#agoraphobic
I don't know if it makes sense,
but I'll feel it anyway.
Find trust inside myself,
hear what I've had to say.
Something inside me has always known,
when the grounds are due to shake, when the tide begins to grow.
I beg myself at my own feet,
Forgive Me! now knowing why she pushed retreat.
After all this time I can start to see,
I was always looking out for me.
And my hands, shaking but sure
look squeaky clean.
And I'm willing to bet,
that they always were.
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 3:46 PM UTC
I don't know what's real anymore
The open margins leave me slightly
agoraphobic
I think it's okay for me to not care
I have a lot of moods
I don't know anyone who understands completely
these abilities
will surely cause the loneliness
to **** me
I'm afraid
I need to get it together
trust
believe
confidence
love.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
A pace of life.
A metronome is set.
To rush with a crowd.
Or walk alone.
Or in-between.
Resetting the metronome.
There is too much verbal
Hate in this world.
Which results in physical
Hate in this world.
Cause and affect.
The ripple affects afterwards.
With doings that cannot
Physically be undone.
After the fact.
Everyone knows this.
But the people who
Live these damaged lives
Would never wish
It upon anyone.
When everyone knows
The inevitable outcome
Of war is peace.
(or extinction)
Everyone should be intelligent
Enough to never start any.
Every person carries their own
Legacy of lies and
Possible untruths.
To live with unknowing possibilities.
Some structures are ceaselessly
Being formed with needless
Complexities
To barrier communication and
Understanding.
It’s still great to be alive, don’t forget to breathe (air).
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
I told him often and
I couldn’t have made it clearer.
He needs to stop looking
At himself in funhouse mirrors.
His nose is too wide
His body is just too skinny.
Good looking body parts
He believes he hasn’t any.
He seldom smiles
Even when a comic falls down.
He doesn’t like comedy.
Not even good circus clowns.
He doesn’t read poetry
Unless it is written about him
And his taste in music
Is all based on a passing whim.
He’s thirty years old
But he acts like an adolescent,
Playing the same games
From childhood to the present.
He still dresses like he did
When he was ten years old
And doesn’t clean his room
Not ever, unless he is told.
He plays on the computer
And keeps dead-end employment,
Then gripes about his life
And his total lack of enjoyment.
His ambition level wrecked
Because his family still pays his bills
And lets him hide in his room
That’s the kind of situation that kills.
He has no ups or downs
And takes pills to keep his mood.
He buys toys and gadgets
And lives on his mother’s food.
But, nothing in life calls him
To achieve or excel or to win
In the halfhearted game of life
That he finds himself stuck in.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC
Lucky, lucky me
self fulfilling prophecy
fear looks good on me
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 7:48 PM UTC
My, my, my
If there aren't times
I sure despise
Finding myself outside
｡:ﾟ✧ ☆ ✧:｡
Shame, shame, shame
That at the end of each
Of every day
The wind is hoarse
From howling out my name
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 8:31 PM UTC