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Tanya Louise Jul 2018
thoughts in endless swirling
like a storm
and un-rhythmic beats of my chest
distract me
i should be listening
but my head is lost
far, far gone
deep, deep it's sunk
maybe its your ****** smile
or your uneven words
i should be listening
but the sparks are distracting
they'll surely be a second date
onlylovepoetry Jul 2017
did not know her when she was miniskirts and high heels,
before she converted to the one true religion of
poetry & yoga

some stray dog thots raveling in a pack
cross the not-even-6am brain that alternates tween
new day Adam apple crumb crisp and
distracting lascivious Eve ones

would have loved you same back then,
no different than now

write in different styles
under so many pseudonyms,
but it is the same man

who crawls into bed nightly with
great expectations and a list of salutations
to wake you up and commence writing how

love your poetic yoga-toned long legs
snaking between mine
while I imagine them in miniskirts and high heels
which is a long way round of saying

alone, my darling forever young one,
are my
one true religion...
inspired by C.A.

7/3/17 S.I. noon
Joel A Doetsch Feb 2017
It starts with a tickle to my heart
tries to gently push my lips apart

I resist, much to it's consternation,
not giving in to it's polite provocation

It bounces around in my brain, so distracting!
Ever so slowly I feel my discipline cracking

My heart starts to race, my eyes turn to steel
I must stand my ground!  I simply can't yield!

You look into my eyes
my last defense broken...
How could I ever have stopped these words being spoken?

I love you
When you say "I love you" far too much and try to hold it back from time to time
Bella Aug 2018
I'm doing so good
so good
but I know it's just distractions
and what happens when the distractions run out
at what point is getting rid of the bad
by ignoring the bad
a bad thing?

I mean,
it seems good
until you think about it
and I think about it
it's all still there
I just kept tip toeing around triggers in the battlefield of my own mind
and I can't just do nothing
and I can't be alone in the dark

because then I'm not better anymore
and all of that hard work of ignoring and ignoring and distracting and ignoring just crumbles
it all goes to ****
and I'm left sobbing desperately so desperately

so tell me
which is better
being depressed all the time
or distracting myself from my own depression
tiptoeing around my own thoughts and dying a little every time I step on a creaky board

which one is better
Umi Jan 2018
Accompanied by the beautiful starlight,
Even if mother nature makes things distracting tonight,
All I may think about is simply to hold you, to guide you on
To be close to you until we are greeted by the blush of the dawn While the birds, bugs, bees, flowers and trees rest
I have but one simple request
Oh my dearest, let me love you, from now and forever
Let us be happy and shine together!
Like the moon is in need of the suns light to be able to give us light
Your gaze is what makes this night for me very bright
So will you say yes ?
To this mess?

~ Umi
Esmena Valdés Jan 2018
It is known through the eyes.
Not from voice
designated instrument of the thymus
but the eyes.
Portals of silent universes.
The expression of the gaze
sometimes sings and dances.
Distracting eyes
couriers and trunks
sometimes they blink but aren't liars.
It could be the same wicked look
kinda lost,
kinda absorbed,
but never turbid.
elaine Sep 2018
The winds whisper to me
Keeping me from slipping away.
They blow ‘round, carrying me place to place, showing me lives of all the lovers, fighters, and loners of the world,
Showing me what it’s like to live.
They give me snippets of lives,
Distracting me from my own.
They dance with me when i am down,
And hold me up as i start to fall.
I owe the winds,
But how do i repay this inanimate friend of mine.
I'll live my life repaying you, for you have been the only friend I even need, and will ever want.
Sultana Shtayan Dec 2018
Suddenly Your Voice Got Into My Head
Distracting Me Of What I’m Thinking About
Leaving Me Speechless Of How Beautiful You Are
Patricia LeDuc Apr 2018
How did this happen?
What did I do?
I try to control it
I try not to believe it
It happens so fast
Not much I can do

I scream and I cry
Oh no not again
I know the symptoms
But they creep up to fool me
Tried distracting it
Tried to watch TV
Walk around and around and
Around the room

Manic, manic, manic
Top of the room feeling panic
Whoopee Bipolar is here again

Hoping my feet touch the ground
It follows me
My not sound
It beckons me still
Again and again
I take the good and the bad
Trying to cope
Holding out for hope
9/30/16 written by Pat LeDuc
Bipolar is frame of reference to a normal life
Pitch Hiker Jul 2018
The rain felt beautiful.
I grass stuck to my body itched
But I secretly miss that feeling
On any sunny day
I feel meaning in the way the field slants
Its always done that
The white paint has faded away
I love it when it stains my fingertips
Every shot leaves a tail of water
And the rippling sound of the ball sliding down the net
The way that the rain falls on me
Feels beautiful
Literally washing away my worries
As I never feel truly tired
As if every drop was distracting me
From my physical state
This makes me feel strong
harlee kae May 13
cleaning the living room
dancing around
distracting myself
not wearing a frown
this week will be good
this week will be great
trying positivity
almost can't wait
cuddling with cleo helps
I lived my life knowing:
That love is blind
That love won't make you fine
That love is merely just distracting

But alas here I am I stand trial
All in the face of love
A victim of love
But with no hint of denial

It is real yes, oh it is such heaven on earth
This love I felt, I feel for real
You made it happen, made me feel
What a lovely day everyday it has been

Everyday you are my cup of tea
Everyday I think of you and me
Everyday there are no worries
Everyday you are my peace, my whole delight

Your hug that i always long for
Each day and each night
You give me your favorite songs
How i long for you, all of the time

Though with every too much sunshine
There is a little rain, a downpour
Oh what a time to be alive
It all went wet, it rained, it poured

But do always remember my love
There's no rainbow without a little rain
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return

I'll always bring you with me
Remember oh my dear love
As green as the grass, as blue as the sky
You'll always be my green tea, my hug in a cup

I'll wait for you in a café some day
And some day we'll together drink
That matcha that serves as a memory of I and thee
A matcha of you and me
To My Mae mae chan


Heather Moon Feb 2014
So my father,
he goes into the store to buy his $10 a pack for cancer
while he still attempts to hide his addictions from my sister and I.
Now I don't think it would bother me oh so much
but his frugal attempts to sweep the dust under the rug is like using a mop instead of a broom...
We see the crumbs leading to your door from the cookie jar.
Yes, we all have flaws, but you,
weave shamefully through the under layers of darkness, devoid of any resemblance to a heavenly nature, you fall like a night creature weaseling through crooked creaky cement alleyways, your gremlin spirit set ablaze.

LIFE, I revel and roll within the taste of each second, I run the grain of life across my tongue until saliva fills the creases and far reached corners of my mouth. I tap my finger to my lips like a true virtuoso, a connoisseur of life. Life.

My father's addictions completely derail me,
not even so the notion itself, I mean yes, but his blatantly obvious ways of avoiding confrontation not only from us, but also from himself.
Like Pinocchio's nose, my fathers back gets hunched more and more, his breath quickens when we draw close.
Father you are not prey, in fact if there be a predator, it is you unto yourself. I can no longer help but to roll my eyes when you tell me for the fourth time in the day that you must take out the trash so as to have a smoke.
I am fed up, excuse me sir, the trash will still be there no matter how many times you take out the "trash" .
The only "thing" that won't be left after you're repeated offenses of the benign chore will be you're dignity because you are so naive and ignorant in the way you dodge truth. How can you live respectfully when you don't respect yourself? Nor do you value what you are spitting out to your own daughters.
I am addicted to life,
I breathe it in with passion,
I embrace the truth within me
and have an eagerness to expand my wisdom.
How come father you do something that you know is a betrayal to yourself? How come you hide away in that old bar, the one with the flashing(flickering) light on the outside, dingy worn out red leather(plastic)booths on the inside, the bar located in some musty  little hole in you're brain and a blind spot on you're heart.
You sit in the back in a lonesome booth slumped like some chump, stuck in a stump, you ooze and wheeze not even grasping for air, no fight left within, you are like mucus, a toad melting into the ground. Sinister and swindling in the greed of you're gut. Your ***** mopey yellow eyes and the shameful acceptance as you indulge in the baths of life's luxuries whilst you poison your body, trash what you hold dear and continue to block out that little annoying voice.
The voice with the cracks in it,
worn out from you're games, the voice that nags and pleads. The one that catches you before you order another round, take another smoke break, the one that pulls you, tantalizes you with it's simple sweet natural charm in hopes of distracting you from your self harming ways.
The voice that chimes in the second you raise your fist to punch me. The voice that is screaming at you when you lock eyes with mine and can see my fear.
Yeah that voice, the little punk one that returns even after the crime of your actions has been committed.
After the music stops and it's just you and the world.
but even then
I don't think you will hear it.
You're living on the edge of the pavement father.
No you wont hear that voice, not when you're twisted and contorted into the sideways way of things. You killed that voice long ago, when you wound yourself deeper and deeper like a clock in time,
when you twirled yourself into that little empty pub, with a quiet pool table, with no hope, a sanctum of greed.
Yes, you're guilty, yes it was you.
It was you who killed the voice inside of yourself.
You killed it when you traded
your dignity and your truth
for yet another
$10 dollar pack of
and forfiet.
Consumed by the wild,
it is easy to feel lonely
and completely vulnerable
An entirely new set of threats await
except one that followed:
your mind.
wrested from the intoxicating distracting buzz of civilization
The psyche is forced deep into the landscape
Truth beckons from the shadows with yearning wolf eyes
Intuition coiled
to spring forth and devour the heart of misconceptions.
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