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Lizzy Apr 2016
It's all much too
Loud.
The world going by me
Is much too
Noisy.

There's already a consistent scream
Inside of me.
The last thing I need
Is to be in this world
With too many
Sounds.

So I hide
In my room all day.
I hide myself away,
Because when I hear
Everything that's happening outside,
How everything moves just fine,
I begin to lose my mind.

Why can't I move the same?
Why can't I become
Part of this well oiled machine?
I'll never fit into
The motions they all execute,
So I sit on the edge
Of their common reality
And watch it all turn.

I watch it
But it gets too much
It grows too loud
And now I have to hide again.
Hide myself from all the sounds
That start fires in my head.

Run
Little freak.
Run
Black sheep.

My ears are too sensitive
To be in anything but
Silence.
To be in anything but
Quiet.

The vibrations of the outside
Go in my sensitive ears
And amplify whatever is already
Being screamed in my
Tortured
Tormented
Time bomb
Mind.

Then they go to my eyes,
Well right behind
And build pressure
And pain
Until I have no choice but to
Cry.
Cry.
Little baby
Little freak
Little black sheep
Susie kate Jun 2015
the girls look right through me
I breeze past these halls
the boys like to stare
these narrow endless walls

I don't have a thought
past what's for dinner
for this outgoing girl
sure doesn't have that in her

but what people don't see
the depths of the oceans
deep in her mind
it kills her to go through the motions

it feels good to be pretty
but that's all she is
you need to act perfect
or you'll never be his

makeup will cover
hair can be taimed
but when your heart starts to flutter
the knife is already aimed

for the face you put on
is that what you become
he sees you as nothing more
than a doll too dumb
personal favorite
emilee haman Mar 2015
the way i see it i have two options.
option one is to continue to go through the motions.
continue to pretend, and hide behind the thin veil of dignity i feel i have left.
keep my acquaintances and the happiness that i have thoroughly convinced myself that i have,
but in reality be miserable.
option two: relapse
admitting defeat, and accepting the failure that was inevitable from the beginning
losing the things i had recently attained in the process of being clean:
friendship, happiness, and hope.
and circumstantially gain something i've lacked in the last eight months:
the fear of exposing my true emotion.
which is the lesser of two evils?
suppress the protruding ache in my chest leaving me emotionally distant, or show the world how i truly feel?
I think id choose the latter
made by inserting line breaks into the top chunk of my 8.0k words*

know like
just thing inside
**** maybe
life things think
soul time real love
day lines **** mind eyes

got feel
want words trying
left matter
tongue feet hands
door cold

space holy
bones way wanna *******
we're walked walls
truth open
end line best
years ***** ink heart
little moments stories says
dust hand
free hope trust

sad wish
hell rising past inner fingers
night white teeth sit deep
dunno tell crystal
sure wanted make pull sky
remember dropped felt knees
brimming poetry

******* air seen
lips palms spin
lonely black mouth  
hard page
really dreams ready

fear other's crack  
corner survival broken
hollow home
clear tears coming
edge high pain
thought bubbles wet

push imperfect bloom  
breaking skin motions
mystical flow say lost
direct warm red
use having meant  
there's floor shaking
friendship grey  
arms wrong cracked

ride doubt escape
knew look
bare right girl
wonder feeling
finger days
your lips are bare.
The moonlight paints your face.
I shall whisper secrets in your temple
of lightning, fire, and space.

Like silk and wind
you dance in shining silence.
A valley of waving winter roses
a beautiful kind of violence.

You speak to me
within your sprawling motions.
A mystery unraveled by my wisdom.
It's a ship to cross your oceans.

I call to you
like echos of the future.
Your falling rains like streams rushed into rivers
Stitches....  without any sutures.
Dawn Jul 2014
Tear drops over tree tops
Splash and lets play

Grief withers away
Because change is coming
And yesterdays have left

Crying for what's yet
Drops for past wishes

Moan
Won't forget the sun
Gasp, hot lovin'
Just to feel enough

Shimmer
Times have come
And will be gone
Except for today
Everything just begins

Feathers dropping
Flowers blooming
Glittery pink skies
Hearing birds cry
Watching the moon rise
Cold night skies

Hold close
Won’t forget
Before it sinks
It isn't happening yet
But yesterday has come
And now it's went

Breathe

Grown deep
Sink and wave
Dancing today
Free falling tomorrow
Now smiles
No end...

Circular motions
Closing ceremonies
Yule tide greetings
New Moons
Creations create
Intentions, ready- set
Let's begin again
righter
written down

all my weathery
carousel personalities
get a spin at the roulette

pen pushing chorus
into distillation

dipping 10,000 toes
into spectrumland
while I feign motions
on the outside

paper refuge
breathing trees
play with me

out there surfing
glowstick rainbow rings
in this bizarrebeyond
custom branded atmosphere
that only I could breathe

until we dropped
formality

and for some strange reason
felt free to be all of me
you jumped on board
not skewing my orbit

and all the members
of my lonely hearts club
ascended the stairs
to get a good look
at this kindred enigma
twin lucid in the sky

they pushed me forward
when feet fumbled

they wanna break free
architect realities over
trace-paper dreams

wordarts n' crafts
changetheworld dates

they wanna sit
next to your troupe
silently

gaze into open
continuum siphon
where words cannot go

exhale in sync
eternally

'cause behind mâché
is already seen
Sebastian Macias May 2016
each time I closed my eyes
my mind was being tossed
by these powerful motions
that were created in darkness
wave after wave after wave they crashed
rocking my insides back and forth
there were points I knew my body
was going to give out and melt
OPEN YOUR ******* EYES
I would tell myself under the sheets
even now I'm dizzy and could *****
I am fearful to sleep tonight
my mind is wide open
and they see the lights on
back and forth  I sway
with my eyes closed I hung on
thinking I would slide off
what made sense, had no structure
what was structured, made no sense
and it all lead to this
the beauty in an **** aftermath
the night was as long as her legs
and the residual you ask?
just the ticking of the clock
with a strange sense of direction
Nicole Lacanilao Aug 2015
There was a desire to give a certain amount,
But I lacked. No, wait! I must've lost count!
Counting... Yes, I was really short on cash.
How embarrassing of me, but I checked every stash.

I am aware that God will provide,
But do I cling to the promise,
And on Him do I fully abide?

I went through the motions that Sunday.
When a lady came to me with something to say.
The Lord told her that she had notes to give me.
I looked at her wide-eyed, filled with gratitude, filled with glee.

It was not just what I needed, but even more.
I can't imagine the blessings that are still in store!
God indeed works in wondrous ways.
Worry not about provision. That should always be the case!
July 3, 2012
I notice that the motions of my mind
are changed
by practices I engage in on my devices.
I observe alterations
in the fabric of my reward system, I feel
movement in reward pathways
that trace back to application content and

all the screen-time. I feel plastic, at a loss

for time, these patterns and tasks. One

could use the help, nevertheless on.
I write with purpose
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Someone is singing a song, it's somewhere written.
The ocean breaks in billowy dances, the seas open up
Get it off the chests, put a notion through onto the cloud
that won’t just fall, won’t just stop and drop: it will float
to the measured moves, only then will it roll in,
pop into the million blooms, wreathed rosy lips,
set out bowls of colours before the one is pouring in!

A song like King David sang and everyone heard.
It’s the sweet song sang in every mother tongue;
a perfumed speech is heard sweeter than the nectar,
wreaths round each patch of earth as part of a tongue.
In all different variations, directions it’s being sung!

Mathematically composed that rhythmically spans
fashion in both, or you choose science or arts.
It’s a lyric sung with finest curvy swaying dance.
Feel the thrills deep down through the atomic level.
still the variety motions in various directions turn on,  
and nowhere near that looks, drawing a pause!
Sam Hammond Nov 2018
Going through the motions,
A corpse on puppet strings.
Showing no emotions,
Too wooden for such things.
One day I'll be locked away
Inside my wooden crate.
Till that day I'll dance and sway;
A much more awful fate.
Umi May 2018
Drifting away by the stream of thoughts,
A painful wind brushes through my skin,
Gathering pieces of time while still clinging on,
But I can't save them from spilling and vanishing,
Ah, phantoms.
I can't move, my motions are restricted by my cut off conscious,
My mind is empty, there is no thought, no judgement,
But I can't leave you here, even if I become as mindful as a little rock,
Perhaps it has been decided, under the clouds that this should have been so all along, but even then, with my never changing life I can at least keep shining for you,
After overcoming even time and space, may my gaze though fraught with the most terrible sins, lead you on to happiness,
But it seems like your brilliant smile just now turned to ash,
As then spilled but vanished just like the time we spent together.
In the end I couldn't save us from drifting apart,
Was it because I couldn't see into your heart?

~ Umi
bythesea Mar 2018
It's seems like I've held you for 100 years

I've bred your fear
And multiplied you in the ways that you couldn’t.


It seems like I've left you
Your sweet, sad eyes always held more than just your innocence.
I've molded you
As a crutch would,
Determined you to speak
but you wouldn't.
i thought i could guide you through my motions
But you were never fully there
Your rhythm was flat
you could never speak out of your imaginary line


You've never had my electric everything and I can’t stay so humble

anymore
T
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
once upon a wrote


here and there, in fables and tales,
some in no guile and others
in chancier disguises,
some sine-known and some sign-unknown,
some dead in stillbirth,
some penned these words,
some a few decades old,
some of but a moment ago eyelash distant,
making me think that
someday I will scribe,
cobble some truths and
some falsehoods into one
leaping heaping melting scoop,
letting you decide,
which for better,
which for worse...


<•>

"No matter that plain words
are my ordinary tools,
With them I shall scribe the small,
Cherish the little, grab the middle,
Simplicity my golden rule,
Write they say,
about what you know best,
Surely in the diurnal motions,
The arc of daily commotion,
Do we not all excel?"

<•>

the reason we say so oft,
in whispers emboldened,

I love you

to our children
is not the utility of
its summarizing brevity

no, no.
it is because
the eloquence of simplicity
supersedes any other poem
any of us could ever write...

<•>

is this craft that chose you,
not defined by machine millimeters,
precision absolute,
curvatures, so eye-pleasing,
they demonstrate no tolerance
for tolerance of the ordinary?

the skill of words, too, cut so fine,
find the  extraordinary within,
refine, refine, refine,
shave away the trite,
the reused,
discard the instant recognition,
unusable

<•>

There are natural toxins in us all,
if you wish to understand the
whys, the reasons,
of the nearness of taking/giving away
what soully belongs to you,
do your own sums,
admit your own truths,
query not the lives of others,
approach the mirror...

<•>

The Truth Burden
is the accursed need obligatory,
the sacred sanctity requisitioned,
when the whenever,
chooses to drop in and upflag the mailbox,
an uninvited invitation,
announcing with precise bluntness,
that precisely now,
is the tool crafted moment
and you fool,
the selected tool

you must render unto Ceaser,
by your own hand,
render your own rendering,
do your own undoing,
go forth and in haste,
will thyself into the cauldron of the
Great Mystery of Creation

you cannot lie in poetry

<•>

come, sit for awhile, in poet's nook,
soft pillows for our hard Adirondack chairs,
situe hard by the bay, if too hot, we'll slow
drift to the sun room of
lace curtains and suicide poems,
still we'll observe the water, the rabbits, the cacophony low,
listening to all the noisier, nosier
creatures asking themselves,
and the trees and leaves,
where did all those poets come from?

<•>

to the interior delve,
via brush or limb,
pen or music,
the exposition, the exploration,
the reconstruction of composing
one's self, creation and destruction
of your own myths

movement of arms and legs,
sparseness of simplicity,
subsidiaries of centricity,
tributaries of complexity

<•>

how cold are the carpenter's hands,
the weather, but an added obstacle,
this heat, makes dying different difficult,
the wood bearing cross requires additional nails
and flesh, for the extra load he's bearing,
when it snows blood in Jerusalem

the whole world can transition
when one man dies and another is risen,
where oh where lies then, the juxtaposition?

there is none, for man is man,
his divine spark, embedded,
to his maker's mark, welded and wedded,
neither snow or sun,
can ever extinguish


<•>

now I ken better distance 'tween
artist and art,
I, a workingman's
daily dallying in simplistic machine craft,
my works deservedly lost in
the water-falling
of the endless also rans

non-nebulous distances.between skies of
Oregon country blue and
the worldy worn asphalt grayed words of
a graying man aging,
then let clarity speak, in plainest harmony,
know my deference’s soars to the high above,
one of us at birth, god gifted,
was not I,
it ain't me babe, but
one of us, his tongue,
like Moses-stung
with a hot coal
of language's divinity


<•>
Jazmine Jul 2015
Have you ever felt broken inside
No matter how many pills you take the pain doesn't seem to subside
You cry at night because there's no one at your side
To hold you close and help you refuse to die
There's heavy weight of grief but you go through the motions because you can't find a release
A sense of peace is all you pray to God for
Looking for a way out but the Devils got you down on all fours
You can't seem to get out and only to tears seem to let out
The silent cries as your heart dies and you tell yourself more lies
You will never be smart enough, pretty enough so you remain tough
Don't let em see you brake
And life you take
Headstrong trying to push on
But gravity presses down
And laughs like you trying to get up makes you a clown
You look around now
All you have now seems hopeless
Lost words broken promises and word unspoken
What are you to do
The men they drool, the girls are cruel
But all anyone wants is you
If you can find you, maybe you find enough to last
To escape from your past and reach the future that's in clear view
That's just too good to be true
How to, is the main thing in question
This is just another life lesson
So here comes another sleepless night
Here comes another day to fight
Here comes another path with no light
How can you complain
This life is just you
Kasti Mar 14
I am solemn.
It is quiet.
No signs of life or any noise floods my senses.
Deep, dark silence.

A light flickers on from the corner of the room,
a door slowly creaks open
or so it seems to be
it motions to be, as I beckon it's call.

Walking towards the door,
dread floods my heart.

My blood is on the floor,
as screams tear flesh apart.

No love, No joy, No peace
Nothing I've seen has shown such violence
and now, with no flowers nor bees,
Just deep, dark silence.
I don't know where you came from
broker clothes for the archangel lead
We are the sunset of every molecule teethed
In the ransacked motions of a southern night between
We are the calculus grace of unspun poetry
H
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