Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Maria 1d
When the room is empty,
and the people have left
and you’re waiting, wondering,
what will come next?

A haven of memories,
long phone calls and late-night dances
hard work and parades of tears
then left with hardly a glance.

So many firsts
trapped in one room
the thoughts and the feeling,
stuck in its loom.

It’s no longer yours,
the decorations pulled down,
bare and barren just like when you moved in,
might never have left your hometown.
Are you the catalyst?
Are you my muse?
My master?
My Shaman?
My guide?

Or some drifter who sparked something
Dead in me...
Too dormant to pry from
The floorboards by myself

I would've never seen
What I could be if you
Didn't light the match
You were,
Are,
Will be,
my hidden passion
Inspired if you only did
what I was asking

We could somehow,
Still be
Now the tables turned
If only you could deal with me
You were my peer
Yet my professor
Froze any lessons Into lectures
Pressure is setting in

Hope you know I'll always be
Your biggest fan
Flat characters in a bad romance

I coulda wrote
with half my wit tied
behind my back
Doesn't make this any less real
The ritual thins the veil
Please tell me
you can feel ...
This
Whatever IT even is
Are you my mystic ?
Or my mediator ?
My handler ?
Or myself ?
Displayed on a face

I've hallucinated
Just to keep me company
Yet you reply
And react
as if you were made to

Maybe your the simulation
Or were tailor made to
make me whole
I dunno...
Did this in a few minutes.of inspiration
Should I edit this
Trying to decide
Rebecca Aug 11
The poet is an architect
he constructs sentences.

The poet is a cook
he mixes words.

The poet is a philosopher
he reflects on what he writes.

The poet is a student
he learns words.

But above all.

The poet has no definition
he defines himself.
Once cannot teach
Because One is still a student,
This is because we are always learning.

One cannot study
Because One is still a teacher,
This is because we are always guiding.

Developing,
Like three rivers which join & fork -
Only to re-join in course.

We are always trying & changing,
Doing & reaching.

In the pursuit of understanding,
Truth is achieving
And knowledge is victory.

Compassion & patience -
The keys to all things.
Maria Jul 11
there are ghosts
in the kitchen.
a delicate crust
of parties once held there.
late night conversations
and delirium.
a crumb of a pudding
salted by tears.
remnants of a dinner
seasoned by laughter.  
yes, there are ghosts in the kitchen
confused why you’re leaving.
they didn’t notice
that the party was over.
Darvin Ray Jun 3
First, you draw a square,
inside it — three more.

The one at the top
serves to control.

Lead a line down,
and connect the block —

Memory matrix
is what it’s called.

Draw a line,
then add some more —
and you’re almost ready to go.

There’s one last block
that’s set to show:

Call it the decoding central,
so we know what it’s for.

Give it some lines
that lead out right —

And now we know
what’s inside RAM...
right?
I wrote this poem when I was studying for a class of mine. It's a direct translation from my language, so if you are educated in this topic... I'm sorry.
Darvin Ray May 29
The academic prepares
he reads and writes
and makes his head spin all around

pages and sheets
full of texts

broken down
so even
a squirrel could understand.

He memorises and repeats
his family thinks:
"He's caught some disease!"

But alas,
The day of reckoning is here
let's see how our academic fears

he walks into the room
with his teacher following soon

They sit and talk
not even noticing
the exam has begun

hours spent
of repeating texts and scribes
But "Oh whoops this one's wrong!"

The teacher sighs and groans
telling him to study some more

The academic sits there stunned
"Maybe Philosophy is my call."
Not my best work. I think I'll revisit this one sometime again
Srishti May 8
When you compare, you're average.
When you compete, you're average.
When you're rewarded, it's average.
When you hope, you’re average.

Nobody writes about you.
Nobody hates you.
Nobody loves you.
Nobody knows you.

You are just an option for the cosmos.
You were born average.
You will die as average.
You are treated as a sin in this cosmos.
My dreams are crawling under my Averageness.
Ren Apr 17
He is to me what kings are to their knight,
Who grants me trials that shape and make me strong.
He is the dawn that banishes the night,
Who gives me truth when all the world feels wrong.

He is a compass when I lose my way,
A steady hand when storms begin to rise.
His words are stars that help me not to stray,
A spark of fire beneath the cloudy skies.

He is to me the book the wise revere,
Each page a path to knowledge deep and wide.
He speaks, and thoughts long buried reappear,
A tide of wonder I no more can hide.

In every lesson, he bestows me grace—
A guide, a torch, the sun upon my face.
just what I feel towards my favorite teacher
it took a few months to recognize my first car.
i’d wander through parking lots reading license plates
as if they were names i should know, but forgot.
i just looked for the college parking pass to show it was my own.
i graduated two years ago.
i still looked for the parking pass last month.

it took a few months to recognize my keys.
they didn’t feel like mine for months;
i was used to touching doors with the reticence of a guest.
i couldn’t tell which unlocked what,
i just looked for the college logo lanyard.
the red fabric may have unlocked as much as the keys did.

it’s taking more than a few months to move on.
i’m still in therapy for the therapy i didn’t ask for
when people couldn’t tell the difference
between the will to live and the will to die.
the keys on my lanyard led to doors that weren’t mine anymore.
none of the other cars there had to leave.
the parking pass laughed as i drove away.

it took a few weeks for the airbags to stop ringing in my ears.
i didn’t hear the sirens until i saw the lights,
kind of like the way i didn’t feel myself being pushed
until the door was shut. i didn’t know what to reach for—
i would have held the steering wheel tighter.
i would have looked a little longer.
i would have watched what they did and not what they said.

it takes longer when i’m in the driver’s seat now.
words need more salt. i take roads more slowly.
the car that was my home through shut and locked doors
was my safety one last time.
i have new keys. i have new doors.
a home where i’m not a guest.
i walked from both crashes, but only one still haunts.
the parking pass was towed away, and i wish i had laughed.
Next page