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Pyrrha Jul 2018
Crawling through my brain till it has made channels connecting to tunnels like little circuits replacing my nerves, the little worm I call Loneliness wriggles onward.

A constant motion of forward goes that worm, bringing with it a never ending feeling of monachopsis.
Day after day it dwells in my mind as the worm carries on.

It adapts and evolves finding a solution to every mastermind plot I find from removing this creature, this beast, this worm from my mind.

“Friendship is betrayal, they all leave and deceive in the end,” it whispers through my head as if another conscience inside my being.

I fear the worms words and obey every command. Dare I disobey what dismay would come my way?

“Happiness is a lie along with perfection, never trace your hands along such deadly lines, the lines of which a mortal mind should never tread,” he says using my beliefs against me. “Happiness is for those who belong, not for you, never for you!”

The worm screams those words through my mind anytime I laugh or smile reminding me not to be so daft.

Oh beautiful, wonderful,brilliant demon of mine.
Keeping me from trying to find ways to end the suffering in my life

Morbid torment in the back of my mind,
Keeping me from trying to find ways to silence the loneliness screaming within, bringing me further into the dark.

What would I do without you, dear Loneliness?
You cloud my mind and free me from my foolish desires.

Why should I not be alone?
If I was meant to feel together,
Then together surely I would feel.

Why should I feel happiness when happiness isn’t mine?
How selfish I would be without you holy creature,
Beautiful blessed worm of wonder.
Monachopsis- A subtle yet persistent feeling of not belonging
This is one of the first poems I wrote this year, it's what reminded me of why I love poetry. It provides a place to hold my thoughts.
juan lozada Jul 2018
i love my dad
you do not see it
but that's the way
it is

three hour van silences
are no longer
awkward

i am the scion of 4
that's never going to greet him

i know a child
scratches his belly from the inside

i'm in the house of mirrors
while everyone is eating
i see through the
teasing, the
shouting
mom shakes her head "no one
can ever talk to you"
i see
through
the
pain

my silence as a message:
67 years no longer let you
rush to climb the stairs
to embrace the plush worm
of colors: i do it for you

i do not greet you
but i dress a shirt
with the caption "DADS"
and a picture of us two.
Azrapse Jun 2018
i follow the prettiest girls
the ones ill never speak to
they are like birds flying around
i am but a worm slithering
through other **** like me
they are out of reach
but when the bird gets hungry
it flys down to devour the  worm
they catch us by suprise
and sweep us
off our nonexistent feet
flying through the sky
with their talons
peircing our chests
they eat us alive
The Lost Girl May 2018
She is the worm.
The only worm who doesn't want to be a butterfly.
"Is it really needed?"
Why would she be a butterfly.
When she knows she was once a worm.
Why, why do people change?
When others know their origin.
She is not shy to be what she is.
She deemed that God is unfair.
Worm is also beautiful.
It needs to stay as it is.
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
The thought beetle.


There is a little thought beetle deep within my mind;
He is going around, searching for a rhyme.
He digs out my unconscious thoughts
And helps me to write another line.
When his work is done, he hibernates
And I sit back and smile.  


The ladybird flutters around inside my head;
She is in search of the pages, I haven't written yet.
She zips and darts, flitting from here to there;
She is always in a hurry and she is a nervous wreck.  


The worm is just turning another corner, in my brain's maze;
He's having a look around, to see if there's anything I need to say.
Anything I forgot to mention; he will find what needs to be said.
The slowly moving worm is lazy, but he is useful in his own way,


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Alyssa Feb 2018
A
Bluebird flits across the
Cerulean sky, always
Doomed to land to
Eat her precious
Food.
Goodbye, says the
Hungry bird to the
Insect it is about to eat.
Just a little bit longer til' you see the
Knight of death.
Lies, says the bug. No
Mouth shall stop my little heart. I say
No to the Knight,
Only a
Person could
Quell my
Remaining fear of her.
So, what shall you do, Bird of
The blue feather?
Unabashed, the bluebird
Vacated the nearby
Woods, only for the
Xylophagous insect to
Yelp out its displeasure at the bluebird
Zigzagging away from him.
George Krokos Dec 2017
It is said that it's the early bird which catches the worm
and that in matters of principle we should all stand firm.
But what if the birds are many and the worms are few,
those principles people adhere to are unjust and untrue?
_________
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's
Jayantee Khare Dec 2017

Mind can be a Spider ...

Swinging between the things
Spinning a web of threads
Elastic thin intricate
To hunt food for self
Or end up eating itself...

~One can be a think tank
Stuck, but no outcome

Or

Mind can be a Silkworm as well..

Confined in darkness
Spinning a cocoon of fibres
Strong lustrous fine
To be weaved into
Useful valuable fabric...

~One can be a writer
weaving words twined with thoughts
into beautiful write

Just a thought to ponder upon....
Me! I! Myself! Mine!

I shout these words in militant exertion,
Demanding people to stop,
Commanding them to hear,
Ordering their full, undivided, worshipful attention.

"Am I not the centre of the universe!? Listen to ME!" I scream,
And sulk like an angry child as the world continues on,
Unperturbed, unaltered, un-adoring,
Without even noticing my voice.

If no one else will pay me heed,
Then I, at least, must do so.
So I worship my own image,
And prostrate myself before the alter of my self conceit.
I sing my own praises to my own ear,
And ******* myself to myself
in a vain attempt to satisfy my undying vanity.

Oh, you vainglorious *******!
Made illegitimate by the illegitimacy of your false worship
And the hypocrisy of your heart.
Do you not know, you were made to kneel? Fashioned to bow,
Not to your own image, but before the visage if Him Who made you in His own likeness
That you might bear within yourself the most sacred cartouche,
The most precious signet,
The most holy seal.

For you have been called to higher things than this broken clay vessel you defile with your adulterous worship.
Oh, you conceited fool!
Puffed up in your own pride,
Unaware of how utterly worthless you have made yourself.

And yet your Maker still stoops from Heaven
To hear your piteous moans,
And His heart weeps to see your self-inflicted wounds.

Thus He reaches down
And whispers His deepest Love to you
While you are yet gleefully drowning in your sin.

So unaware are you of anything but fleshly gratification.
But He touches you,
When you least expect it.
Like pearls discovered in a dung heap,
He surprises you with the Treasure of His Grace.
And with the tenderness of His Loving touch,
Lifts you from your mire and whispers in your ear:

"Oh, my Little Worm, I am your Redeemer."
The primary concept behind this poem comes from the Bible in the Book of Isaiah, Chapter 41, verse 14. In this chapter, God is speaking to the wayward, sinful people of Israel. In verse fourteen, He says " 'Fear not, you worm, Jacob, you men of Israel! I am the One who helps you,' declares the Lord; 'Your Redeemer is the Holy One of Israel."

The way that God calls His people a "worm" struck me. Because it's not used as an insult, or said in disappointment. But rather it is spoken as though this little worm, most worthless of all the creatures, was especially dear to Him. He loves us despite our lowly, worthless state. And He whispers this promise over His Beloved worm: "Do not be afraid. For I am your Redeemer."

Oh, how beautiful is that!
staying  here
let me
upstanding to
trust my
asterisk that
mark my
note with
tarter that
laughter brings
my heart
that champaign
pours from
art tonight
that exercise
my right
to express
delisted delight
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