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GreenWitch Jan 2020
They know not
the horrors they have avoided
William de klerk Sep 2019
Our beginning , like new life
was pure.

So far away are the days that like the horizon seemed filled with eternal promises to face
side by side.

First as friends,
then as frolicking fools
too blind to see the roads sharp fork
that would divide like a deep chasm.

Still, we rushed forward
on passions temporary fuel
hitting the first bump,
soon to be trapped in a cycle
of blissful agony,
like new life growing only to wilt
in the unceasing cold to come.

But, as a dead flower leaves a seed,
So did we leave scars,
that tells a tale to carry each of us
with the other as we move on.
Perhaps,
A lesson learned or a wound
to be examined on colder days,
that like the markers along
a journey
guides us going forward.

So as dents display the wisdom our once
fresh bodies did develope on our trip,

We learned to seek out bumps to avoid
and though we drive different roads
In opposite seasons,
peace floods me as
the passing road markers
down memory lane become
like the grave stone on that forking road
where I layed each wilted petal
of the flower on the dash
to rest along the road on that autumn trip.
Love like a fresh flower on the dash of ones first car, where freedom is found, wilts in the sun as we drive forward on our paths, someday we may pull over in a beautiful field and pick a new flower after the petals from our first love have completely fallen off and we are ready to lay then go rest in an unmarked grave
purple turtle Mar 2019
The scars I have sought vigorously
Was I impure?
Untrue of what I did
Or is it ignorance
I longed fear?
And dread it comes off
Nothing but despair
Anya Oct 2018
It was a sad thing
To realize
How limited my topics
Of poetry are

Either some embodyment
Or my overflowing
Emotions

Or a strange
Out of the box
Analogy to something I
Learn in school

Or,
Simply a reflection
On the people
Around me
Something I’ve
Observed
In my sheltered
Surroundings

Perhaps
One of the above
Coupled with
Some fantastical
Figment
Of my imagination

But apart from that...

Politics, issues, society
Beyond that which I have
Been exposed to
Plenty,
There’s absolutely
Plenty to write about

Rather than
Simply,
Focusing on my
Own
Centered
Little bubble
Anya Sep 2018
She says that people don’t listen to her
I hold back my retort that
“She doesn’t listen to others”

She mentions how everyone keeps leaving her
I hold back my retort that
“Maybe if you were more aware of others it’d be easier to stay with you”

Honestly,
It’s more complex than that

To an extent,
I admire
Her ignorance of her surroundings
Those around her

Because,
I’m hyper aware
Too self conscious
Too worried about how others think of me

She’s the opposite
So wrapped up in a cacoon
Of her own problems
She doesn’t notice those around her

But this can also pose problems
A LOT
Of problems
We were best friends in eighth grade
But we grew
And I couldn’t handle
Such a close relationship
With her

I tried to expressly wait for her
Remember her birdthday
She didn’t notice
Or even if she did,
It was never reciprocated

I was talking
She’d respond
Immediately switching
The conversation
To herself

It’s not maliciousness
It’s just plain ignorance

But what can I do?
I’m still friends with her
She’s just not-nowhere near
The top of my list

I can’t go up to her
And tell her this
She’d take it the wrong way

But even then,
Who am I to tell her how to live her life?
I have enough social issues of my own
And she’s fine just the way it is

It’s extremely frustrating
Seeing a problem
But being unable
To do anything
About it

She wants more friends
She has to put in that effort
And I can’t
Be
The
One
To advise her how
Dog Years Jul 2018
On an old windowsill of a crooked windowpane in a beaten house
Lies a window-moth on a ***** window cloth.
drained, defeated, and done
Time and again,
It tattered its wings and shattered its face,
plunged at the glass, losing its grace.
She's drawn to a dim light
spilled through a cracked window
into the darkness of the room.
Like a waking terror of the night,
With one half there and the other out of sight.
Hallucinating a pathway through fantasy
  Seeking clarity in rays of insanity
Contained by a glass and wooden frame.
painfully numb,
with an urge to move forward
A consuming obsession,
to make it to the Moon.
That lambent orb in the skies
A brilliant ball full of lies
Ignorant to the impenetrable mass,
or the number of miles between the moon and glass.
No matter how much it desires,
No matter how much it tires,
Nor thee amount of blood she taranpires,
The glass is unbreakable,
the goal unattainable,
The truth unbearable.
The Godforsaken feeling,
of seeing, and believing,
yet never achieving.
inspired by night terrors, where one is conscious in sleep and can do almost nothing to get away. Reminds me of a moth chasing a light, unaware of the glass window keeping it there
Kaitlin R Jul 2018
They see my smiles
They see my eyes
They see my act
If only they knew the truth
That’d be a surprise
Not a single ounce of truth outside
But deep with in I’m barely alive
Wishing it was easy
Wishing I could be happy
But instead here I am
Hiding behind my own two eyes
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