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E Jun 18
pieces of my puzzle are aligning
trauma and enlightenment go well together
it seems as though once you've hit rock bottom
the very top feels like heaven

a walking contradiction
how do you go from wanting to die
to living your life with authenticity

pieces fitting in shapes never seen before
pieces shifting sizes finishing the next assignment

a life on hold
holds very little to me

finishing my next task is today
but what is for tomorrow?
craving more isn't selfish
it's fulfilling
questions make me contemplative
unable to sleep at night
thoughts running for more
the adrenaline keeping me alive

pieces of my puzzle can break apart
pieces deceive me and don't actually fit
it is a lesson to look more closely

a piece has appeared
it's unclear where it goes
where it starts
where it ends
it will belong in due time
hello, it has been a long while since I published anything publicly. I've made one or two works this whole year in private but not a whole lot. poetry is relieving for me when I fall into depressive states not so much when I'm stable. But I am starting a new chapter in my life.
Evelyn Rose Jun 6
There's some pain in this. There's some growing up and moving on.
There's letting life go. There's endless cyclical comparison, I want to be like you, I don't want to be like you.
Here at the edge of the future there's fear so thick you can touch it.
There's a life borrowed. A bed borrowed. Friends. A bathroom, a towel, toothpaste.
There's a river and a racecourse and rowers and jealousy biting at the bone. Luck in sprinkles and saturation.
There's meeting the boyfriend, the housemates, the puzzle pieces of the past and the potential.
Somewhere there's regret. Of not being good enough, smart enough, rich enough, pretty enough, skinny enough.
There's some missing home and some glad to get away.
A deep breath and a scuba dive into a life that was only an expanse of water in the distance.
There's some letting me in, some sharing of stories, some secrets kept.
There's recollection, backward pedaling, basking in past experience in the invisible, unbearable weight of the years that brought us here.
Names remembered. Nights we'd rather forget. There's a newness brewing, promises of something else beyond this, just around the weeks that hold us back.
This year, plus this year plus these hours equals a key, opening doors, company cars and apartments.
There's a sinking. Right back to sixteen, to sleepovers and sleeplessness.
Look at us. We've wound our way here. There's pride. We made it from there to here, from somewhere to somewhere else.
MARS May 25
The young lad
Studies through the dawn.
Sifting through pages
across the morning yawn

Wearily, he gazes through his glasses.
He tumbles somehow through the day
Trying, to understand the
Kinetic Theory of Gases.

When, oh when? Will it end?
His onerous rite of waking up
And studying, despite
Being worn out on the inside,

Keeps him afloat among the wreck.
When the world is sinking
Into an abyss
He is happy to just, be.

Yes he is,
To be on the verge of sanity,
To barely hold on to humanity,
To wake up, every morning.

For the situation outside is far worse.
While men lose their loved ones and
Moan in grief,
Happy he is; to study, and sleep.
This poem was written by MARS taking into consideration the pains of a student, who studies without knowing whether his exams would be held or not, who takes infinite pains to memorize the dreaded formulae just so he can score well, and set himself up in life. This is to all the students out there.
S Mar 9
The clock is ticking

ticking… ticking… tick—

My brain is floating
As it almost sinks
That piano sounds lovely
And the clock again blinks
And my brain

In a cacophony
Of beautiful sounds
And a daunting harmony
Dancing
Whirling
Ticking
I wrote this while struggling to finish a paper
How to make friends over a beer
How to make any modest room beautiful with fairy lights
How to consecutively loose three university ID cards, replace them and then simultaneously find all three misplaced cards in the bottom of the same bag.
How to blag your way onto the university bus without ID
How to make a family out of your friends


When to give constructive criticism.
When to hit the cafeteria for discounted lunch items
When to let house mates off for making the kitchen a **** tip
When to realise that the reason your soreen cake keeps going missing from you food cupboard is not in fact because there are some soreen cake loving mice,  it is in fact just your house mate  who “just thought you weren’t going to eat it”
When to plant an onion in hopes of an onion tree.


Where to kick a corrugated door for a taxi
Where to get the best tray of jalapeños
Where to get a magic tenner
Where to sit in the lecture hall so you could only be partially seen
Where to find your confidence
Knowing I’ll never be able to pay off my university debt
But knowing it was priceless
maria Feb 23
1.Writing poems for you
2.
Written somewhere between 10 to 18 of Febuary, 2021
© ,Maria
Tenant Nov 2020
Composium ode to ye
Symposium of conformity
Stand up on thee podium for said
colloquium.
Oh please give me some *****
Or petroleum, maybe plutonium?
I tell myself:
New year
New place
New you

I tell myself that here I will
flourish
I will find my people for life
I will be a better person

I tell myself that this is the best
chance I've got of finally living not
just existing

Deep breaths

I push myself
to say yes
join in
loosen up

But it is tiring
and I feel myself falling into old habits
and I feel myself distancing and
slowing down

And I realise that maybe people cannot
change with a snap of their fingers

I tell myself that I am lazy
Freak
That something inside of me is broken for
no reason

I tell myself that I am the problem

I tell myself that I will fix that problem
Next year, next stage, next life
New me
Not now
Not yet
This was written in January 2020, based on my thoughts about my as then incomplete first year of university, thinking I at least still had two terms to make progress! Needless to say the pattern has repeated itself (although I can blame the pandemic for some of that) and I'm feeling a bit ******* so I'm putting this out into the void as a way to cope.
Armand-DeamoJC Oct 2020
When I met you I thought my life would change
I thought my life would have meaning
I thought I was becoming a man

When I met you
My life changed
Not the way I expected though

I stopped doing drugs and smoking
I found love and loved it
I found friendship and cherished it
Friendship betrayed me soon after
Love sent me on my way
I became a party animal
And drug addict

Highschool
When I met you
I thought my life would have meaning,
But my thoughts were deceiving
I was blind to what I was seeing
And lost myself

Tomorrow I'll send you on your way
And there'll be no way to make me stay
I'll never forget you
I'll never regret you
I'll never miss you
Tomorrow my life will change,
But wasn't that how all this started
Just frightened about leaving home and joining the military
Norbert Tasev Oct 2020
There were many, it was illegal to have a pessimistic weekday, a worn out, useless desk and a climbing Sisyphus ticket: Insufficient - mostly - and sufficient. The crossfire of promising grains of pride, and the pathetic judgment of the Inquisitions lurking in the eyes: “Let's see! Who dares to do more and more ?! ” - There was a murderous rage in the hearts of the people,

"What did I know then: What can I expect?" "Destroyed nervous system, suicidal pessimism?" Nice promises or Janus-faced compromises? In which the victim is always his own scapegoat! "In the conscience of the people, they beat a homestead and strangled it with stigma stamps, handing it to you as the title of loser, as an honor in the camp of innocent fools!"

There were many, it was illegal for the pessimistic weekday, many were the self-destructive consciousness of Nothing: that you would stay that way, but only the Apocalypse-bad guys rushed at me every day; miserable, trampled on, destroyed! If I look back, I can still see it as fooling and humiliating the germs of youth in slavery, the reliable cornerstones of spiritual libraries, because “someone” mentioned the word in defense of imaginative and new ideas! And still, I can only guess: Did I get the magic D-letter document in exchange for the omniscient silence of my silence, or just for the awareness of my sooner liberation ?!
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