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Sketcher Dec 2018
Right when your head hits the pillow and your eyes close,
You are in the first stage of sleep so just suppose,
That someone drops their phone or decides to throw,
Something at a wall, you can easily be woke,
If you make it through this stage without waking up,
Your heartbeat will slow, and your eye movement will stop,
Preparing for deep sleep as your temperature drops,
Possible hallucinations made of mental props,
The very next stage is stage three,
Now you have drifted off into deep sleep,
Delta waves and smaller fast waves,
Intermingled going every which way,
And then stage four is basically the same,
Waking from this state, you’ll end up dismayed,
And disoriented for a few minutes,
You’ll wish that all five stages got to a finish,
The fifth and final stage is rapid eye movement,
Eyes move from side to side and we’re assuming,
That it’s because of the intense dream being perceived,
Then you’re soon to wake and consciousness is retrieved.
Making a song for psychology class...
Stephen Nov 2018
The world is a gaping maw of ignorance
Filled to the brim with hatred,
Intolerance,
Unadulterated bigotry,
And millions of eyes,
Blinded mid-lobotomy,
That self-performed procedure
That protects the subject
From any sudden understandings.
Things are not as they ought to be,
But then things never were
And never will
Be.
The world is the way it is,
And those of us who couldn’t cut into our own calculating core,
Those of us who attempted the task with a torrent of tonics
Instead of hammer and shiv,
Find ourselves wandering through a wasteland of willful
Idiots and bigoted bullies.
Try as we might to open their eyes,
Open their minds,
We fail.
Their eyes are hollow shells and dust.
Their minds are awash with religious rules, rifles, ruination,
Walls, borders, fences,
Imaginary lines drawn everywhere,
Over everything,
And their brains are protected from learning anything new
Or different
By miles of scar tissue and an overabundance of barnacles.
So that leaves the rest of us,
The ones with eyes open, minds primed and wide,
Stuck.
Lost in a world of people who will never understand,
Never let real freedom ring,
Never erase the imaginary lines they drew themselves,
Never accept that everything they believe
Is preposterously perverse.
The more we try to spread the truth,
Attempt to put an end to the primitive procedure of self inflicted
Amentia,
The more they try to stomp us out,
Extinguish our flames,
Burn us to the ground.
But we continue to fight, to bleed, to die.
Sometimes because we still have hope that things can and will
Get better.
But more often than not,
We fight on because it's the only thing that keeps us
From picking up that ice-pick ourselves and becoming
Another one of the mindless masses.
Dream Oct 2018
Ill always be foreign to all land...

I dont belong on the ground...
b Oct 2018
i woke up to write a poem
i woke up to write a poem

maybe

i woke up to tell you
that the lips of love are soft.
that the touch of hell burns cold.

but youve heard that before and so have i.

so if

i woke up to write a poem
i woke up to write a poem

why even bother if the
words im looking for
havent made themselves
known to me.

they should be at my ribs,
knocking on the glass.
but instead they
dance like a child.
and hide like a fugitive
Qweyku Oct 2018
in sleep i saw something
beautiful in your eyes

no doubt you have regenerated
my awakening

                    © Qwey.ku
Sometimes I write what I see within the night
risen
Grace Oct 2018
'Woke'?
What does it even mean?
Is it exploding on social media over that viral video showing a racist incident?
Is it challenging the status quo in your everyday life?
Or is it being oversensitive and angry all the time?

It's more than all of that.

It's constantly seeing racism, patriarchy and capitalists flourish,
while you can hardly keep you and yours nourished.
It's constantly wanting to speak out but realising you're just a number
whose voice won't disrupt the masses' slumber.

I'm tired of being woke.

I want to think a lot less,
Be more reckless,
And learn to be happy with a lot less.
Madison Jul 2018
We almost made it.
It was almost enough.
I was almost enough.
She almost lived.
He almost woke up.
They almost did it.
But it wasn't enough,
Only almost.
Sam H Jul 2018
People often forget
to write about their happiness
It's only when they're upset
that they clamor of their madness
because they know
pity comes to the loud,
and ignorance to the mellow
I am happy right now
C-Nova Jun 2018
Do we belong together?
I don’t know.
As the days go on,
I can’t seem-
to let you go.
I think about you all the time,
Do you ever think of me?
I’ll sometimes forget you in reality-
Only to wind up finding you
In my Dreams.
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