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laura Feb 2018
she went all out -
into her private parts
being public
and standing unashamed
in a nation of shamers

i used to find it mindlessly silly
to think that such a thing
defines you much
in a dubious society
all about the body image

used to think that was all a joke
until i saw an old man shove
a mother and a crying baby
breastfeeding out in the wilderness
being a loser’s how you win these days
and in the end we all lose
mobile’s kind of jank
theblndskr Aug 2015
Let me tell you the story of my death:

Carving words on the bark of a tree
A poem that means life to me.
Glows through night, my soul delights!

        "Exist beyond my death, oh please...
            So I could live in bliss at least."


But they cut the tree, so mindlessly
Illegally. ****, selfishly!
In chainsaw, I was murdered.

        A massacre,
      ... a massacre of my every being!!


I'm a ghost that forgot, the best in me
Now writes relentlessly
To relive the words, once killed in greed
I found the "
papers*", the poems you lead...

Then before me, is some piece of me
they killed.

I died a hero,
Readers who found their hearts, in death of the writers. Is but ONE.
Darcy Aug 2018
Yellow lit talks
Beside a borrowed car
Empty parking lot
Underneath the stars

Three feet apart
We mindlessly converse
About nothing and everything
Prolix and terse

You render me breathless
My ghost lungs deflate
You exhale the stars
And I respirate

I am so tense
With minutes too swift
Too late; you’re gone
My hands must have slipped
Kevin Apr 30
I stand silently by the crystal water
Lost in thought,
Running to find a way

Gently with the back of my hand
I place it on the clear pond
mindlessly sifting through the
stillness of the calm

The reflection of this diamond sky
reminds me of her
                translucent emerald eye’s

Wondering when again-
         they would meet mine
jcl Mar 11
at what point in your life do you realize the futility of chasing the elusive

acknowledging all your past love stories are tragedies

stillborns, held briefly, remembered daily, for the rest of your life

to meet the paragon that matches your impossible list of requirements

the odds are against you, possible, just highly improbable

to find the unicorn on a merry-go-round of painted, wooden horses

mindlessly, repeating the cycle, searching for the one, in a universe of stars

how many times must you be pulverized in the online emotional meat grinder

craving the unconditional love, acknowledgment, validation of prince charming

to be kissed, caressed, cherished by the bad boy on the harley

romantic love is a dangerous illusion, a mirage in the desert, la fata morgana in your heart
#233 2019.04.15
Eva Aloezos May 23
The air shatters,
weighed down by heavy pollution

the streets bubble with the rage and oppression which plague humanity

Lost souls wander,
mindlessly chasing their antiquated   dreams

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                         ­  Heading home

bursts of light!
honey suckle air

enveloped by the green forests of virginia,

natural beauty that shines with rays of the purest gem
jt Oct 2015
No one, not even the trees, or the flowers can then say that there is nothing more beautiful than falling in love, and nothing crueller than having your heart broken. I used to think falling in love was no big deal, it was just exchanging whispers and kisses that didn't really mean anything. The folly of youth, really.

I kind of hate you, for being able to make me fumble with my words so easily around you. I hate how you make my very insides burn with warmth whenever I see you. Is it a blessing or a curse, to be so attached to someone?

As the saying goes, "All good things come to an end." Sure enough, it did. You got tired of me and it was no surprise to me that I woke up to an empty bed and a half-empty closet and a hurriedly scribbled note on the coffee-table saying, "I can't do this anymore." It was scary, how five simple words put together shattered me into fragments so tiny.

But ******* it, I should have known from all those red flags that were so obviously waving in front of my stupid, dumb face. It was so ******* obvious, how you were so much more distant (red flag), how you rolled your eyes and clenched your fists every time I complained about a little thing (red flag), how you never worried about me anymore (red flag), how a scowl found its way onto your face whenever I asked you how I looked (red flag). It wasn't any surprise when I found you gone and far away from me that morning.

It's raining now, and I’m cold and sad without you. I'm staring into blank space, the occasional clap of thunder brings me back to reality for a while, and I drift off again mindlessly. It's horrible, feeling like this. My throat is dry and sore, and it's somewhat like you are my water. Or my light, because I'm blinded and you are (were) everything I see (saw). Come back. I don’t understand. Please, just come back. Please.

This rain gets heavier and harder, and true enough, there is nothing crueller than having your heart broken.
elle Oct 2018
is across the room
welling in her eyes
as she thinks of her country so far away and burning
to the ground
every night

grief seeps in and
under our skin
burrows tunnels in our bed sheets
mapping the places we tried to forget

grief
he lives on the tip of my tongue
a language I can’t speak, but mindlessly hum

grief is the anchor in my grandfather’s ocean
the sky and the sand,
the captain to his call

grief,
spreads like vines
a yawn across the bus
stitching together our string-thin lives

grief has touched us all.
Nadia Aug 5
Wanderers by Chuck Wendig

The walkers didn’t choose their fate,
Leaving their homes to mindlessly advance;
The shepherds following in their wake
Chose to give flock survival a fighting chance

The greatest minds can’t figure out why,
What’s wrong or where they are going;
The world is unraveling in plain sight,
Diseases of mind, body and politics growing

Black Swan knows the truth of it all
But should you trust an artificial intelligence?
The world is dying, this isn’t a false alarm
Survival requires action more than elegance

When civility is gone and kindness is far,
When the options are dire and more dire,
People's lives are defined by who they are
When everything has been thrown in the fire

The stories are visceral and the lives distinct;
Unyielding hope rails against relentless despair
Disparate pieces of humanity lithely linked
In a brilliant, dystopic, grimly amusing affair

NCL August 2019
This book was long and satisfying. Well worth every secound of the hypochondria it invoked
Ray Suarez Aug 2018
Vomiting in vulture circles
Waiting for a separate self,
A true you,
That you don't know you're
Ignoring
To jam dumb grunts and howls
Into your false face
So that you can be acknowledged
By the others
Picking the meat off rotting carcasses


I can't be like you.
Dance drunk smile
Screaming words
About things outside yourself
That are described by
Tombstone languages
Meaning nothing to what truly is
Ignoring the guillotine gleam
Of past pain and present agony
That make up the true coward within


I can't be like you.
Wandering mindlessly
Unpurposeful purpose
Pretending there is a plan
And a meaning
Thinking about
Kids
Cars
Work
Vacations
Upset by trivial inconvenience
Never pondering the finite mirror fool
That you will have to abandon
Or the immortality of Infinite
Thought bursts
That might actually be thought of
By a blue skinned 4 armed Lord
Living vicariously through the
Useless you

I can't be like you.
You aren't even real...
prince Jan 24
Two halves, conjoined and a nightmare disguised as a quaint dream.
Forgotten, yet a constant linger behind a man's mind.
A lonesome story written in the eyes of the blind.
The frosty whispers in the wind, piercingly silence but a deafening scream.
They are a warm embrace in cold arms, not a promise of another day but a hope of a moment more, a mere lie— it seems.
Many memories pass, though they still remember each breath and blink every time.
Tears continue to fall like feathers on snow, a warm reminder of a lonesome life lived, one of a kind.
They seem them staring across from within the shadows, yet in blinding light.
Hand in hand, connected as one. Wearing a mask of peace reluctantly containing fear.
They sing a song of bliss, a welcoming of acceptance and recounting each encounter, each memory and breath.
Men see them as a passage of escape, a burning door to destiny and of one's unwanted birth right.
This weak life fades, this is why it is beautiful. They watch it drain away all that is there.

Though men run, death chases them faster.
Pulling them into nothingness, an abyss of darkness and emptiness.
They fear for though they are blind they are able to see and though they are deaf— they are able to hear.
Like a servant's endless attempts of escape, only to return in the end, fearful of his master.
Lives are countless though they remember every and in return—each life knows of them.
Mindlessly they fear them, though they understand what awaits them soon at the end.
All things must come to an end, all things end with them and they must all greet their master in death.
Beauty is in the moment of departing, an escape brought for you.
They beg for a second more but many wish they had not asked them.
Accepting death is beautiful and one cannot truly live without. Treasure each breath that escapes in the moment as tomorrow is no promise but a hope.
An Italian sonnet inspired by a character called Kindred from league of legends. And yes, I'm alive. I haven't written for ages and now I can't stop
mila Feb 7
who the **** am I?
what the **** do I look like?
where the **** do I fit in?
I say as I'm mindlessly brushing my teeth.  I look at the image in the mirror and ask them, "where did you even come from?"
There is no reply, only an echo of what I think my face is.

where the **** am I going?
how the **** am I going to get there?
what the **** do I even want?
I ask the image. There is no reply, only desperation in its eyes. "Do you even want to be here right now?" I ask the imagine. No answer. But I think yes. I think the image wants to be more than that. I think it wants to be. Simply, be.

I walk back to the mirror. Exist, I tell the reflection. Just exist, I tell myself
Identity is a weird thing I've been trying to grasp for a little bit and I'm kind of not sure what I am. I just am, I guess.
Enia May 9
Mindlessly strumming
Two unmet lines pit-a-pat
my wandering mind
Curl a finger flick a string
Small vibration made it scream
Those silent wars unknown to most
Are the important ones to win
Concealed ongoing wars
Can be easily brushed off with a grin
When the room is filled with absence
Nothing to overshadow your mind
Your thoughts lead you to places
Mindlessly, to where the fight resides
The darkest hours, truly are
Call the strongest foes out
Attacking old scars just healed
Bringing your defences down
While the rest sleep in dreams
Your demons like to hide
Behind the facade of the dark
Where past dreams have died
They use darkness as deception
To camoflauge what you perceive
To portray as frightening as they want
For as long as you believe
You are breathless with fatigue
Lying in a puddle of your tears
For another fight was won that night
Another battle against your fears
Akira Chinen Aug 5
My heart feels too heavy
to carry through another day
which means
it is still alive
still beating
and yet
to be honest
I don’t want to hold my head up
I don’t want to stay above
the waters of a shallow grave

what in this world
will give me back
the will to live
when hate is so quick
to take a breath away
to stop a heart
inside a strangers chest

what thesaurus of fear
what dictionary of ignorance
what is it that defines
the vocabulary of the blood
inside the mind
that loathes the brother
he does not know

the senators keep praying
praying for another distraction
the congressmen keep thinking
thinking of no one but themselves

and we just mindlessly nod
and bob our heads
debating who is to blame
pointing fingers while ignoring
our own reflections

apathy keeps us choking
on our own silence
and why are the living so quite
how is it that the dead
with no air in their lungs
no movement in their hearts
can sing so much brighter
can speak so much louder
than so many of those
that are still alive

nothing good will come
from the living
who refuse to speak for the dead
and the dead must be sick of dying
and I wonder why the grieving
aren’t sick to death of grief

and in all honesty I find it hard
to live another day in a world
that can make my heart

feel so heavy

too heavy

to carry through another day

but its there in that weight
isn’t it
that heavy
that burden of hope
that we know we are still alive
that are lungs can still take
and give breath
that our hearts can still beat
still pound beneath our ribs

and there in our pulse
no matter the weight of our hearts
should we not always
find the will to be alive
Andrew Mar 2018
You need to use vocals
To spread a message that is hopeful
You need to use vocals
To create a point that is focal
You need them
Like R.E.M.

A message from your heart
That goes through your brain
It can be called quality art
Once it reflects inner pain
That runs deep through your voice
And your lyrical choice

You don't need scientists with beakers
Or super loud speakers
You don't need to make a keynote speech
Or grab for things that are out of reach
You just need a lesson
Taught through confession

There are wonderful things done instrumentally
But I want to focus on someone instead of me
Because thinking through someone else's words
Seems more productive
Rather than repeating myself so nothing is stirred
Which feels somewhat reductive

If you have something to say
Speak up
If you can't find a way
Drink up
Music based on emotion instead of thought
But be careful to not get mindlessly caught
Until you're starving
From culturally carving
Out anything that is strange
Until you have a truncated range
Of empathetic understanding
That's one way of landing
On a lame existence
For plain persistence

Art will always reflect life
They share the same plight
The best way to communicate
Is not to ruminate
But to speak with your mouth
Before your mind goes south
End the depressing deflation
Through simple human relation

Your gift of pain
Becomes my drain
My rhythmic refrain
From ending this game
Please allow me to hear you
So I may no longer fear you
It doesn't matter if you're not local
I'll relate to you through your vocals
renée Jul 31
someone called my talking style different
she could tell i spoke with the diction of an artist
a writer, perhaps
but i always thought i was the same old kind of child searching mindlessly to be caught in an internal chirographic trap
i can’t write but i try,
and thank you for noticing.
Nadia May 28
Don't make it political
It's not about teams
Don't make it personal
These aren't your dreams

Don't legislate rules
You wouldn't follow
Don't prescribe medicine
You'd never swallow

Don't stack the deck
We can see what you're doing
Don't trample on rights
Trouble is brewing

If you haven't had struggles
Of a particular variety
It's not your decision
Don't push your own piety

When lives are at stake
When safety is in doubt
When children are damaged
It's past time to shout

Is it your choice to make?
Are you an expert in the field?
Judgements are dangerous
Weapons to wield

Survival isn’t a game
This isn’t fair play
If you want to feel superior
Find another way

It’s easy to say that
You’d make better choices
When you aren’t one
Of the many lost voices

It’s easy to criticize
Or mindlessly follow
Unless you are helping
Your judgements are hollow

Don’t close your eyes
You can’t avoid this atrocity
Action is needed
To end the hypocrisy

You don’t need to start big
Every act carries weight
Find your chances to help
Make a vow to break hate
more wasted words
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