We’re all self-seeking in the dark.

Why is it that You Change when the lights go out?
(A wreck-less absorbed soul chasing a silver wind)

Do we change who we are for others?

-Because if we’re all self-sold.
Then why are you selling yourself for anyone?

And when the lights come back on, you’ll see the damage you’ve done.
Alex B Jun 15
I don't remember telling you
That pink roses were my favorite
But you knew
Even sent some too
One thing I do remember
He never had a clue

Thank you
“I’m bad at saying goodbye”
I am too
In a way
I’m bad at knowing how to leave a new friend
Wave or hug?
I don’t know what to do when you say goodbye and you continue to walk in the same direction
Simple things
Then it gets deeper
What do you do
When you make new friends
Only to have them leave again?
How do you say goodbye?
I dread the thought
Of this summer being over
Of goodbyes being said
Of these memories ending
What do you do
When your best friend grows up before you
Leaves for college and does great things
How do you say goodbye?
A hug doesn’t seem to be enough
Words don’t suffice
When these people you hold close
Are now only close in your heart
I don’t need to dwell on it now
I have two months for fun
Before goodbyes
I’m bad at saying goodbye too
this poem was inspired by two things from tonight!! first off one of my newer friends is leaving for the summer before leaving for college and I was thinking about how I’m going to miss him even though we kinda just met. also the first line is somewhat of a paraphrased quote from a friend that stuck with me for some reason even though it wasn’t supposed to be significant
Little bird upon the windowsill
how peaceful you so look.
When tomorrow, or even next week,
you could hit glass , and go kerplook!
I wish I could live like you.
without thinking of the end  -

A void - an endless sleep
you don't think of that do you?
Not you, not the squirrel, or the
chipmunk across the street.

This sleep, like the one you had before,
when you were a little egg,
will meet you once again,
just wait what's in store.

You probably don't even think about it...

But why do I think of it
when I look at you?
I am weightless.
There is no up, no down.

My thoughts are free,
they are evolving and dissolving and revolving around other oxymoronic ideas.

My body is trapped,
it is confined, asinine, and constantly refined to what I believe,
or what I enjoy.

Why is it that every human on this Earth has to be stereotyped?
I want a world where we first ask someone how their day is going,
before texting the first person on their phone that the other person is a slut.
Don't judge others when you don't know their story to begin with.
What did I do to deserve this?
It isn't rhetorical, it is a literal question.
If I did something to receive this treatment,
then please tell me so that I can apologize.

I miss having original thoughts and ideas.
I miss being unaffected by societal standards and ideas.
I miss being who I am without having to apologize.
I am who I am, why can't that be enough?

I will no longer apologize,
that is the only thing that I am sorry for.

I am sorry,
that I can not transform into someone,
something you want me to be
No longer will I be sorry for who I am
When I cannot think of what to write,

I read what you already have.

And it makes me angry,

in a helpless sort of way.

We all seem so depressing, gathered here together,

like we're kept here away from everything else.

And I listen to the old songs,

just to see if they still set my chest on fire.

Are we all stuck in a limbo between seconds, trying to move on,

or is that rude,

because it's just me?
i am pretty rude sometimes.
Millie Apr 6
My mind is noisy
All the characters in this room are awake
One says to be quiet
Another says to speak
One says to cry
Another says she is strong
One says to apologise
Others don't see a fault

No one is in control
I'm not sure what to feel
or what to think
Its just a party
A loud, busy party
where everyone wants to be the star
of a show they have no details of

My mind is noisy
The soul has lost control
The body wants to end this show
The show is pointless
Is there a puppeteer
Make this stop
I want to disappear
I am one

To type

Just to hear

My fingers on the keys

Just to feel

The smooth buttons

Underneath my fingertips.

I am not one

To say words

That portrays artificial meaning

Just to hear

My voice in the air

Just to feel

My vocal chords vibrating.

But I am one

To wonder which

Is less bothersome?
Lacey Clark Feb 19
"There are two types of people in the world," he laughed after a heavy swig. I laughed and anticipated a mindless reply.
"Those who are pens, and those who are pencils".
An eye-roll dismissed the statement but a curious brow stayed in place.
"All I'm saying is that some folks have a certainty about them. Everything glides off their tongue like cursive dipped in black ink".
I thought of where I might fall on the spectrum.
Imaginary conversations series...
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