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Adhara Sygnus May 26
The state badminton finals,
yonex A line, they see what I wear, the official skirt,
stops above mid thighs, not my title,
judging the length of my skirt, not my talent; it hurts

They don't watch my game,
don't appreciate the win,
all I get is the blame,
for showing too much skin- sin

Sixteenth birthday,
white cropped jeans, black crop top,
his fingers trail my exposed back, all the way,
I'm shocked, can't move, his fingers don't drop

I push his hands away,
he whispers, you asked for it; too much skin- sin
from decent thoughts his mind astray,
tells me it's all my fault, with a slimy grin.

My brothers marriage,
midnight blue lehanga, golden touches,
he stares at me, his look savage,
his leering eyes on my skin peeping through the patches

I move away, steer through the crowd,
wishing I lost him, scanning faces, I turn around,
not so lucky, he's right behind, a sinister grin,
he bends towards my ear, whispers, too much skin-sin
What I'm trying to say that, now matter how high her skirt is, or how low her neckline is, she IS NOT ASKING FOR ANYTHING. Stop blaming clothing choices. TOO MUCH SKIN IS NOT SIN.
Reappak May 24
Eluding the tunnel,
I adored the sunshine, above the yellow sunflowers

                           Which later blinded me!
A little too much is harmful guyzzzz!
Rylie Lucas May 22
My emotions are like water
Pouring out of a faucet
They sometimes are
Too hot
Too cold
Too much
Too little
And sometimes, they stop altogether
I'm surprisingly still alive! This is a quick one I thought up. I've been songwriting a lot recently.
Danica May 18
You will always be too much
Because you think too much
So you do too much

But that is just who you are
You are too much
Aren't we all?

Perhaps at some point.
MSunspoken Apr 23
I lay here alone
as my work stockpiles up-
imagine it done
Yes, another Haiku. sorry? no.
This was just a quick one I wanted to write about my friend, but it's too true.
the tap tap tap of your leg on the chair
the bombardment of sound on my ears
you touching my arm
your head touching my arm
one minute after one minute
second after second
you touch me

but I stay silent

until you wrap your arm around my back
wrap your arm around me
and I break
the tap tap tap of your leg on my chair
on my ears, on my arm, on my back
tap tap tap
you touch me
and I scream
twenty-six Mar 23
keep me out of the cycle
where i try to mumble
every pain and trouble
and still try to be subtle

for my heart can only take so much
before it finally says "stop, that's too much"
Aquila Feb 26
I cannot quite articulate
the inescapable frustration
that you are to me.
i adore you.
𝘐 π˜ˆπ˜‹π˜–π˜™π˜Œ π˜ π˜–π˜œ!
i adore you-
BUT 𝙄 π˜Όπ™ˆ π™π™Šπ™Š π™ˆπ™π˜Ύπ™ƒ π™π™Šπ™ π™”π™Šπ™!
AND I SUPPOSE LATER ON
i will cry
my stupid
eyes out.
this is just so much frustration put into words. I AM TOO MUCH ALL THE TIME! I AM TOO MUCH !
Daisy Ashcroft Jun 2019
This noise around me
It's more than I can bear
It's too loud
It's too busy
All I want is to be alone

This noise around me
Is all I ever hear
The chattering of a bird
The screaming of a child
They fill up my brain

This noise around me
Is suffocating. All I know
Is that I can't breathe,
I can't swallow,
I can no longer hear myself

This noise around me
It takes up too much space
There is no room for me to move
No room for me to live
It takes up every empty pocket in me

This noise around me
Is inside me. Loud and incessant
The sounds are my own
The voices are my own
But I simply can't rid of them

This noise inside me
It's more than I can bare
It's too loud
It's too busy
All I want is to be alone.

Truly alone
With the darkness
And silence.
Alone with no noise.
All I want is to be at peace.
floW Oct 2019
you’re happy,
until you’re not.
you want to breathe,
until you don’t.

we come out of the womb,
innocent, joyful, excited for the prospects
Of a whole new world.

But it only goes downhill from there.

we experience:
loss, trauma, pain, depression.

you’re enamored,
until the true feeling of life sets in.
you want to live everyday over and over,
until your days are filled with more agony than happiness.

we begin life with a fresh, clean plate.
and each day we live, this plate is sullied.
sullied with the pain we experienced that day.
we try to scrub it off, but no matter how much you work at it, there will always be remnants.
you may ask, what about the joy?
the joy,
that gets covered up by the stains of pain,
As if it had never happened in the first place.

you’re curious,
until you don’t care anymore
you’re getting through, day by day
until you just can’t anymore.
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