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Pluck Jun 2015
I see you guys talk so much but you haven't said anything.
Only words with substance are truly heard.
Please stop whispering.
I can't hear your desperate attempt to gain attention.
Undecided I am
As to whether or not obsessing over you is wrong
I may never know
If it must be wrong, then I only wrong myself
For I am addicted to you,
and it is not long before i feel the withdrawal
Of your poisonous beauty
Far more potent than any substance
Far more desirable than any liquor

Thirsty for you I am
As to whether or not the thirst is quenchable
I may never know
If it must go unquenched, I will surly die of thirst
For I have had a dose of you,
and so your poison will remain in my heart
Until it gives way
After my hit of you I desire no other
After my fix of you I need another

I can not be rehabilitated
Or cured thanks to you
So i must adjust,
and aspirations must be met
I'll start off small,
and see if you've noticed me yet

Conclusion or delusion
I wonder in my state of euphoria
I think obsessing over you is right for me
Having learnt to embrace this love sickness you have brought unto me
This feeling is human,
so I must be too
Well a man has needs,
and what I need is you
This is an old poem I wrote at around age 16 during my final year of secondary school. Take what you will from this, I think I was way in over my head. At that age though you don't really understand that when you feel a certain way (about a girl or boy) and start to put stupid things in your body you are in for a whole world of confusion and conflicting emotions. I originally titled this piece 'Addicted to you' and wanted something more original so I wrote 'Are you back on it again?' as a reference to the typically crass, English question: Are you getting on it? (When a mate asks if you are involved with a girl or boy.)
when I was three years old, I sat at my grandmothers front door on Christmas Day and waited

and waited and waited and waited
and waited and waited
and waited

for the beat up blue mustang of yours to rattle it's way up the driveway.

but it never showed.

which soon became a habit of yours.

you didn't show me how to walk or talk or tie my shoes or tame my messy hair

and you didn't show me how to put on eyeliner in such a way that I wouldn't resemble a raccoon and you didn't show me that plaid on plaid doesn't mix and you didn't show me that bows should never be in your hair past the fifth grade

but all of that is not why I hate you

I hate you because you didn't show me that boys don't have the right to my body
and you didn't show me that my opinion matters
and you didn't show me that sometimes and iced coffee really is the key to fixing your day and you didn't show me that no matter how many times he told me I look like **** in a ponytail, I certainly do not.

you didn't show me how to forgive and you most certainly didn't show me how a healthy relationship works. you didn't show me how to love others and you certainly never showed me how to love myself

because every time I force myself to take a look in that reflective coating, I see your hair and your jaw line and your god forsaken freckles and I find pieces of you in my six mile legs and I hear you in my full lips

and I absolutely hate it

because you of all people do not deserve to be prominent in my life, yet you've found a way to force yourself into existence, you're nothing more than a leech and that's all you've ever been.

you leech onto highs and broken men who break me beyond measure, you leech into any substance you can find, on ****** reassurance, on the hope that maybe one day you'll be better, but maybe that day should be post-poked, because it's a crime in itself to waste a good time.

but when it comes down to it I guess you did teach me something.

you showed me that some people simply won't change, and some people don't deserve forgiveness. some people are ****** into this vast vortex of immeasurable selfishness, and that addictions can be self-inflicted.

so thank you.

I pray that one day i muster up the strength to  show you what you've done to me, mommy dearest.
S R Mats Apr 2015
(In a letter to his wife,  Wallace Stevens, confided that writing was "absurd" as well as fulfilling.  What of reading the write?)
What makes you read on?  Exquisite words?  Or
Exquisite thoughts?  Ah, exquisite words forming
Exquisite thoughts.  At times so beauteous as to be
Painful!  Meter clipping along, tremulous tones trilling,
Making the reader thrill in the "Ah, yes!" moment.
Writing poetry is absurd, if you think about it.  
An absurdity bore of necessity.  
The reading, a veracious devouring
Of sustenance.  The substance of souls poured out.
Meg Howell Feb 2015
With beady,
lurking eyes
they pass judgement
looking for just one
"fatal flaw" to mock
Regurgitating false statements
giving them absolutely
no hope
for a future
ah, they say they have
but a single care
in the world
to provoke
to harass
those with substance
which they so evidently lack
what a world to live in
It's rather childish,
don't you think?
There are people in the world who pointlessly mock others. If that is all life is worth to someone, to make fun, to hurt, then what a worthless life to live. In all honesty, people like that are hurting themselves more than any other person.
Derrick Feinman Feb 2015
We institute procedures as a tool to obtain substance.
We design metrics as a tool to track and ensure that substance is obtained.
But then, the tool becomes holier than its own purpose.
When we value procedure over substance,
we sacrifice substance for procedure.
Even the judges value procedure over justice as illustrated by a Justice on the US Supreme Court: “Mere factual innocence is no reason not to carry out a death sentence properly reached.” J. Scalia in Herrera v. Collins, 506 US 390 (1993).
Christopher KD Feb 2015
The feeling is lead.
Stubborn,
It sits in my chest.
I remind myself
Not to dare name it.
I remind myself:
If you name it,
It becomes real.
Suddenly, people will see it.
Label you for it.
It will define you.

I ignore it
When I can.
Suppressing him
As best as possible.
Still, he manages to
Shrink me.
******* me.

He strains my knees.
Curves my back.
Hangs below my eyes.
I plead with him.
Beg him.
Try to compromise.
But this thing is
Deaf,
Dumb,
Simple—
He is oblivious.

He lacks understanding.
Incessantly, he fails
To recognize
My pain;
Perpetual discomfort.
Unaware, he forces me;
Knees ******,
Crawling to my vices.

Frequently
I drown him.
Hold his head low.
Well at the bottom of the
***** reservoir
That accumulates
Each night in my gut—
I drink one
After the next.
My hand never
Leaves the glass;
If I can help it,
The glass never
Leave my lips.
Until finally my world—
Our world
Falls below the, thick, black,
***** soaked veil.


Often
I choke him;
With thick, grey,
Clouds of smoke.
The clouds burn
Deep in my lungs
Lifting the burden
From my chest,
Back, knees.
For a minute
My mind isn’t
So crowded.
For the moment
I feel relief.

Some nights
I numb myself
With casual company.
Women,
Who like I,
Are acquainted with he.
For a moment
We might distract
One another—
In that moment
There’s sometimes bliss
Temporary,
Fleeting,
Transient—


But undoubtedly,
Bliss…
kim Jan 2015
Bats, spiders, and rats form on my tongue
they crawl down my throat and live in my lungs

Cobwebs, moths, and dirt course through my veins
they nestle in my brain and make me insane

The flowers I've spent months watering start to wither away
Why did you lie when you said it would all be okay?

These weeds inside me were born from idiosyncrasies
And they make it way too hard to ******* breathe

My skull is cracked, bones are shattered, it leaves me scarred
This garden looks more like a graveyard
A poem about substance abuse.
Umang K Jan 2015
You can literally manufacture it in a chemistry lab;
There are formulae and measurements of hormones that add up
To this supposedly tangible entity

A nicely brewed test tube
Of elaborately named chemicals

The very thing that makes you tremble in your skin,
That has caused wars and set ships assail
Confined to a liquid in a glass container
Jennifer Weiss Jan 2015
None of us are alone,*
Shouldn't have to go through this
-alone.
But you inevitably missed the structure of chromosomes
telling you
your cycle will continue to spiral until you come home,
until you bid adieu
to the confines of your dome
until your burning  *will

is greater than your viral
complaints
that yo life ain't ill.
say farewell to the prideful
side of yourself, and chill
we were never meant to be so vile
but still-
We don't beg the universe for mercy,
but demand reward.
We don't transmit love,  instead remain thirsty
drinking from and selfishly consuming the entire gourd.
Take all we can get
then we claim we're bored.
Oh, shed thy ego completely
*to fall in love with a life you adore.
aren't you tired of it all yet?
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