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Kat Aug 2018
What if there's a door that's always sitting there.
The surface is bare.
And it carries a mysterious air.
No matter what people do to the door that just sits there.
The next morning the door is always repaired.

Something so curious like the door.
Everyone finds it a bore.
After all it's just a boring old door.
After seeing the damage disappear you would think people would write lore.
But the door isn't interesting, the door is a bore.

The door's been places.
The door has guarded libraries full of bookcases.
The door has seen everything from schools to fireplaces.

Whenever the place, the door has been goes away,
the door is always there insistent to stay.
But eventually the door gets found and gets transported away.

The door doesn't change.
The door is always a door but no one thinks it's strange.
But the door moves from place to place.
No one knows where or which door frame the door will choose as a base.
I showed my English teacher and he liked it
L Oct 2018
They say they love you.
And they care about you.
And that theyre there for you.

And. Thats supposed to feel good. Its supposed to feel nice.
Be nice.

But honestly.
It just makes me feel nervous.
Uneasy.
Apprehension and suspicion grip me.

They shake me.

And yet at the same time, mostly,
I feel apathy.
Nothing
As if your words were as grains of sand to my beach.
As if they were the folds of some drapery
That i depicted in my sketching class.
Singularly, it is so insignificance to me.
And maybe thats where im going wrong. Looking for beauty and solidity in pebbles and ripples.
It all. Means something. Everything. But.
It all means nothing.
Theyre just words.

And whos to say youre even real.

Wait.
Am i even real.
..and now i cant ******* close them.
Kalarav Sep 2017
I can barely see the Sun now.
It's slowly drowning into a pool of clouds,
turning a shade darker as it does so,
like a red bindi in the sky.
Awed by the mysterious beauty
I stand there starring.
Orange, pink and red clouds
fading into a deep blue.
The rest of the sky is covered with tiny shiny dots
and silhouettes of birds flying home
on the amber background.
The Sun's glowing like a jasper
and slowly it's completely under the horizon,
but a few rays cut through the clouds
like closing doors of the Heavens.
After the sunset the sky is a different kind of heaven.
The Night wears her beautiful cerulean dress,
decorated with diamonds we call stars.
They twinkle, they're a priceless sight,
covered often by clouds or pollution
seems like she is unhappy with us humans.
Nature, a vast beauty all around.
Despite being forgotten
it shows off it's beauty in a daily routine.
Do you care to notice?
Sunsets are priceless sights I see everyday. There is so much in life we forget to notice, but life goes on. When you feel low take a look around, you'll find a reason to live, to love!
Persuasive notions locked away,
in many minds that go astray;
When working along cryptic lines,
which falter during chaotic times.

While hidden in a separate space,
these musings tend to be erased;
Forgotten now in empty spheres,
dissolve as echoes of chronic fears.

Perhaps society has been foretold,
of magic tales so brave and bold;
Yet through the mastery of lies,
they disappear before our eyes.

Inside the quaintly shuttered room,
the words seem subtle but still in tune;
When wanton tales aroused before,
a complex world of closing doors.
CK Baker Jan 2017
Thank you ~
for a life not to trade
blessings, in spades
tight spaces
behind laundry doors
packed closets
and open drawers
gator tails, tarnished brass
cracks in kitchen sliding glass
wet towels, withering plants
foundation filled
with carpenter ants
buckets piled with
shoes and tags
village clothes
and saddlebags
peeling paint
and broken walls
****** seats
in bathroom stalls
clogged pantry
frigid rooms
table scribe
and carbon fumes
comfort capsules
empty tanks
broken limbs
from children’s pranks
**** finger
double tongue
long goodbyes
and sidewalk dung
cluster flies
chavie’ clique
accompanying
the hypocrite
cracked back
and hidden smiles
chalk on board
with mr miles
atomic wedgies
closing doors
wrotten eggs
and open sores
jaw jack
nasty folk
dinner calls
for pig in poke
penny pinchers
double dip
yellow mouth
and silver tip
brown nosers
thick red tape
paper cuts
and pimple nape
gallivants
so out of norm
the joy of life
in basic form
what is life to an estranged fisherman who catches shells
but knees held up by strings
sullied and winterbleak
and armless orions
and bar-of-red-soap memories
marred inside a confetti tin can?

i am programmed for a slap or two
down at the old public yard sale
where two cents buys a soul
and a thousand useless words

i have lifted all my woes
from inside the battery cavity
of all my clocks
how they ticked and tocked

and every spring upon the
arrival of ants and mildew
i fold myself into a paper swan
perched atop atticjunk
seen from the circular window
stiff and sullen
Four,
the doors:
spirit (creativity),
heart (receptivity),
mind (selectivity)
&
materialism (generosity)
keep 'em healthy
BE
blessed.
At the end of an extreme month of excruciating introspection, this is what I learnt.
Antonyme Apr 2018
Hearts are like Doors,
Once they are opened,
they can never close.
#love #life #happyness
CK Baker Jan 2017
I can’t wait
to be a hundred
turning over the thoughts
and plots
of Caledon
floating
on Zimmer inserts
and dusted Florsheims
three steps forward
in a dream woven
summer afternoon

Through the
barn doors
and bee keeper flats
assimilating voices
from Sachems
and Forbes
and Hope Healers
coming and going
as the countryman
comes
and goes

You can feel it
in a place like this
the 3 in the tree memories
from Allis Chalmers
to combine parts
of Sundrim poppers
to shallow carp fields
the patterned lawsons
and fading caulk
(on ripped and rolled
frontier seats)

it’s a wishing well
for the peddler
and bold hydrangea...
both peeking their way
through
the rusted
grinders wheel
Bella Mar 18
And for a single passing moment, you were mine. I caved. I stopped trying to push my love away. I opened the locked door that was never content. I let myself love you. And In a blink of an eye, the lock went back on the relentlessly beaten door. I tortured my self to control my uncontainable love. You are my biggest fault. An addict is what I’ve become. Addicted to your *******.
CK Baker Dec 2016
The napalan man in a violet cape  
descended the stair with a lopsided gait
a wretched procession, subscribers in cue
rattling off as they stream from the pew  

sounds and smells from a shadowy place
a catholic priest to gin up base
lanterns strung from bolted doors
cobbled streets and wooden floors  

stepping stones and iron bell
fortified by the citadel
hallowed halls and sepulcher
dragon cane for the horse drawn tour

castle turret,  archer holes
centaur scribed in chamber bowls
garden columns in courtyard view
the blood ballet and hullabaloo  

ancient tombs on warrior grounds
gods and saints who made their rounds
goliath still with battered scythe
knelt in prayer and mummified  

battle fires and crowds that roar
gallows, caves, abysmal war  
gargoyles flock the terraced *****
pearly gates to bring on hope  

serpents, snakes and burning ash
lava bombs and trident clash
mariners drift in absentee
as neptune rises from the Tyrrhenian Sea
Kori Tullier Aug 2018
She stares into the mirror, numb.
All she sees is the imperfections.
Her body trembles as she runs her fingers along each stretch mark.
Tears stream down her cheeks, bluring her vision.
She falls to the floor, trying to hide her stomach so the fat doesn't show.
She wishes she could be the girl she once was.
She reaches for the knife of the counter and just clenches it in her hand.
Sobbing harder, she drops it knowing that she'll become stronger some day.
She gradually composes herself, rising to her feet.
She'll break this cycle one day.
It might not be soon but it will happen.
Meandering minds recall their place,
with fraught emotions tangled;
Appearing in a shadowy world,
where words are torn and mangled.

In recesses of profound desire,
when fiery images lose their way;
Through many doors they've wandered,
yet their souls are tossed and frayed.

Again and again this fire deploys,
a fiercely bound intention;
To rise among the smoke and ash,
lifting hope for mass redemption.

So many doors from which to choose,
for the fractured shells of every man;
Laying undisturbed to diffuse the flames,
in the wild and wind-swept rain.
Lexie Dec 2018
Our hands clasped together
As if they were storm clouds deciding
Now was a good time to begin the rain
Fear pushed us together
It is only fitting that she should pull us apart
The storm came down
We had been warned
When you know a broken heart is coming
Doesn't make the breaking any easier

The lighting struck
I began my undoing
My thread count dwindling
Down to four or five strands that you could loop between your teeth
As you pulled the words off your tongue
Sewing them into my hands with a needle like point

This is leaving
No.
This is being left
I was a swinging door to you
All that mattered was that my hinges were oiled
It never mattered if the locks were working
Because you broke locks even when I gave you the key
When you couldn't break the lock you broke the door
So I let you kick it in
Because the trembling of my hands was for the thought;
That if you didn't break the door
Then you would of broke me

The storm reigns on
It's always raining in my head
When you tell me it's just a little water
It's not that I'm afraid of getting wet
I just can't fathom drowning in someone else's depths
That their salty tears would run down my face as if I were a windowpane
I cannot feel for you
What you will not even watch me go through

The storm rages on
My feet are wet
I stand barefoot in puddles
I would knock on your door
You would answer
To have the pleasure of slamming the door in my face
It would be the same as if you had slapped me  
I turn the other cheek
Until I have the courage to turn away
Because walking in the rain
At least it washes everything away
frosted Nov 2018
i keep telling myself you are not allowed
to exit and re-enter my life as you please,
but i leave the door unlocked
so what does that make me?
i wonder if your mother knows about
the collection of hearts you hide in your closet
i wonder if she could tell
mine apart from the rest
your secrets are still tucked between my ribs
i will hold them safe and
repeat them back to you if you
ever lose your way home
the trees are bare and winter is
knocking at the door you used to
dance me through
and now I feel cold but
not like frostbite in december, like
i am buried toe to neck but
cannot pull my head out of wind chill.
frostbite is too strong and
i'm not quite sure I'm
there yet, it's like lockjaw
it's like every muse
that used to live for you
is slowly dying and all i can do
is watch them fall.
why did we stop dancing?
i haven't always been so clumsy.
i am sorry my coffee shakes in its mug
when i think about the art of war
but don't you know the grenade with a loose pin
just wants to be held for awhile?
i keep telling myself you're not allowed
to pick me up and put me down as you please
but i love feeling light, so what does that make me?
i think i might have been stepping on your toes.
i think i've always known.
i have fought many wars &
there haven't been many casualties but
i am sorry you were one of them.
ruby Jun 3
You've always been a closed door
which I was standing in front of
hoping you'd let me in
but some doors are just
not meant to open
because our ways
do not continue
behind them.
everly Sep 2018
I was depressed when I stepped into the
L train
what was more visible though was my
anxiety from being a
bus-girl and not avidly riding
dingy.             rat-infested.           ***-reeking.     hobo-filled.
trains.

I sat right next to the most evil looking
character from a beloved Disney movie.
He asked me how my morning was going
as he held his coffee in his left hand and
a cigarette in the right.
breath reeking of sadness greater than mine.
such a New Yorker thing.

I told him about my friend moving away and how I was so sad I made my mom cry
And then he told me about how he was sad when his friend decided not to share a cardboard box with him..and I kinda just nodded
hoping he wasn’t serious.

train people are interesting so
in order for Joey- yes his name was Joey- to stop talking to me
I started to write about all the
sweetbitter things about the train
and if Joey just wanted to feel like he was relatable again..
Bellissima May 27
Through creaking doors
walk my ideas of people.
Cracked frames, bent and sullen.
Groaning hinges, bones
bruised and rusted.
Caeden Regester Sep 2018
I spend my life walking through darkness
Seemingly countless years go by as
I never see a hint of light

I begin thinking
Is there anything here?
Am I truly alone in this abyss?

What if there's something,
Hidden, invisible to my eyes?
What if I'm not alone?

"It's all too much
I'm giving up,
This dark is not for me"
These are the thoughts I thought,
The feelings I felt,
Before I saw the door.

Grand, regal, shining bright
The door swung wide, welcoming me
I run towards it, relief and hope filling me once again

I barely get through the door,
When I am cast back out,
And it slams shut again

I am confused,
What happened?
Why did it happen?
What could I have done to avoid this?

I see another door
Simple, wooden, open also
With nowhere else to go, I proceed through this door

It's nice on the other side
A field of green, pleasant music
I feel happy here

A short while later,
I hear a thump
Has the grand door reopened?

I hesitate
I am happy here,
If I head back, what if this door closes?
What if the grand door casts me out again?
Then where shall I go?
I didn't see another door.
s Willow Jan 16
Sickening,
Worlds obliterated
by time.
I’ve seen the destruction.
Life lost
Love lands.
Open doors close
And
God walked away from it all.
When his Gillette slices the Cake you give
And your Ribbon shows what a Prune he was
It's time to kick his Sorry *** and Live
Then realise he is below your Class
The School Council has met; and Verdict's sent
To advise the Nerds which Athletes are bane
But if you give an Artist a worth-time's spent
He will give the Cherriest Mood insane
Try to open your Doors, dear Fruitful One
For once, know that Other Hearts do exist
If you can sing where the Hill's Grass grow some
Then you know which Plate is worthy to fix.
Now in this Picnic my Noodles grow full
From this Prune-Cake made and sliced from his Soul.
Joanna May 11
Walking along a quiet beach... I saw sailboats and seagulls reach, unknown heights and secret dreams.

Unlike people or so it would seem.

I watched them both until I could no longer see; the birds above and the boats below.  

Moving on, I saw eagles taking flight as the day slipped into night.

Leaving me standing at the shore, I saw me standing at an open door.
We all need to feel there is a door!
Christian Ek Jun 2014
Disappointment is thrown strongly at my direction.
Blame gathers in large quantities like a pest infestation.
"It's your fault" and words like "You always make mistakes" evoke anger.
Anger which I want to take out on myself and take out on others.
I can excel in my work of choice, I know I'm more than average.
The bad gets pointed out more and little praise is given for the good.
Stunned by unmoving words. I'm like a prisoner sentenced to jail, released and expected to do worse.
Destruction emerges from my enraged emotions, i wish your words could offer a solution.
I want to be an alchemist and turn things into gold.
It's ironic how I am a creator of words but cant create better words in my critics.
Conversations lead to arguments because i want to be heard.
I'm sick of revolving doors, sick of being slammed by your atrocious comments.
"You have no common sense" you say to me, maybe I just prefer to be in a daydream, my mind drifting away because life is too dull.
Realize that what you say has an effect and that effect can drive somebody or stop them in motion.
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