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Thomas Glennan Dec 2020
Warped Reflection
She just wanted to be in control
Always demanding, always shut down
Never once thinking, but what once he’s old?

She once tried to hurt me, not counting the toll
But there came no apology, not one sad sound
She just wanted to be in control

My countless failures, always retold
Since I was a child, I’ve always been bound
Never once thinking, but what once he’s old?

I dream of the future, my freedom beholds
To escape from my darkness and one day be found
She just wanted to be in control

I see it before me, my story yet told
I’ve fought for my life, a malnourished hound
Never once thinking, but what once he’s old

For now, I wait dying, my life in her hold
Child of mother, peasant of crown
She just wanted to be in control
Never once thinking, but what once he’s old
Written in the Villanelle style
Josie Stewart Dec 2020
closed, contained
shut out from the
world

alone, ashamed
the self-inflicted
curse

longing for the
light

gripping to the
edges

of cardboard

that is what it is like to be
in a cardboard box
enclosed
in

out!
she wants
to get out of closure
and all in all to have closure

but she holds her self in
she holds her self in, still
holding self in still, broken
still holding in herself and

...she cannot remember why
closed, in a box

wet cardboard smells, doesn't it?
wet, warped, salt-soaked
wet with tears

if someone else held you in
it would be fine to complain
cry out
stop

you force yourself in
you cannot complain
yell help
out

others will hear your cry
they will try to help
you are not alone

but if you keep holding
the box will keep
it is a keep

the keep of your despair holds you in
you cannot get out
unless

you
let
go

not to forget
not to hate
not to lose love

instead to remember them
to love them again

those left out in the rain
those whose box is not held on by their own strength

you hold the keys to their liberation
but to free you must first be free

so if your tears and carnality weigh you down
then seek within to free you
and you will
if you
let
go

and so, perhaps hearing
perhaps letting her fingers loosing
perhaps throwing away the box and stretching
perhaps stretching in the sun, and seeing the light again

i can hope
i can pray
and it may help

let there be no more souls
trapped in
in the box
boxed in
the inbox
hitting refresh
waiting
f o r
me
Originally written in 2010, rewritten 2020
Spicy Digits Dec 2020
Harken unto thee all ye cubicled rats
Furrowed brows
And mortgage rows
A cocktail of sneezes, wheezes and white lights

Leave me the soil under my fingernails
The monsoon and the snakes,
Heavy lifting, creature coexisting

Just spare me from the circle-backs
And obituary emails.
The stale air, ergonomic chair.

Hallowed be the slow mornings
Birdsong breaking the dawn
A soul full of tea
Softly resting chin on knee

Save us from the flood of empty words
Of formality and forced smiles
The glorification of busy

Crumble the ancient hierarchy

Let us wander home.
Arindam Barooah Dec 2020
I unfurls to sail,
stretching my arms out.
Gust of ecstatic emotion surges,
silent agony fall to pieces,
torn & tattered.
I seek floating away,
unlatching imprisoned soul,
fleeing deep dark abyss.
Pity and regrettably,
I don't feel free.
I am wingless.
Silent, constrained, caged
trapped for life.
Dina Dec 2020
Trapped behind the mirror
All the makeup

Trapped behind the pain
All the fake smiles

Trapped behind the expectations
All the weight

Trapped behind the mask
All the lies

Trapped by the grave
she dug for herself every day

Throwing dirt on herself
With every lie
With every expectation
With all the pain
With all the makeup she cakes on her skin

Trapped by her own fear
unnamed Dec 2020
i saw a breeze in my terrarium
a gentle sweeping of the peace,
i wonder if the trees can feel the breeze
flowing through their leaves?
Terra Levez Nov 2020
He'll pour the sweetest honey words
And you'll willingly take every sticky drop
Not knowing that he'll take you when the amber hardens
And add you to his collection
i dont know why i still reread every one of your poems
george Nov 2020
"oh," i wheeze,
out of breath--
i've fallen.

into the pit i've dug, with a little bit of help
from unsuspecting spectators, at that
what a pathetic whelp

"oh!" i cry,
out of breath--
i've fallen.
for someone.
i've practically chosen death.
taking up space - mustard service
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