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type erase, type erase

brain tells you youre a burden to all of them

type erase type erase

remember who left and what they said

type erase, type erase

type

close app

This is why i never ******* hit send
"My chatbox is open for you" they said. No random check-ups I guess?
Criminal acquitted
Type two error
Encouraged as he
Criminals' king
Public's terror
Politicians' friend
Time washes memories
Leader he turns
Constitution doesn't hold him
He upholds it
At his will
The public lines up
Folding their hands
Seek blessings, favours
Meeting their ends
The error creeped in
Corruption, lack evidence
Witness hostile
Or incompetence
Type two error
It turns!
Criminals hand-in- glove with politicians, with time become politicians.
Sarah Flynn Oct 17
you are the type of person I’d
write poems
about

but you’re also the reason
I stopped writing poetry
in the first place.
Right answer to a wrong question
It's the type three error
The most dangerous error
If you ask a wrong question in a given situation
And implement the right answer
The result may be a nightmare
Put yourself a right question in a given situation
Before getting the right answer
In real life, under certain circumstances, we ask ourselves some questions without giving much thought and may get right answers. We may act accordingly to find the results are catastrophic. The reason being we didn't pose right questions relevant to the circumstances.
Mrs Anybody Oct 15
when people
ask me if
i have
a type
then i don't
think about
anyone in particular

but i
still describe
you
also check out my other poems!  :)
i wouldn't say i'm the jealous type
i would say i'm a writer
no one's muse
admiring from afar
hugging walls like close friends
more familiar with the architecture
of disappointing myself
than laughing with others

i wouldn't say i'm the jealous type
i would say i'm a work in progress
withheld on a canvas
half-finished strokes
vibrant in places that matter
dull smudges in spaces
unsure where to go next
traffic jams in my cerebral
creator and destroyer

i wouldn't say i'm the jealous type
i would say i'm an artist
expressing myself in ways
that others can't quite comprehend
but speak volumes of my soul
through more than
[words]
phrases things pronouns
breathing is painful
without creating
[controlling]
emotion
becoming vulnerable
in a comfort zone
people don't understand
[me]
stepping outside of my art
is painful and draining

i wouldn't say i'm the jealous type
i would say i'm ******* tired
Artem Mars May 5
They can separate themselves from their demons
I can’t
The demons I carry around have been my best friends for so long,
I can’t tell the difference from them,
And me
They know when a thought is being placed there from something non-human
I don’t
They talk so much it pours out my mouth
The demons say they love me,
So Me, being desperate for love
Accept them
Then I follow their rules
- eat little- sleep none- cry always- tears never
And so many more
I’m no longer self-regulated because I'm no longer myself
They swallowed me
Since I can’t tell the difference between us, I willingly gave myself up
Traded myself
For a monster
That only brings others down, or drags me down, to lift others higher
They have become me
They are me
There Isn't a distinction anymore
There isn’t a red font to tell me what ideas to avoid
Because I don’t avoid any ideas at all
Nothing is off-limits, they tell me if I see a thought,
Take it
No matter who it hurts, especially if it hurts me, if you think it, you can do it!
They tell me
You only live once
So they make it hell, but only to prepare me for what’s to come,
They’ve convinced me they only have my best interest in mind, I let them make walls
To protect me
a lil poem about my brain
Lily May 1
You’d think that after
All this time I’ve spent typing,
That I could spell “the”.

Brain gets going way
Faster than my hands and then
Teh the lights go BANG! out.

I’m in a horror
Movie and I can’t break free, can’t stop
This train of thought from

Moving onward, but
Then my dreaded enemy
Appears on teh screen.

Teh red squiggly line,
Object of my nightmares, bane
Of my existence.

I’m forced to stop, move
Teh cursor away from teh
Train, draining seconds.

Must catch up with my
Brain, must… I must… I’m losing
Steam… then another

Teh.
My English teacher challenged me to write a funny poem, so I decided to add onto my old poem "Teh."  Enjoy~
just my type
you're just my type
but i was never yours
A poem every day
22/3/20
Colm Jan 24
One day a new energy burned in the sky
Bright as the sun beasts eyes
And just as strong as this wind engine of mine
And I could see it, finally
Though it had always been
It was like... Electric skies
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