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Yairis 6d
Pelo marrón como la tierra, ojos verdes como el pasto, labios rosas como las flores del jardín. Un corazón del tamaño del universo; para hablarte de esto, no me basta un solo verso. Me gustas, solo pienso en eso. A veces intento convencerme de que no será posible por tu irrealidad. Pero te amo, esa es mi verdad.
I don't think it's enough of
Hawley Anne Jun 6
How many times can I write a "break up" poem?

Screaming into my empty pages,

"This is it,
                  I'm finally
                                      DONE. " 

I still don't leave, though,
Of course I don't.
Is this what its like to be crazy?
You're the only place I know.
        
Am I insane?
Whos to say?


If you ask me, I wasnt always this way.
I'm almost sure of it.

But if I'm insane, how would I even tell?

For all I know,
I could be in an asylum right now, rocking back and forth in a corner,
just talking to myself.

How would I even know?
Could I even guess?


The terrifying part is,
I wouldn't.

Crazy people never realize they are crazy,
Do they?

So maybe none of this is real. ...

...Maybe HE'S not real...

Maybe we never fell in love,
never had our child,
never planned our future together.

But that was all before the abuse.

                       ...The abuse..... 

                        Was that even real?
I'm not sure anymore...

   Maybe it wasnt.
Maybe, we never even met.

Well if thats the case, and we never met,
I guess thats good.

Because never meeting me, is what you told me you wished for,

right?

                    ...Or...
                    I don't  know.
Did you?
South City Lady Sep 2020
Do you ever imagine
      you've lived this day
long ago

only under the beveled glass of a dream,
and now,

you're just going through

      the motions using muscle memory?
Are we carrying out the tissue of our dreams conjured up centuries before?
Gabriel Aug 2020
Soft skin, marred,
jagged cheekbones
cutting into blank white;
suffocating plastic sweats
against the mouth of the thing.

A moth-swarm of faces,
of sickly hospital white
plastic; mouths gasping
for air and everyone drinking spirits
like the world is about to end.

The façade of a masquerade,
pearl whites with jagged oysters
creaking underneath, all botox
and sloppily revisited youth;
death is passed as a disease.

One within, too prideful
for a mask, yet pale faced
enough to spend the night
in the quagmire and relive
the quicksand underfoot forever.

Hard, wrinkled women
ruining themselves,
asphyxiating slowly in the crushing
pressure of plastic on sweat on skin
right down to the bone.

Still, the white-wind, bare, ghost
lingers in the after-party,
picking up the discarded masks
with smooth, youthful fingers;
resignedly exhaling down into sinking earth.
Something I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in first year of university.
Gale L Mccoy Mar 2019
rainbow in the details
when the lense focuses
is it the tint of my glasses
or the bend in the sign
Gale L Mccoy Mar 2019
the world is rendering
in these rabbit eyes
a basilisk turns to stone
in their reflection
Gale L Mccoy Mar 2019
hollow me out like a jellyfish
remove my spine-heart-brain
so serine in these
celestial waters
Jack Torrance Apr 2018
Untethered,
that’s the best way to describe it.
That feeling of floating,
and sinking too.

The world seeming unreal,
like the colors are wrong.
Simulated reality,
where the nights are too long.

Going through the motions,
and not caring at all.
An outsider,
who’s on the outside, of outside.

Catching yourself,
staring off into space,
wondering if someone noticed,
realizing no one’s there to see.

Those days,
you forget to remember,
are somehow worse,
than the days you remember to forget.

That horrifying realization,
when even your brain doesn’t care.
When it simply says “whatever”,
like you’re giving up on you.

These days don’t last,
they never do,
but they are terrifying,
when it’s only you.

You don’t want anyone to worry,
don’t want them to see,
the pain, the fear, the nothing,
that you sometimes become.

If someone could just take that rope,
and tie it down tight.
Bring the colors back,
and chase away the night.

Someone to ask,
if you’re really ok.
Someone you could trust,
to say “no, not today”.

Someone you could look at,
and simply let go and break.
Someone who wanted to give,
instead of just take.

Someone who knew,
and wouldn’t tell you to stand,
but would simply lay with you,
and tether you back to land.

So, “no, not today”,
but maybe tomorrow.
Today I am floating,
and there’s only the sorrow.
Gale L Mccoy Jan 2018
when I think of myself I’m never here
I think about who I am
and I think of
closed doors/white walls/music in my head
/patterns beaten into carpet

and I think of
sitting on the bus/living behind my eyes
/blank faces staring out of windows

and I think of
bright worlds/mundane things with people who don’t exist
/wielding a dagger of words/of misunderstandings
and tragedies/surviving and growing stronger
/of smiling in the face of peril

and I think of
betrayal/****** /being missed/growing wings
/becoming goddess/becoming wind/being loved
and feared in equal amounts/of people who don’t exist
still being there

and I blink

-it’s the same small white room
with a window that changes seasons by the hour



I think I don’t know who I am
eleanor prince Jan 2018
eye of storm
feels good
inanely safe

cloak of unreality
supplanting sense
as trap shuts

butterfly hovers
gently
in silken web

rests stupidly
charmed
while harm beckons

illusions numb
cerebral
space

battle weary
instincts spent
on long haul

gusts of
warning winds
ignored

as incongruent
aberrations
unworthy of note

but sword will drop
mayhem eclipse
former state

past suspension
truncated
exposed

as raw reality
severs dreams
barnacled

to beguiling
specious
notion
beware the weariness that eclipses knowing... and reason... it will exact a price
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