"I was the same, but I was waiting for myself on the shore to return."  -   Murakami

It is a difficult time. So
You wait for yourself to come back.
You wait on the
Pier. Watch pelicans
Pirouette in the air; weightless

For a moment and then diving.
The sound of their splash reminding
You of something you just can’t quite
Remember. You sit there eating
Fish after fish, wash them

Down with beer. You have started
Counting seagulls and giving them
Long Spanish names. You choreograph
Ballets, make architectural
Drawings of dreams and have started

To build a home of sea shells. On
The weekends people come just to
See you waiting for yourself. “Where
Did you go?” they ask, you just shrug
Your shoulders. You make new friends.

You take up painting and paint self
Portraits, your image repeated
Like the latitude and longitude
Lines on a map. Early every
Morning you lean against the railing.

The seagulls have joined you. You’ve made
Them tiny red scarves that they
All wear. All of you stare, being
Still as glass as if any movement
Might blur vision. All of you are

Staring out to sea, straining to
See you coming back, straining to

See the prow of the boat cutting
The silver morning water.

A poem about finding oneself.  Previously published  2  Rivers Review 2015
Rylee Oct 4

She might’ve dressed to impress
She dressed to the nines all the time
But can’t you read between the lines
Couldn’t you see the signs?
And see the way she shines when she,
Gets that feeling,
The feeling when she looks in the mirror
She doesn’t give a shit about anybody’s opinion
She doesn’t want to be one of the world’s minions
Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you
You say she’s a slut, she says she doesn’t give a fuck
But underneath her bones are breaking from the sticks and stones,
Her heart is hurt from those words that were supposed to not hurt
But when you fuck with her, you fuck with me, and trust me
In the end you will have wished you never called her a slut
She has problems of her own
She doesn’t let them show
She doesn’t want to seem weak, so she doesn’t speak
But on the inside she’s crying, and that shine is dying
The feeling of looking in that clear mirror
But in the end
You called a dead girl a slut

BSeuss 7d

as a child a girl once asked me
why I always look down when I walk.
I told her, because there is nothing to
look up to.

I was wrong.
now I don't like to hold my head down.
if that same girl asked me why I always look
up, id say, because the world told me not to.

Alexander Oct 1

They say shoot for the stars,
But what if I’m indoors?
I’ll just end up hitting the celling.

They say be yourself,
Then they want you to be happy.
What if you’re sad?

People want things they can’t see.
They’d trade in their sight
For a modest lie.

I doesn’t hurt me all that much anymore,
I’ve chewed glass before.
It always tastes the same, like blood.

Being alive is like writing poetry,
You can’t tear someone apart just because you don’t like them.
True poetry comes from honesty.

We need more of it, the truth.
No more masks or plays,
Just us, naked and bare.

Lana Sep 29

I finally see it.
The thing I've been refusing to believe in.
Snakes have slithered into my mind and I've been deceived.
I believed in those lies.
But now I can finally breathe.
I finally am relieved and alive.
Even though no one here agrees.
I'm finally pretty.
I don't receive a lot of compliments.
No man wants to be bothered with me.
I get ignored and treated unkind.
They just won't let me be.
But today I looked in the mirror, and I feel so good to be me.
Even though no one here can see it,
I'm finally pretty.

Madi Sep 25

how can I pick up
all the pieces of others
if mine are scattered

how can i help you
i can barely help myself
i hurt too, you know

how can i teach you
to love yourself if i don't?
i don't love myself.

NJN Sep 25

locked up in my head
Taking turn to the mirror
I can see a face instead
That has been much clearer
When I was still in my head
When I knew where I was heading

But things happen and things change
I see time floating away
And every cigarette lands in the ashtray
feels like throwing away time of the days
When I am supposed to show gratitude to my dna

We will grow old that is for sure
What I didn’t know that life is still a long, long journey
Roads need to be walked without insecurity
Like an elephant in the jungle
Be kind and stay humble
first learn how to be kind to yourself
because the magic will outgrow
As impressions will get into you
And not soon enough you see that there is nothing in-between how you once were thinking and the person that you’re being

How do I, how do I go back to times like that
When I was still in my head
My head was all mine
No threat to my shine
Now I feel dead
I lied to myself

Delphine Sep 24

the time is reflecting my image
or my image is reflecting the time
either will have the same meaning
when it comes to your own screening

does this even has sense lol
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