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I woke up this morning with a hair on my bed,
Not from my body, not from my head,
7 inches longer than the length on my head.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

I went to sleep last night not a word said,
Locked the door, shut the light, plop, bed.
8 hours later I’m here with this hair.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Now I'm just pondering “Whose hair?”
Next to my pillow, how’d it get there?
9 centimeters away from my face.
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Did I teleport last night? If so where?
I didn’t invite a friend, not over here.
10 hours ago I hung out with a few,
I don’t think this hair is mine.

Did I sleepwalk last night? What did I do?
Should I ask “does this hair belong to you?”
This brown curly squiggle is making me mad.
I don’t think this hair is mine.
I never knew how severe writer's block is until now...
Now I don`t know what to do with my life...
polka Nov 2018
We've been together for four years.

After a lovely vacation on the beautiful island of Maui, Hawaii, I present to her a small, felt box, small enough to fit in my hand.

I open it.

A hamster the size of a thumb lays there, gasping for air as the oxygen comes rushing back to the tiny creature. His little lungs were straining with effort.

She gasped at the sight.

One would think that my decision to keep a hamster in an airtight box for no other reason than to entertain her would be an alarm bell of sorts.

It wasn't. Not to her.

She called me honey and named it powdered sugar, right before it scampered away, searching for freedom anywhere on this big sandy place, only to drown when a crashing wave swallowed it whole, mercilessly washing away its tiny footprints.

A better name for the hamster would be...

Our relationship?

Anyway. She tends to only call me monster, now.

If only she had heard the alarm instead of the wedding.
Silver Sep 2018
hands missing, somewhere off
with a

how did i get here?
what did i find, but a
lonely abode

miswritten code

sixth mode, in that line
of dainty counterpoint,
a quiet minor, just as you find it
to be the least of all nothings
compared to the starsong
that is your breathing

so let the specks fly like birds
before your broken eyes

and know
you are far, far away

from here.
there are drawings to go with this but i don't think they can be attached.

i can't feel my face when i'm tired and wanting to sleep but not be unproductive and there are a million things that have to be done and just as many things to regret
ollie Jul 2018
In this book I’ve been rereading
It says that the chain that connects the lion and the gazelle is not hunger but fear
The lion fears starvation and the gazelle, elimination
The same chain connects myself and my memories
I fear I may lose how they have bettered me
They fear they may lose their hold on my health
About the chains, though, they’re different
The gazelle can only keep the lion alive for so long
But if I am the lion of my chain, the memories will keep me who I am
And I am all the living for it
Jim Musics Apr 2018
Peepers, (at last!)
Their thousands of calls blown, wavering across the eternal swamp.

Squishing, slurping boots.
Just last week they crunched and squeaked.

Softened trickle of Crow Creek,
As it makes its way down the algae and moss covered rocks.

Chasing and swooping Red Tails' Dopplered “keeeer”

The sultry, subtle, effervescence of the first Bock beer of the year.

The longing whisper in my dreams.
All this without my hearing aids!
emi munroe Mar 2018
"come take my hand
and run through play land
so high, too high
at the carnival"

Just come hold my hand
Or take me to dinner
Don't just stand there
Come on, I'm a winner

You're more than this
Don't make a fool of yourself
Shut up and kiss me
Push me against the shelves

Give me a night to remember
Make me happy
Don't you remember that night in December
I still haven't paid for therapy

Run your hands through my hair
Surprise me
Make this fair
Fill the air with lustful glee
honestly i'm just loving crybaby sooooo,,
This poem is kinda about, not too sure honestly, just enjoy it
Carousel - Melanie Martinez
polka Mar 2018
Don't you dare cry for me-
For I can do that myself.
I simply choose not to,
Because then you'd tell me
Your addicting lies.
im terrible with titles sdjdjkdkjsjd
SMS Jan 2018
This is the nature of a puzzle
Just a bundle of shapes.
Odd sizes with bits poking out .
Shattered, yet fixable.

Just a bundle of shapes
Left to the imagination
Shattered, yet flexible
They fit together

Left to the imagination
Yet structured precise
They fit together
Like they were destined to be

Though no one piece is the same as another
Odd sizes with bits poking out
Every piece is needed to complete the piece
This is the nature of a puzzle
This is a Pantoum style poem, which lines are repeated in certain places.
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