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Seanathon Jan 26
Desire of being
Give me your name
And a photo to match so that I can see past
The flatness of this absent meaning
Give unto me
Please
Be
Yesterday - Tangent, Wishful, Desire To Know
Ksh Nov 2019
I'm trying this new thing
wherein I take something ugly,
and turn it into something
I find beautiful.

Like the concept of myself
being replaceable and dispensable
in someone else's life,
in this very moment in time.

I choose to interpet it
as me being a signpost, a direction
to the one true place that someone else
is destined to be.

Like tangent lines,
meeting once,
in a certain finite point
in the infinite board,
and to never meet again.
Confusion's forsaken my thoughts to the long-lost brothers of insecurity.
Forcibly taken and tossed aside to hide within the lies of insincerity.

Kindred servant's lullabies:
Forgotten songs of yesterday,
Soothe me into waking nightmare.

Lead-shoed memories float upon seas made of stone,
Buried shallower than a grass-fed grave.

Anxious tensor userp my synapse's happiness...
Clutching my eversweet peace like a spoil'd child.
Hidden from view,
but most certainly there.

Dare me to escape the frozen steel I call home.
Wrought Irony,
Dragging my prison beneath my feat...

Misspelling's intentional because my feat?
Dragging my feet.

Asleep at the wheel,
my heart is steel.

Awoken stone cries gravel tears,
bruising my feet as I walk,
Talking as if the sensation is anything less than profoundly real.

Tangency is my thought process,
Clever distractions from the harbor'd fears:
just look the other way.

Case in point:
Confusion's forsaken my tears,
as my fears fade away,
if only to return another page.
Homunculus Jul 2019
Twisted tales come surging
From a mind writhing and purging
In an oft fomented urging
For expressions, pure and raw
That fight repressions, lure and claw
Their way up to the surface
To effect a sense of purpose
But it's really all just worthless. . .
That's, unless you think it's not!
But if you don't: Your brain might rot!
Your skin might bubble, blood might clot
Leaving you heaving bile and snot
Or maybe phlegm and sputum
So your mental stores, you loot 'em
Load these rhymes up and you shoot 'em
Into repressed regression's mains
Into depressed suppression's veins
Until they sing a glad refrain
Of being decoagulated
Platelets become agitated
Now the blood is circulated
And the brain that hibernated
Has awakened from its slumber
Now it ponderously lumbers
With intentions unencumbered
Gotta do it by the numbers
So, them synapses start firin'
Them cortices start wirin'
And belly full of fire sings
Of jelly beans and tire swings
Of silly schemes and flyer wings
On foul mouthed little parrot,
Owners ***** laundry, airs it
Polly want a *******?
Just a snack sir?
But old Polly sez:
"**** me harder, Álvarez!"
Look aghast, her husband Ted:
"Oh hell no *****, 'cause that's the bed
that both we AND our children sleep in!
you've got Latin Lovers creepin'?"

She vacates the bedroom weepin'
Well . . . that took a drastic turn
To dwellings where disasters churn
So silly, will we ever learn
Or for mere want of learning, yearn?

(Tom, to himself: Go eat food. . . .)
(Tom, back to himself: Good idea!)

I think he left, but I'm still near
As tattered, scattered writing, dear!
So, read me well and read me clear,
And bring some friends to visit here!
(Paraphrase of System of a Down song from 2001 tour) I'm on drugs! I'm on drugs! Iiiiiiii am on DRUGS!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm on drugs! I'm on drugs! Iiiiiiii am on DRUGS!!!!!!!!!!!! Doooooooooo yoouuuuuuuu like DRUGS? Iiiiiiiiiiiii ammmmm DRUGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" But so are you, really. You drank coffee today, didn't you? AHA! Caught you right in the act! Case closed. . . .
Anya Oct 2018
I'm fine
I'm pretty sure
I'm fine

I'm normal
for the most part
I'm not super different
I don't necessarily stand out
I'm that nice girl
who's kind of a nerd
A sort of vague
baby bluish
hue
in your memory

Except for those
who I am close to
who see me as more,
splatter painted orange
which happens to be my least favorite
color
and tiny splotches
of greens
and yellows
then if you look way down
deep deep deep
like the deep blue sea

I'm fine
I'm pretty sure
I'm fine

I began writing poetry
due to loneliness
My obsessive
reading
had put
tantalizing thoughts
in my head of what school
best friends
crushes
life
SHOULD be
but wasn't

I would notice
every little thing
a drop of a pin
would mean
a world of difference
in my head

I'm fine
I'm pretty sure
I'm fine

I'm smart
But lazy
I don't spend
enough time on
what I should
I'm too privileged
I complain
(As I seem to be doing now)
I don't understand
what it's truly like
to not
be

I do as I please
It's not
that I'm not a hard worker
But it's like now,
when I know I have
two essays
and two
speeches to write
(And science homework)
But,
here I am
writing poetry instead

I'm fine
I'm pretty sure
I'm fine

I've repeated that,
how many times now?

I wonder what got me started
on this furious
ferocious tangent
...
I think it was...
another poem I read

About how poets
have something wrong
with them or other

I began thinking,
what about me?

Who's to say?
...
...
Probably me
Because I'm me
And I get to decide
who I want to be
...
Is what an optimist would say
Cheesy
Not cheesy
...
I'd
like,
to believe
...
...
I
need
to believe
...
...
...
You know what?
***** it,
I WILL BELIEVE
Um...all I know was that it was me talking myself into going from uncertain to determined but I'm really not sure where I went with that. Hope it's relateable or gets you thinking!
maxine Jun 2016
life has been busy yet uneventful
which doesn't make sense to me
..people ask what my plans are and i have none and yet it seems like i'm busy
busy doing nothing
busy going insane
busy being stuck inside of my own mind all day everyday,
laying in my bed with depressing thoughts in my head
i haven't written and it's wearing on me
i'm tired but i haven't done anything exhausting
i'm just tired,
and i wish i could say i feel numb because then it would help explain everything to everyone and i could just say, "I'm numb."
i could say i don't feel anything but i'd be lying to everyone including myself
i'm a mess
i can't figure myself out
i am a very negative person
it's always been hard to be positive.. i've never known what positivity is really..
anyone i've ever been around has been a pessimist and so i always thought there was only one glass and it had to be half empty.
i'm half empty.
i am a loser.
i have no friends, (which i say because i do but it seems that none of them want to hang out with me because my summer is uneventful)
my life is uneventful.
it always has been.
i am an uneventful, boring person.
people tell me i'm funny and i should be a comedian..
but i don't think i'm funny.
i think i'm annoying,
i can't have emptiness (in all forms), or awkward silences filled with emotionless faces looking at each other but thinking they're staring at me
we're all crazy.
but maybe us crazy ones can see that we're crazy which make us better than the "normal" ones that judge others.
life isn't complicated but we make it..
us humans.
killing.
lying.
stealing.
judging.
us humans..
revolting creatures..
with our plans to have kids and get married,
have dinner with Susan and Brian,
go on vacation.
not realizing..
it doesn't matter.
because at the end of the day our lives are busy.. yet uneventful.
it's been awhile but i've missed writing and this came so naturally and i like this poem.
it's just something i've been thinking about lately and i think it's accurate.
we all have uneventful lives at the end of the day.
nothing really satisfies us,
the human race.
they call us that because we never stop going.
so therefore we need constant satisfaction.
but in the end..
we are all empty and boring.
running around with our uneventful lives.
Luna Craft Apr 2016
I read philosophy, not for fun, for meaning
I allow it to wrap my brain, tie it in little bows
Let Marx spell out socialism, let words lead to communism
We all live in caves, ignorant to the masses, see shadows and shout Plato
Nietzsche yells 'God is dead' in pain and alone
Religious intent allows us to believe, lies or not
Let men of a hundred years question my fate
Intimidate my senses, let me question everything
Even simple, we learned when, why and how as children
But we did not experience true questioning
Whether we truly chose to believe or not, I still don't know
Question my faith, my thoughts, my feelings
Let my words shatter out
Fall apart
Touched or felt, could/would/should it be more real?
Another day, back drinking after work (again) in the same pub, alone this time, phone absorbing my attention alot but look up and look around at the shared space with other 'human animals' that i am experiencing in the pub, i dont feel anything 'to' them, while accepting illusions would it really make a difference if i could (willingly) touch or feel them? not sure where i am going with this tangent, enjoy.
sayona May 2015
i don't believe that someone's sadness should be justified. in fact, i don't think that a lot of people's feelings/emotions should always be justified for that matter. feelings are just that, feelings. and sometimes, our feelings don't always have to manifest from a case scenario, incident, or situation. sometimes, they just pop up. plain and simple. we are people, and things like this happen to all of us. sometimes, i get sad. and i feel like an ocean composed of disappointment and heartache is filling up my lungs, and that's okay. and if i don't know why i'm feeling that way, it's okay. i don't have to always give you an explanation, and that's okay too. the mere idea that we always need to disclose the reasoning behind our sadness, or our anger, or our happiness, is absurd. yes, i totally agree with the fact that bottling in feelings all the time is nowhere near okay and that you should find some way to cope with them and help you deal with them in a non destructive way, but what i don't agree with is the fact that when you spill your insides out to a person, it's assumed that you need to justify yourself. you don't always have to. and that's just where the truth lies.
i know this isn't a poem, but i was asked the question, "do you believe that sadness must always be justified? why or why not?"
i may or may have not went off on a little tangent.

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