seem so totally hip
and read feminist poetry
to dispel the myths
and spit on the irony.
I won't dare to flatter you
with the focused attention of stone
or allow the personable picture frame
to make the secrets of
the microscopic universe known.

So suggests the ship siren!
So recites the repository!
Empty yourself into me,
adopt a new philosophy,
abandon in within two weeks
so I can see and you can seep,
your fluttering robin heart to keep
and glaciers to arrive upon
a salty brown eternal sleep.
Deliver me to the melting shopping mall!
The centennial fire alarm goes off
at the tip of the cliff,
at the end of the hall.

— The End —