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neth jones Sep 2022
s t a t i c

populous city
summer heat gloating
these isolated nights poison
anxious residents
all strangers to their neighbours

squared away
they coil about their trusted genitalia

c o w e r

wolf ,
          could you even go stalking in the woods ?
                 you'd get blisters
                            breaking in pricy footwear
          that smart suit ?
                             ridiculous ;     covering your fur
           you've become cowed by your domesticated soul
other brevity version - static

summer   city   night
cast    in orange static
dried spoil crunches underfoot
heavily housed buildings
of their unknown neighbours       
they coil
  around their genitalia
                and despise
xandra Dec 2020
there was
one version
of you
who wanted
a version of me;
it was only ever
in moments
like the one where
you let me invade your
the same way you wriggled your way deep into
my subconscious thoughts. there was
one version of you
who wanted a version of me
~but not the way that i wanted you to~
xandra Dec 2020
was it how you made me laugh,
or how that laughter decimated
my sense of uncertainty
and lulled me into a temporary constant,
in my ignorance,
a real version of me
fell into a faux version of you.
Nylee Oct 2020
Everyone is writing their fiction
that is the actual perception
different versions of the very same
and what it incidentally became.
Nylee May 2020
Previous versions of me
are just another story
not my point of view

the vision is different
the words spoken on another rhythm
I hear those whispers

Naivety and innocence
combined with different aura
the photographic me don't know
what is in store.

Each age, terrible mistakes,
every step is a regret,
I learnt from few but have not
stop making some new.

And I know that old me
would never want to be me
and I don't want to meet my future,
I would disapprove of her

The lens of eyes are aging
the glimpse of back are just flashes
they are distorted pieces
the reasons.

You should see me differently now
if you knew me long time ago
the person you are looking for
is not me anymore.
neth jones Nov 2019
ripples on puddle

wind increase to tear surface

life below thriving
distress upon pond
the message carved by the breeze
fish below the surface
Elizabeth Zenk Jun 2018
Dear Google,
Why do I chew up popsicle sticks?
Why do I rock back and forth?
Why does my head twitch sometimes?
Why won't my ears stop ringing?
Dear Google,
What's wrong with me?
Why am I so moody?
Why can't I forget what happened?
Why can't I tell anyone?
Dear Google,
Why do I pace my driveway and talk to myself?
And why do I talk to people who aren't there with me?
Why did the evergreens seem to twist and distort when I stared at them with empty eyes?
Why did I collapse and cry?
Dear Google,
Why haven't I run away yet?
Why am I not free yet?
Why do I allow myself to be trapped here?
Why hasn't she left?
Dear Google,
Why is there more than one 'version' of me?
Why do I talk as these versions?
Why do they all have different voices and personalities?
Why are they so mean?
Dear Google,
Why do I even try?
Why am I still alive?
Why don't I just end it all?
0 Results
M G Hsieh May 2016

                     Who notices prepositions
                      unless they dangle

                      like earrings
                      begging the spotlight.

                      They act
                      like auditioning extras

                      or photo-bombers.

                       Of the people, for the people, by the people,

                       what does that even mean
                       when we, the people
                       are simply people

                       trying out humanity.

                       My nephew goes blah blah blah,    
                       which is cute and could
                       mean anything when
                       spoken randomly _ an 18-month old,

                       like prepositions
                       _  the people:

                       _ God, we trust.

muteD Nov 2015
Who am I?
I am whatever they want
me to be.
Which means I'm me,
but not me.
A different version of me.
That is what I am,
but not the version I want to be.

One. The "Church Me".
Two. The "School Me".
Three. The "Work Me".
Four. The "Home Me".
Five. The "Real Me". Who is She?
These are the versions of me.

It's so hard to stop the bleeding
together of the versions of me.
The "Church Me" would never
accept the "Real Me".
The "Work Me" would cancel out
the "School Me".
And the "Home Me",
just doesn't fit.

There's too many versions.
Too many.
need to delete
the lies.
I need to
Delete, Delete, Delete, Delete
the versions of me.

Tell me.
What would happen if
one of the 'Me's' deleted was
The "Real Me"?

Who Would I Be?
Solaces Sep 2015
And where were you lost...  
( It was the point where I went to far ahead..)
And where were you found..
( It was the point where I found you..)
So may strangers stare at my heaven..
( Not enough people I know..)
Underneath the waters where I drowned..
( Could ever guide me home..)
So I choose the direction toward the dark corners..
( I walk into the waters in the dark..)
And lose my footing yet again..
( What is up and what is down..)
Falling through free darkness..
(Panic assures me no right direction)
I finally see where light begins..
(I will swim till I drown)
Both of us are trapped here
(Both of us are trapped here)
Version of me

— The End —