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MicMag Jul 22
When I feel myself
Beginning to fret
When fear or depression
String me along
The best way to stop it
To jam up the angst
Is to set loose the hands
To break into song

Take note of my thoughts
Tune into my feelings
Pick out a rhythm
And let it ring true
I try but can't quite
Put my finger on why
But my hands 'round this neck
Sure cast out the blues
Jack Shannon Dec 2018
A flush creeps to my cheeks, it's been weeks and weeks now. I'm tired of these vicious conceits, continuous defeat as we struggle over who gets to inevitably keep their sanity... her apparently as she slashes my name again and again, once twice thrice called her a friend now. It's all over, supposedly no animosity any more, can't call her a two faced evil... person, thats not civil or nice, it's not me am I right? What's this stinging feeling in my eyes, I can't, I don't know just make this emptiness stop, a pit forming in my stomach and as I rise to the top I could just drop my self into it, all the jokes, all the smiles, all the confidence I never had anyway disappears before it was here even for a day. Big girls don't cry, but then again the songs lie, I sit here surrounded by people who judge the sound of my tears hitting plastic, they think it's fantastic to see a guy like me brought to there level. Big guy, just means another foot to fly as I fall from the sky, after being dropped from so high. Get it together Jack you're not having a panic attack. You're not anxious. You're not depressed. Even if you were no one would be impressed by your pain. Just pick yourself up, roll a ***, pack your bag and run home. And start it all over again.
A free-form stream of consciousness poem I wrote whilst crying on a train after a mess of a break up.
Val Vik Jul 2018
heavy drops for days . . .
cleansing my inner spirits
. . . rain eternally . . .
I need no rainbows
Sara Kellie May 2018
Can't wait to see the old man Wednesday week.
Give my update on exposing the freak.
I'll have to 'create' by Wednesday tea, so me Shan & Lloydy* can watch T.V.
I told Deb Simo, I count as best friend, but didn't consider how all this would end.
As one told another and the news spread.
The obvious outcome, my husband is dead.
What would I do without my old Mum who guided and led me to be with this ***.
By listening to Mum and taking advice, this peado
has had me not once but now twice.
Oh didn't I tell you, when I was fourteen, he took down my knickers, did something obscene.
Now that my marriage has all ended bad, I've now got a boyfriend as old as my Dad.
And if you think that's a joke, here's one, he's probably due another stroke.
Three years of bad luck, what will I do next.
Send him vile messages, all via text.
It can't be long now, and when all is done at least me and Shan have had lots of fun.
Now his family all know, they smirk and they grin. Best just do that than risk say something.
But what will he do. He'll tell them they're through unless they come clean and point at us two.
As we'd always planned, "best get on our toes". He's not ******* stupid, he already knows.
So time to move on and find some new friends.
For me, you and him this is where it all ends.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Written many years ago and based on events that may or may not have been happening at the time. A time when my truth was out and I lost everything.
*denotes same person
Fritzi Melendez Jan 2018
There's a soft grass field in which I lay.
I close my eyes and breathe in the atmosphere.
The soft wind makes the grass sound like an ocean.

But, it's a bit too dark, isn't it?
I open my eyes to a splash of colors and patterns.
Brown grounded coffee beans.
Orange burnt from the sun.
Tan insides of a tree trunk.
Black like singed ashes.

And green.
The color of life.

The flowers tickle my cheek.
Stroking my face with a gentle touch.
I feel a raindrop fall on my nose.

I giggle softly.
It's going to rain soon, but I don't want to go.
Everything seems tranquil right now.

I close my eyes again.
A soft sound rings nearby mixing into the sounds of the wind.
It's almost putting me to sleep.
I breathe with the motion of the hum.
I wish I can stay here forever.

The sun is so warm against my face.
I feel nothing but the grass brushing against my skin.
I feel the soft hum enter my lungs and back out my half parted lips.
I want to drink this feeling.
This feeling of comfort, of warmth, of security,

of home.

It's so quiet, I feel loved here.
The sun kisses my forehead.
The flowers strokes my cheek.
The grass caresses my body.
the raindrop touches my nose.
The atmosphere drowns me in serenity.
But I must get up before the thunderstorm comes.

I take a deep breath in,
and I open my eyes.
I exhale out,
with a long and deep sigh.

"I'll be back soon for you, my kitty."
an ode to my beautiful cat, who always fills me with love and care.
JD Harold Oct 2017
I wish for those days.
Where the tips of my fingers are cold,
And my insides are warm.

I desire those nights.
Where the headaches slowly arrive.
And the comforting tears flow.

I want those rare winter times.
Where there are pink skies within me.
And stormy nights.

Rain in California.
Love on my lips.
Peace contained in your eyes.
I was comfortable today.
Declan Quinn Feb 2016
Did I ask for help?
Easy for those out there looking in.
Shame fills my emptiness.
Pride is long lost among the
Apathy. I reek of
Insensible poetry, palms are
Rooted to the shame of it.
Believe it or not, this is what I write when I'm in a good mood! :) ;
SW Dec 2014
Inhale, Exhale, Repeat.
Close your bright eyes, they say too much.
Don’t speak, you can’t change anything.
Inhale, Exhale, Repeat. As if you are sleeping.

Stretch your body as far as you can.
Make it bigger, longer,
like you have spent your life in a smaller man’s coffin.

Be still.
Don’t blink, don’t part your trembling lips, don’t move your toe three quarters of an inch.
Be still.

Scream. LOUDER. Softer.
Scream as high as you can. Louder. You have to scream to save your life. SCREAM.

Don’t Speak. You can’t change anything.

Look into your eyes in the mirror.
Keep looking, you can’t back down.
Don’t blink, keep looking.
Keep looking.

Blink. Blink again.
More. Faster.
Blink until you can’t see anything anymore
until you are blind

Clench your fists. Grit your teeth. Flex your muscles.
Your arms, your legs, your toes.
Make your body tight.

Be liquid.
Don’t speak, you can’t change anything.
Frank Ruland Oct 2014
I bleed to death upon poetic lines.
Everyday's another sick surprise
And I'm made to spill my soul
Into verses to feel some control.

The downward spiral takes its hold--
You bear witness through stories told.
A callous cascade of cruel cyanide,
And tumult is tearing at my insides.

A ravenous river of all my words
That carry me to an ocean of hurt.
I'm swept away, though paddle, I try.
I end up on scorching sands beneath a Smoldering Sky.

Sometimes I inebriate to alleviate,
But the rotgut makes my brain insinuate
That tomorrow I'll wake up feeling better.
I wish it was the hangover that makes me bitter.

So, here I stand before this crowd--
Breaking my legs, and I'm disallowed
From using anesthesia to get some rest.
I guess I'm just left to bleed to death.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
I remember you like a famous brachiosaur, ensconced in the terrible street lamps of west county apartment block row. That swaying bronze gate to your three flat two room apartment. Skinny legs for the couch, the backroom bedroom, and the bunk beds in the master suite. We studded me for excellent squeeze; one trident pull switching time against a baited lock. "I'll swallow you whole," you brushed off into my ear while I passed your cheek with my lips, braising your skin with dew drops of our rushes and sweat. Even for April this was alright. Your brother had already moved out, and listening to Hall and Oates and going fishing was all you wanted to do. So I made us two root beer floats with Almond Milk ice cream, and settled into you for five hours and forty-five minutes. It was before 5:00a.m. when you turned to the night and spilled the last ounces of your naked body out to me beneath the satin sheets. I pressed my lips hard against your nose and whispered I'd be leaving soon. Still I do not recall if I woke you when I left, but I remember that next day when you questioned if I had.
Written for Elizabeth Huff

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