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Janna Jul 2018
There's a hole in my heart

A void in my mind

A deep desire for nothing but want

A need for something like fun

Adventure and thrills

Seekers and pills

Falling into a blackness

So dark I'm turning blue

Such stark it's only true

Helpless and innocent

Forgiving and iridescent

I bond with strangers

Act bold, I'm not the tamest

I am stuck, so stuck

I don't know how to get out of here

This place, this room, this hide

This mask, this facade,

This glass, this wall, this broken bridge

It is all burning up into flames

Watch it, sink

Down it goes deep into

Black Waters

- soulwriterj
Written in a state of fragility and lostness.
IG: @soulwriterj
Samuel Hoffmann Jul 2018
I'm just a ******* facade;
It's all just ******* facades.

It's just one ******* sheet of plywood,
painted all picturesque,
with smiles and hobbies and future
that's all.
And if you look behind it,
if you ever care enough,
to look through the painted windows,
or turn the drawn handle
on the brown scribbled door
you'd see a note.
All I am is a note.

Just one singular piece of paper,
with one crayon written line:

"Fooled you."
Okay, so I have been trying to be more positive as of lately but this is kinda a step backwards. But its also a relatively old poem, written maybe 6 months back. Enjoy.
Sally A Bayan Oct 2018
<>

There is power over what's in front,
what's behind, cannot be vouched for.

any one, anything that accost me, are
all taken at face value....just as they are,
disregarding love, or dislike,
or, what dwells deep within.

when not shrouded, i am most useful
some say i'm cruel
others think, i'm kindest
but, i am just being honest.
with the least of light, i try my best,
i earn praises...they come back, they need me
sometimes i am bathed with hatred
i end up in the attic...or given away,
just because the truth is unacceptable.

the area across is most times regular,
a man on his table...what hungs on his wall.
occasionally, it becomes spectacular,
countenances, joyful, or sorrowful
come to and fro...all sorts of accolades
a mix of emotions...each day, an array
of lively colors and moods......a parade
of varied appearances feed my view
it's not what i want...it's what i am given
any time of any day...any season.
whatever the reason
someone or something
stands  to face me.

when night is late, and in complete silence
that man by the table....ever writes on paper
and gets them all wet...with his falling tears,
he writes of volcanoes spewing fire, of rain pouring,
speaks to himself, then to me, of betrayal, promises
lost, of broken vows, and shattered expectations.
i am speechless, yet filled with his pain ....he is restive
til the wee hours of the morning....then i see light in
this visage, his face...giving an end to the dark
giving way to another day's noise,
......a facade.....

Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 11, 2018
Mos Jun 2018
The tangible entity of consciousness is fleeting
Scene:
A elegant party but not quite extravagant
Clinking wine glasses echo through transparent walls
Twenty-two hundred lulls over the city like that of a shadow
This isn’t an ungodly hour nor is this a typical night
It starts when She enters in a red gown that elongates her figure
A pianist smirks in the corner — a grin that’s almost sinister
The clinking of wine glasses abruptly stops when its replacement of grim notes fills the glass house
The attendants still seem cheerful
(How peculiar?)
A stranger pulls her into a waltz but his eyes look hauntingly familiar
Unbenounced to her, He too dances with a stranger
Both on separate sides of the glass room
Both dancing with the unknown
Yet each pair seems to recognize some prominent feature
Nostalgic for what has never been
(How do you preserve a memory in reality?)
Through the glass house mirrors sit in obscure angles
One could see that within each reflection He and She were projected into the other room
Each glance towards the mirrors posed no questions
For both pairs seemed identical
Now their lives may have been content in accepting this dance with a “stranger” I suppose
But that was not the plan of this party
For guests grew tired of sipping on Beaujolais and listening to solem tunes
The pianist presented a different song, more lively yet equally eerie
Their feet paced with the new rhythm which called for a spin
(An act as dramatic as such was only proper for the scene)
With a grand gesture She turns, finally seeing the glass barriers
And for the first time that night He and She were face to face
A perfect dilemma to entertain an audience
In a frenzy She tried to speak
“I love you”
“I love you”
“I love you”
But each plea for affection deemed futile
For the grin on His face became that of the pianist
Her emotions were a downward spiral of gray shaded confusion
And with a sinister laugh He (or he) smashed the glass, shredding all source of reality
He was the hallucinogen and She was angry at him for making Her feel
And each guest cheered “bravo” demanding an encore
But this tragedy, dear friends, has come to the end
She’ll never know how the stars look where he is
(Is such a loss truly a loss?)
This poem is for two people
Joshua Michael Sep 2018
A part of you i saw
A part i think you've never seen
It was beautiful and serene  

Why do you hide it
Put on a brave face
A hard closed facade

I've seen your heart
The love you have hidden
Behind your coarse surface

Set your heart free
I promise its safe
I'll gaurd its gate

Set your heart free
Let your truth grow
let our love flourish

Allow me to love you
...
trf Sep 2018
H arrowing abundance rife with result
O ur minds narrowly try to cope
U nder pressure facades and near **** haute
R estricts the leisure of bare beauty
G rowing impatient by the cover of makeup
L oving imperfection is now a rare duty
A ttributes of wear benign hope and
S ecede scars born of cataclysm while
S carcely inhibiting a chance to forgive them
everyone is beautiful and everyone is ****. shine a light on anyone, make your decision & determine which way you'd like to be perceived
Jimmy Bowman Feb 2013
I can see behind those rocks.
Beyond the solid facade.
They don’t fool me.
You’re eroding day by day.

You may beat scissors,
but remember I've got paper.
Deep within the rock pool
there lies a spectrum.
Katey Dec 2018
You pretend to be okay,
You put on a facquade
I know. I understand.
I do too.
We try so hard to pretend to be okay that occasionally we even feel okay.
M Solav Sep 2018
Oh it's all hanging threads,
Hanging ligaments with drops of red:
Vines without poles - flesh without bones.

Events roll out in scarlatine flashes:
Eyes in crowd flap down their eyelashes
And in silence the suspense grows strong;

The bricks are set, the façade is over,
But from within, the house still lacks a structure:
One penetrates rooms without walls.

A memory from the depth is brought up,
A storyline used to link so many dispersed dots:
Leaves are flying free as the childhood tree rots...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging sources, hanging roots:
Scars over the sun revolving in loops.

And the conduit narrows down,
Leaks a single bolt of light to glow:
An empty room as throne and crown

And a thorn, pain escaping death,
A frown of estrangement in the face
Of all that's known - what's most unknown.

Spectators stare deceptively
While promises of relief are spared;
They too are suspended in the air...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging loose, hanging dead;
Waiting for the artisan to ease the noose.
Written in October 2017.
Talia Nov 2018
Mister psychopath
I can see through your facade,
faking innocence.

You want to hurt me,
tear me apart limb by limb,
to bathe in my blood.

to make me suffer,
it would make you laugh once more.
stay away from me!

Mister treachery,
you're a wolf in sheep's clothing,
you're not who you seem.

manipulating,
only using charm and wit?
that won't work again.

I'll overthrow you,
because you're no longer king!
I, the queen, mean war.
Micheal Jan 2
Imperative it is that my true face remain hidden.
For eternity my identity must remain a mystery.
Externally I display composure.
Internally exists a warzone.

Can I ever live without this mask?
Until I become like everyone else it seems.
My status as the odd one causes constant ridicule.
Be it my interests, mannerisms, or appearance, it’s always something.
Pointing and laughing are the only forms of acknowledgement I receive.
Apparently different is taboo.

I look forward to a day when acceptance becomes normality.
Maybe then I can take off this mask.
I may then be worth something to this world.
Until then, I must preserve this façade.
Cné Aug 2015
Lairs twist life so it's tasty to the lazy
Powerful to the weak and crazy

Brilliant and seductive to the
ignorant youth
But even in pain, there is beauty in the truth

Even a tiny bit of deceit is dishonorable
For only cowards lie selfishly without preamble

As lies only strengthen a liar's defects
A liar's character, mind, & spirit gains no positive affects

The abuser of the truth paints with disappearing colors
Valuing the canvass at worthless dollars

For once the veil of the facade is lifted
Honesty, integrity and trust can never be re-gifted.

Unhappy are the takers
Or why else be fakers?

But to devastate the essence of the believer
Measures the cruelty of the deceiver

Inner peace with self deception
Is the doing of one's own soul's destruction

However if truth be told
When lies gradually unfold,

Is it better to be the believer
Or the deceiver?
Em MacKenzie Oct 2018
I’ve had a rough night.
I’ve had a rough decade.
To clear my head I decided to go for a drive,
the cold autumn air, the dark sky, the vacant streets and the glow of the traffic lights can sometimes heal.
Not tonight.
The cold air chilled me to the bone,
the dark sky is without a single star,
the vacant streets create an atmosphere of being on another world; completely desolate, utterly isolated.
The traffic lights are all red, like the anger that burns inside me.
I shouldn’t have gotten in my car tonight.
I have a single headlight, my passenger side burnt out sometime last week.
These things bother me more than they should.

I drove to my old home, where I spent twenty three years of my life.
It’s gone and I knew it would be, they started the demolition in spring shortly after I left it, during one of our coldest winters yet.
But now, a house is being constructed on the lot.
Where once stood a small, modest, cottage looking home has been turned into only a gigantic skeleton of what will be a modern house that holds no unique characteristics.
It will blend in with every other house on the street.
Notice how I say house, not home.
They built right to the hedge, Jesus, they didn’t even leave room for a yard or driveway.
Besides all that, I can only think
“my mother’s soul left her body on this land.”
The same land they’ve covered.
Her temporary bedroom when she turned palliative will probably be their living room, or maybe bathroom.
Whoever lives in this house won’t know that the most wonderful mother in this world died where their house is standing.
They won’t know it was a Christmas morning, and the last thing I ever heard from her mouth was “your arms are getting strong” after helping her to her OMS supplied hospital bed.
These things bother me more than they should.

I usually drive fast and play my music loud,
tonight I’m driving fast to get anywhere but where I am,
tonight I’m playing my music loud to drown out my sobs.
The kind of sobs that hit your body like aggressive shocks.
I hate crying, I despise sobbing.
I don’t get embarrassed, but I’m mortified by my own vulnerability even though I’m alone.
I even fake a laugh and shake my head.
Pretend it’s nothing, and that I’m an idiot, that “that’s just life” and so forth.
These things bother me more than they should.

When you lose the only home you’ve ever known,
are you destined to be transient eternally?
Is it possible to find someone who will love every part of you,
and love you enough to actually show it?
But most importantly,
does it ever stop hurting,
even for a ******* second?
Just spewing out the cold and dark feelings that are devouring me right now. Sorry for the angst.
Anna Jackson Feb 21
Vietnam's got a raw, dangerous side to explore,
And whilst I'm far from one to detract or deplore,
From the beauty of the place, the gentle souls of the people,
There's some dark things balancing the good with the evil.

Prostitutes are shedding clothes and dignity in bars,
Whilst *****, old men sit with wet mouths ajar,
People claim to help you whilst emptying your pockets,
Because they can't afford to live on their pitiful pay dockets.

Prices sky rocket based on the colour of your skin,
But we're from a wealthy country so we can't make a din,
The protectors - the police will only help you for a bribe,
And if you can't pay the price then you'll get locked inside.

Just alive malnourished dogs with heat exhaustion,
Rats dwell beneath restaurant tables waiting for their portion,
Agent Orange victims left with face contortion and extra limbs,
While aging, old ladies gather supper from the bins.

Children roam the streets at night and noone blinks an eye,
So much is wrong that you're left wondering what's right,
But in this world of chaos can we chastise their plight?
Whilst we take advantage, judge, rule, bomb others and fight.

The 'United' Kingdom separates itself from the world,
Covering up so many lies it makes your toes curl,
Corrupt chains thwart families hopes and beliefs,
Let's form orderly queues for the corporate thiefs.

Every country has a blood money epidemic,
We simply hide it better as we're more academic,
A nation crammed full with political actors,
The fact we follow suit is the critical factor,
To the downfall of our country and the people who reside.
It does not abide to say, ‘Well, at least we tried!’,
But as we all know in this puppet show *******,
We've only ourselves to blame, therefore I'm the biggest culprit.
smc Apr 27
lemming
lip synch

paired
facebook photos

plaster of paris
shadow
boxer

ebony streaked
pillowcase

no thanks
just salad

lips curl

thirty-six
half-empty

hollow rooms
sticky skin

cruise control
thirty-seven

sunshine
fishbowl
paper doll

right-hand ring
Purcy Flaherty Mar 2018
Image is everything and lies are addictive, white lies become **** truths in a malevolent world.
~ You will bind the best people available; you'll enter thier clique  in order to further enhance your image and validate your own false reality; once your host is unable to enhance your facade they will be discarded and you will move on to the best people available to you; in order to further enhance your image and validate your false reality., once they are unable to enhance your facade, they will be discarded and you will move on to the best people available to you; in order to further enhance your image and validate your false reality.
This cycle is destined to go on and on and on throughout your entire life-cycle. "What a state of being!"
Climbing will always have it's downfalls !
No  direction just a circle.
List in a loop.
We have a life
Where everything is just right
The sun is not too far off right
The skin you don is not too tight
Everything seems alright

The Porridge was just right
The chair felt just nice
And oh wow
That bed made her feel so light
A little bit here and a little bit there
Goldilocks would not move even a slight

We have a life
Everything seems just fine
There is no reason we can't feel delight
But such a facade
Only Goldilocks can provide

What was a little girl doing in a bear's house?
Why was it torn her little blouse?
Why was she alone in a wild farmhouse?
Did she have no food?
Did she have no stool?
Did she have no roof?

Her parents gone
She - Abandoned
Bears - frightened
What kind of little girl
Goes to a bear's house hopeful
For something to make her tummy full
For something to from this lonely ditch - pull

Maybe all she wanted was just right
For goodness in her life
Did not seem like her rite

We have a life
A life filled with not rights
A life filled with imperfections
People say flaw is beauty
To that theory I say
That's a load of Gurry

Nothing is right
Crisis blocks the light
Corruption is the only sight
The skin you don is not enough bright
And Global Warming is a lost fight
When will we once again
Have clear sight
And see the life we thought we had
Is not right

What is beauty
Is finding the little light
In a world filled with plight
When everything seems alright
When nothing seems wrong
When good things seem came
Then you look into his eyes
You will see a sea of bane
You will notice his lack of sane
But until then...

We have a life
Things are not alright
They will be...
Goldilocks  short  stories  crisis  global  warming  facade  happiness  sadness  smokescreen  passion  do what is right  our world  our life  emotions  poem
I keep feeling like I'm sombody else,
every time I reflect on myself.
I know I stay true to my inner being,
but I'm always
compelled to be a better me.
While never losing
what I've learned before,
I keep it similar to what ones adore.
Is this what I want and even more?
Or is it a facade I tend to abhor?
Am I completly there?
Am I even me?
That's what people think
it's not what I see.
I've loved
and lived
this life gone by,
but now i have the need to actually try.
To become the way,
I knew that I would,
while staying true,
to doing good.
I create my day
and tend to say,
that I live life,
in most interesting ways.
Staying spontaneous,
keeping unique.
By realizing that,
I'm merely one of the meek.
Is there any life I'd rather seek?
Or is my existence completely freak?
Am I all that one's made out to be?
Or am I blind to what others see?
No reason to care,
for they matter not.
For most lose themselves,
their true self forgot...
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