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Was I not enough?
The words that spill from your tender lips and your scent that lingers
Little by little it got sharp and rough.
Your glittering heart was never easy to catch; but swiftly and ignorantly, it slip away from my fingers
The closer you get with someone else
The worst thought takes over me; that now you’re bored.
“Oh they’re just dense”
The words your friends once told me now morph the trait that I once adored.
Swiftly and ignorantly, you fly off to other people.
I can’t stop you from going to them instead of me
When I ask you why, your answer is always simple,
They give me more attention and let me be free.
How much more freedom do you need?
When will my attention be enough?
Maybe I never actually caught your heart indeed.
Maybe I wasn’t enough
When will I be enough?
You say you just want me to me happy
So I am
But then I'm told that I'm too happy
That I must be faking it
So I'm sad
And I show it
But then I'm told that I'm too sad
That I must want attention
But I don't want that
I want the opposite
I wish somebody would get that
Inspired by a friend who is told this daily. She puts on a smile because she doesn't want to appear weak and fragile, but then is told that she seems fake. I love her so much though and I wish she wasn't out under all this pressure.
Andrew May 2017
Nobody noticed me under the water
Drowning silently
But now I've reached the surface
Screaming violently
People seem to have a problem with the volume
My life is at risk of bleeding into their's
Oh, look at me whining for attention
Everybody wants attention
I'd rather be someone who says things for attention
Than someone who never says anything
And never gets any attention
When people see me I hope they see themselves
They just look right through me
All this in search of the grand attention
It shoots through you like a bullet
Then washes over you like a wave
But it's different for me...
It explodes inside me like an atomic bomb
And then pours out into the canyon that separates me from myself
They say a dog will hump anything
I disagree
It all depends on how much you beat them
Strike them constantly until their sexuality is
By the constant barrage of pain and damage
By the treachery and cruelty of their owner
By shame
delilah Jul 31
i started drawing
because my dad used to
i started writing
because my dad always did
i started watching football
so we could watch together
and so we did
every sunday
and the occasional monday
but slowly
every game
turned into every other
and eventually none
he stopped asking to see my work too
and i stopped trying to share
wow sad face when i went from daddy's favorite to daddy doesn't even notice when your home
delilah Jul 13
i love attention
particularly the male kind
they make it easy
play a damsel
with pouty lips
feed their egos
with soft lies
let 'em play hero
with heart strings
keep their attention
with fuck-me eyes
i'm in need of attention
dude idk wtf this is
Gary Brocks Aug 27
My work day woke to Monk,
the click of typing keys,
clock watched, Spotify playing,
random thoughts rose like bees
to freeze in these jagged lines,
then swarm in threatening flight.

Hours of data entry later,
on a stool, in a bar, a clock's
hands tock, I flick a wrist,
and slur my words concluding  
an anguished monologue,
“They call it work, you know.”

Awash at home, in the strobe of
pixelated panel light,
visions surge and dissipate
with the pulse of the night. Osip,
were you tempered to embrace
attention’s fugitive caress?

You etched memory’s texture
with candle soot for ink,
and the gulag’s blackened gaze -
I type lines by hunt and peck
humming Monk’s WELL YOU NEEDN’T,
hoping for an adequate phrase.

Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks

Osip Mandelstam was a Russian poet and essayist. He a leading member of the Acmeist school of poets. He was arrested by Joseph Stalin's government in 1934, and sent into internal exile.  After a reprieve, he was rearrested and sent to a camp in Siberia in 1938, where he died that year.
— From Wikipedia: "Acmeist poetry"
The Acmeists strove for compactness of form and clarity of expression; they preferred "direct expression through images", in contrast to the Russian symbolist poets who strove for "intimations through symbols"
Osip Mandelstam defined the movement as "a yearning for world culture", and as a "neo-classical form of modernism", which essentialized "poetic craft and cultural continuity".
Each major acmeist poet, interpreted acmeism in a different stylistic light, for example from intimate poems on topics of love and relationships to narrative verse.
— From Wikipedia: "Osip Mandelstam"
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