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Anya 7d
The strands tangle and twist
As if my finger,
Is the center of a tiny universe
Of interlocking twining twirling black
With a simple twist and snap
Are ripped,
Star crossed lovers
Every Romeo to his Juliet
Are rip, rip, ri-torn apart
The hair from the hair tie

Like tentacles clinging on
A stubborn slug, repulsive
Yet in an obscure manner
Admiringly persistent
It continues to hold on

Like a lizard regrows it’s tail
To truly chop off
So too does the hair insist
Upon an adamant refusal to separate

As if hair and tie are one
In a ferocious battle...     Or,
Perhaps, a passionate embrace?
Are they one?

Whether it be so or not
I decide not to bother
Why,  should I take up the mantle
Of the evil stepmother, wicked witch, cruel king...
You name it
To separate the two, lovers or competitors
They maybe

Why insist,
Upon what will never
Come true,
At least,
In the case of any proper Disney fairy tale

Is what I tell myself,
throwing down the hair tie
In favor of writing poetry about it
I lay awake to the sound of sirens,
the morning bustle and calamity.
Busy people among relentless lives,
breathing in their first breathes of the day,
Echoes of the coffee stirring and pitter patter
Of footsteps leading their way
But I remain here, stubbornly in my bed,
With an unwillingness to start.
For the curvature of the bed,
made by my own brutish heft
feels as though a valley to climb
has begun to steapen
The reluctance to clamber my way
Out of these walls
Has devoured my will to move
And I will remain stuck here
Until I am yanked with force
By someone who cares
Probably shouldnt ve writti g poetry this late
Rowan S Jan 3
What is this self will?
Ignorance at its finest
Digging my heels in
Ignore the pretentious spelling of haiku (it is how I've always titled them in my journals), and enjoy the first of my haikus, which can range from irreverent and carefree to serious and introspective.
Maddie M Jan 2
i wish i was a flower

a dead one

so I can grow again

rise from the ashes

and bloom, when the time is right
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.
I wish I could be the moon
Lexie Dec 2018
It does nothing for me to cry
Still, I do it anyway
I'm stubborn like that
Nyx Dec 2018
Stubborn little prince
With his pride so high
I'm really not okay
With the fact that you lied

Lying through your teeth
Taking it to your grave
Thinking your the mastermind
Just shut up and behave

Enough with the act
Double edged sword
Two faces are far too many
Don't do it cause your bored

That's no excuse

Your wax wings are melting
Due to all the things you've done
I'm friends with an icarus it seems
He's flown to close to the sun

You're falling again

Failing to see what's happening
Ignoring all warnings
He'll fall down very soon
He won't see the next morning

I won't be there to catch you

Go on keep talking
As you think your quite sly
You are beginning to **** me off
You should know exactly why

Your words don't match up
Nor do your actions it seems
What is your game?
Do tell me by all means

Though I don't think it'll matter
As my minds set in stone
Continue playing your game
Wouldn't want your motives to be shown

Don't fly too high
Stubborn little prince

Jon Thenes Nov 2018
My hard earned soul
Has been unsigned of its fibrous callouses
Results of a de-stubborning
Racked over a long and testing period of time
Smaller for it
And freer
Welling and interactive
Curious and reading stinging songs
A child of maintanence
Much work
Good and computable
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