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Julian Delia Jun 30
Contorted like a torsion spring;
Tense, like a drawn bow string,
Like hell hath no greater fury to bring.
Energy, begging to be released;
Bearing the brunt of the mortal coil,
As the shuffling forth proceeds.
Brought to steam, a kettle about to boil,
Like a frying pan with too much oil.

Unable to stand down,
A stand-off of an existence;
The tables have turned, now,
Listen to the resistance’s insistence.

I feel like I can’t unwind,
Like life can be a party,
But I always leave my buzz behind.
Trying to find a place to fit,
A niche, a nook for the carving;
A hook for a song, a stitch in time,
Anything to feed a hungry soul,
To save myself from starving.

I can’t relax, nor lose my focus;
Pleasure is not happiness,
What you crave is probably bogus.
Distractions mean running away from reality;
Contraptions and lies,
Falsehoods draped in formality.
They say the flame that burns twice as bright,
Burns twice as quickly;
The hands that are twice as sleight,
Become twice as tired,
Twice as fragile and sickly.

Alas, I know that one day, I will lose my tempering.
I will become frail and exhausted,
Like a wanderer who’s lost his bearings.
My knees will become weak,
My arms will become heavy.
Time and the vicissitudes of fate -
They’ll swing by to collect their levy.

Let that day come.
Until then,
I shall march to the beat of my own drum.
Fun fact: I refer to Shakespeare and Snoop Dogg in this poem. Other than that, nothing is particularly fun about it.
épanoui Jun 22
it was an afternoon in december when i found you in my favorite coffee shop.
while sitting on the corner and drinking your favorite iced caramel macchiato,
you were observing every people passing by like you're being amazed because of their busyness.
but your eyes says other than as supposed,
you look so tired and hopeless.
in front of you was the journal you used when there are lots of ideas coming into your mind.
it's as if waving at you, and calling you to write again.
but you cannot find any words to evince the emotional sensation you were feeling,
you never felt so paralysed before, so unable to write.
normally, words flowed out of your fingers like water but everything you wrote seemed stilted and wrong.
all of a sudden, you do not know how to write anymore.
i know you were trying your best,
but i realized that no words are enough to express the pain you're feeling.
JJ Inda Nov 2018
Not an ounce of anger
nor arden rage
which typically fill the pages.
There’s a subtle calm
causing such hesitation;
a sense of being stuck.
-Restless, drifting
in a sea of tranquility.
Aa Harvey Jun 2018
Dead To Love

I am the heartless, empty being;
Incapable of love, incapable of feeling.
Incapable of trust, incapable of healing;
This dead black heart.

Love to me is just a distant memory.
Something I did once, at least that’s what I think;
But to me love was phenomenal,
To her it was just a word.
To me no love is possible,
After falling in love with her.

Only hurt can I now feel.
That is when I can feel anything at all.

(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Aa Harvey May 2018
Bubble boy and his internal struggle

My heart is a bunch of knots;
So damaging to myself, my God!
Why can I not just catch a break?
And find someone, to ease this pain.

The drugs don’t work,
I need her.
Only she can cure this nausea.
So full of bile, I fake all smiles,
I think, I thought, I oughta.

Stay away because I am contagious;
No more self-dangerous, just so sick of it all!!!!
This is so much pain for one man to own.
I sit in silence to drown out the moans.
The noise cuts like a knife and I fall to the floor.

I have so much stress, so I detest,
This never rest.
This this.
Is this really the best I can do?
The most fun I can have without being ****.

I would remain sad, but as I exhale,
These words of fail,
I know all things, they end one day.
So if I have to suffer these nails,
That I keep within my body, frail,
Then surely I will one day be saved.
Saved from my eternal struggle,
Over quick double,
Triple the trouble.
Love can only burst my bubble.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
The ashes of a phoenix heart

If just once more we could start again,
Then you could find that in me you have always,
Had the kind of person you want me to be;
But at this moment in time, you are unable to see.

Let us fix this fight and once more live one life.
You have your doubts and I guess that is ok,
But you must know that I never lied.
Things are not fine, but give it time
And maybe we could once more rise.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
MOHAMED Mar 2018
A poem about love
How do I write something
I am not good enough

This expression of love
I have no idea where to start
How to rhyme and stuff

Girl do you need the strange art
For me to show that I love you
With all my heart

O heavens above
How do I write something
I know not of.
I don't know how to write a love poem. But I do know how to love her.
Felicia Xie Dec 2017
She watched the world through a sheet of glass.

Flowers blossom as she opens her eyes. The sky is a radiant blue. Dewdrops glitter in the light, perched on emerald leaves. She does not smile. She does not laugh. She opens her eyes, and they are blank, and they are dull. And they are dead.

The trees boast vibrant foliage. The sun is bright and relentless as laughter and the cries of children waft through the air. She lies on her side, staring out the window, lashes blinking slowly and evenly, and those azure eyes could have been the envy of the world. But they are glazed over, and she watches the world move on without interest.

The sky is on fire. The wind is painted with vivid colors, saffron and burgundy and crimson. The very Earth is alive with a passionate soul. The air is sharp, heralding winter, and the people celebrate while they can. But still she lies there, eyes still blinking slowly and dully. She will not speak a word. She will not make a sound. She will not move a muscle. Her chest does not even lift. But her eyes open, then close, then open again.

Winter has arrived. The trees droop, snow weighing down their branches. The bitter cold keeps everyone indoors. The city is silent, cloaked in white and shades of gray. All sound is muted. A hush has fallen over the world.

The girl blinks. Once. Twice. And moves no more.

For how could her parent have known that she was both mute and blind?
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