Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Connor Ryan Dec 2018
My main goal is obtaining peace
In the dark depths of my mind.
Whether born from family or friends,
A wife or a husband, even money
should one feel so inclined

I just want to find true happiness
I don't want to just survive.
For the last thing I want
Is to still walk this earth
But not truly feel alive.
i had no idea that i had this in me.
that these feelings and this happiness
lived in me my entire life.
i had no idea i could feel this way.
but you brought it out of me.
you uncovered the rose-stuff of me
that was buried so deep inside
that i had no idea it was even there.
and i don’t think you realized it was there either.
you brought out the best in me.
you brought out the happiness in me.
you brought out the love in me.
so even if i can’t bring it out in you,
and even if we aren’t meant to be,
i will always love you.
and i will always be thankful
that you of all people
could bring this out of me.

- i figured it out.

// q.h.
June 15, 2019
Lizzie Feb 1
I’m a hopeless romantic

And for that reason,

I ignore the warnings in my head

The ones that say that i’m

Just repeating history.

You see,

Most people burn themselves

And learn to move further away

from the flames.

I, however, burn myself

Mumble some profanity

And continue to feed the fire.
Shayla Ahrns Feb 2017
Life is not always big
We are all here
And drifting
Figuring it out
Loving and hurting
Leaving and healing
Pat Broadbent Apr 2018
It’s possible to speak too much to remember what your words mean.
And so is the two-fold danger faced by writers.
Danger is to pace a hole in the floor.
Danger is to stand until you can’t move anymore
like when shallow waves **** your feet into the sand.

So I try not to stand when I write.

I keep a narrow tack
without too many big words
which pedants use to dig great holes in the ground
–moats to keep others out–
or make you think they think big.

But anyone who reads knows about Icarus
and anyone with aims must beware:
to shoot directly upwards is to strike your own head
when like fate the arrow
returns to source.

You’re only as good as your mind,
your characters only as strong as you are.
—at least, this is true in so far as you know.
True in so far as they speak.
For to test them you must torque them
and twist at their cores,
and make opposing forces meet–
but only
as hard as you can.

This makes writing a hill slick with oil.
Insecure. Potential energy.
Potential failure
in all of that grime
that cakes your toes like grease that coats
the teeth of great industrial gears.

So I try not to stand when I write.

But whether the better take comes when you plunge
and you slide and dissolve like so much ice,
I must say I don’t know,
the thought
seems nice.
But the same
It seems like those who let go
Are the ones
with the least to say.

I can't decide
either which way.

All I know about writing is
most sentences are punctuated wrongly.
The period is certain,
but writing is undecided.
It is the figuring-out, a quest-bound troop
that moves with all its own fanfare.
Question marks curl up—
invisible smoke on a summer coal fire:
heat twisting the air like irons in stoke
giving sign of the transformations there withheld.
For fire mediates matter,
so writing stands ever-between.

But I’ve spoken too much and I don’t know what these words mean.
And so I fold like there’s danger in writing,
while danger is imagined like borders on a continent.
Danger is thinking
I'm dangerous enough to keep silent.
Like shallow waves,
given way to sand.
So avoid letting voids form
where the mind dismisses confrontation to more capable smiths.
Writing is –at best– an attempt.
Even with shallow structures
in rhythmic din,
the silent breaks by force of pen,
and all because of the simple fact
that quiet refuses to bend.

All I can hope is my writing upholds these unknowns
while I try not to stand.

But you ask about writing?
Vilene Joubert Oct 2015
The darkness finally pulls you in
Whilst you lay there pondering about your sins

Knowing who you were before
Realizing what you have become

Embracing both worlds
Figuring out
Who would win...

You know who you want to be...
Falling back within
The darkness sinks you in..

Wishing these contradictions
Would just come to an end..

How did you become so weak
Yet strong in sin

Not ready for this world
Changes are so scary...

You don't want to be boring
Yet this life has no meaning

Once ambitious
Now just lost
Drowning in confusion...
Chris Jun 2016
A painful obsession with impressing
Is controlling me.
Tickling my throat to move,
To beg for your attention.

I'm far too worried with
What sounds better,
Hey or hello?
Or is hello too stiff?
Maybe hi...
There's no words I could write or say
To undo that last goodbye.

But figuring out
What to say
Is wasting the entire night away
And you're already leaving
And I'm still, already choking
I'm so scared I'm
Bumming a drag or two.
I thought I said I'd stopped smoking.
I guess it's hard when smoke-filled lungs
Are right at home with thoughts of you.

I wish I could let the impression
That impressing matters
Swim free.
But I'm caught up
In a dead sea
Of thickening greetings
Thought up too quickly.
Jaxey Oct 2018
The only difference between sound and silence
Is that one is real and one is in your head
I always have a hard time figuring out which one is which
Are you a ******?
Kewayne Wadley May 2018
With the slightest touch I grow wings
And I am able to see the things I couldn't before.
A second chance to grab on with both hands.
I believe everything happens for a reason,
The path of your smile lies in wait.
Finding excess need.
The times I couldn't catch my breath.
The maturity of being open.
To elope in a touch that brings the next moment that much closer.
The pretense of spending my time soaring known that you were the reason why.
The full disclosure of trust in a none apologetic moment.
The only problem is figuring out where we land.
Do we even have to come back.
Sebastian Macias Jul 2016
It's the worry you need to get in front of
Run, walk, or crawl but keep moving
The ******* is a persistent ache
But it is you who create it and make it several hundred repeating thoughts at all hours of the night or day when the sun is high and you get lost in the bright bright bright lights of tomorrow
You cultivate the stampede of words that echo childishly throughout your mind as they fiddle with you
And if you let the big bulging tidal wave of anxiety and fear of tomorrow be one bigger than the tiny sentence you yourself created it actually is
Well, it's time to get up and check your clock and hands and apartment
You created this, this thing called "worry"
And in the end, you'll get rid of it
It's figuring how to, how to be ahead of this thing called "worry"
Reading, walking, working, sweating, driving, thinking about somebody you've ******, thinking of what you'll be able to get done tomorrow or right now or eventually, and it'll happen
Think of things bigger than the thoughts of worry of life of tomorrow
Think of what you're doing at the moment
Think of the World Cup or the driving test you took when you were a child
Think of the tv shows you laugh at
Think of the faces on the bus
Think of science think of painting
Think of your height or deli sandwiches
Think of the Tuesday night traffic you hear outside of your apartment window and think, where are they going tonight? Will my thoughts go with them or will I leave them here
JaxSpade Jun 30
There I was
In the middle of the skyline
Bemused in my deference to God

Evil deluded me
As people computed me

And there I was deleterious to myself

How could I escape the dissolution
Of everything I felt

In the middle of the skyline
Figuring out my timeline
Where do I fall
Without your arms

There I was
Forming my life
In the afterworld

Its' so idyllic
surreptitious and thrilling

It's hard to stick around

There I was in the middle of the skyline
Trying to figure out

Which way to go
Oh Middle format,
What is it like,
Does it purr like a cute cat,
Or does it stab with a pike,
Oh Middle Format,
Where are you from,
Do you sit with the forest,
And sing a nice Hum?
Oh Middle Format,
Does your writing look fat?
Do you change the "Hello" on the mat?
Is in the middle where you sat?
Are you as small as a gnat?
Do you eat Kit-Kat?
Do you play with a rat?
Do you wear any hat?
Sorry for the questions,
But in the middle of figuring you out,
What are you about?
I am in MID decision of what format is best.
Baylee Kaye Jan 15
i love to read what you write me
seeing how your mind works,
figuring out your style.
it's a pure form of beauty,
learning how you think and
articulate your emotions,
and how you express the thoughts you have.
i'll never grow tired of your mind,
for how can something so beautiful ever be mundane?

te amo mucho
Next page