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and Fear


I am,
just here...

every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation

every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation

every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation
every direction is a miscalculation

J Feb 2018
Kaibigan ko, halika at makinig,
Sa storyang dapat **** marinig,
Sana ako’y paniwalaan,
Dahil hindi ito kathang-isip lamang.

Habang ako’y nag-iisa,
Habang hindi mo ako kasama,
Dumidilim ang mundo,
Sa pagdilim nito kasama pati buhay ko.

Sa tuwing nakatingin sa mga tala,
May mga boses na laging nang-aabala,
Gusto ko ng tumahimik,
Maalis ang mga aninong umaaligid.

Tama na.... tama na... ayoko na,
Patahimikin mo na sila.
Tama na.... Nakikiusap ako,
Tulungan, tulungan mo ako.

Mapa gabi man o umaga,
Lungkot na di mawari ang nadarama,
Sa araw na ako ay nawala, (sa aking pagkawala)
Kasabay nito ang pag tahimik nila.

Sa pagtatapos ng aking kwento,
Sana maunawaan mo,
Na hindi ito kasabay ng panahon na lilipas din,
Ito ay importante at dapat intindihin.

Sa pag kupas ng mga larawan,
Sa bawat kumpas ng alon sa dalampasigan,
Kaibigan, ako’y lumisan sa mundo hindi dahil ginusto ko,
Pero para sa ikatatahimik ko.

Stop the stigma of Mental Illness. Mental disorders are not adjectives.
a mcvicar Jan 21
soft words and their way of making people sing
lull me like a sweet tune in this chimney, in this place
in my head, slurring over and over until lines would draw up triangles of sleepy infant "jeux",
  circles of faded fantasies would come to life and pray,
  plus rectangles and cornucopias filled with fun and livelier days.
clouds of droopy golden light drip over our heads as we both lay
in soft blankets made out of my personal handmade Heaven's embrace
lush silk pillows under our overweight, over-bearing, strongly fastened necks
  'cause they hold Atlas' weight and the answers for today.
the cycle ends for another shortened day...
the air seems rich with the smell of freshly-made pancakes.
little troll walking down the stairs with a new spring in her step.
lean into the chocolatey sweetness of a mother's oven-like haze,
close your eyes and wonder
if you'll ever feel the same.
distinct memories like these hold the most childlike tenderness in the world, sometimes your own vulnerability is worth being thought of when revisiting memories like mine.
B L Feb 14
I think I've always been alone . . .
At least, as long as I can remember.
But there's a part of me,
                       that still feels so connected --
To something near the source,
                        At the core of somewhere true.
Where we exist without our existence's limitations.
                        Where duality begins to mean overlap,
And both fiction and fact,
                        One and yet another,
Things like "this" and "that"
                        Are the same, still . . .
Innocently unseparated, in this place near to creation.

Maybe it's just my brain . . .
                        I do have a habit of creating dualities.
"Together, or apart? No," I think.
                       More like doubting infallibility.

So when I say I've always been alone,
I have to ask myself:

                                              "Have you really?"

"Of course you haven't been.
But who you are right now,
is no longer that you . . .
At least . . . not fully

                                      "So, if I was alone then,
                                       Does that mean that I
                                       might not be any longer?

"Oh, no."
I explained back to myself,
"I think you misunderstood me.
It's just . . .
That you'll never truly know,
Until there's nothing and nobody

That's a haunting truth to tell yourself,
            When you're off in your own head.
At least I won't be alone in my regret,
                         When I'm among the dead.
I'll find community in that.  
Surely,  that's the place to which I feel so connected!
The place where maybe two of myself is enough
                      to make just one of me feel,
Like I'm worth something more, than more or less,
                      In a place that's neither there, nor here . . .
At least, there, if I don't feel connected,
                     To myself, I may feel near.
Carter Ginter Sep 2017
All the good memories
Are being washed away
By the ocean waves
Because the thought of your face
Makes my heart break
And I can't stop the streaming tears
I know my choice was right
But I also know that it's killing you
We had so many good times
And now I'm plagued by nightmares
The good thoughts are destroyed
Imploding with the weight of reality
Im so sorry
I'm so sorry
I'm so
Dead inside.
When your entire world comes crashing down
And you just run away from the wreck
Revisiting that graveyard
Plagues your life and soul with undead spirits of what you thought you had
And what you gave up because it wasn't real
All those happy memories
Are now rotting like dead flesh
Because they are a part of me still
But my body is rejecting them
Because they hurt too much to keep alive
My energy is depleting
But I can't let them go just yet
I don't want to forget you.
Marla Apr 12
Atop a hill facing north after a night of celebration,
Made my way home did I with mounting anticipation.
Flooded though the roads were and slickened by rain,
I ventured off towards a manor in search of needed aid.
Its lawns were well-kept and her fountains a-flowing,
But the garden was unkempt and the moss overgrowing.
My perceptions felt off alas my heart stayed keen
As this was not the first predicament in which I had been.
Drunkenly, but with haste, I departed my carriage
In order to make my way towards the front passage.
Nearing the door, a simple creak I did hear,
Approaching from behind and arousing my ear.
Proceeding as normal, I walked for a while.
The footsteps sounded not on dirt, but on tile.
As my mind attempted to explain with consideration,
I could not determine the source of causation.
With a spasmed shiver and a hearty kick,
I spun around to expose the trick
And floored myself upon the ground, hitting nothing.

Behind me,
The seasoned wood door opened
And a hand emerged as words were spoken.
Turning on my heels as I recovered
The face of my new host was uncovered.
His eyes looked inverted as color swapped white
And the smiling mouth beckoned with hungered delight.
With bidded caution did I draw near
As my heart sped with raw fear.

Everything faded pitch black
My memories refuse to inch back.
I awoke in a chamber, disrobed and chained,
As my limbs were pulled apart with great strain.

I plan on executing my great escape
From this ghastly inhospitable place.
The bed I am strapped to is made of wood,
I know escape is mine if it breaks as it should.
With a pull of the arm and a crunch of the ab,
The feeble frame could not withstand.
My eyes are blinded as I take off the mask
By both the harsh rays and my impossible task.
Through the door and out I go
Only to slip on the ****** floor.
Gallons and gallons all around
Anymore and I'd likely drown.
As I got on my feet, a gift I now witness
A mobile chair with ample quickness.
Sitting down and orienting the apparatus,
A gaze I threw heeding my coming status.
Four demons on horses approach me from behind
And I know now is the time to run or die.
I swing my arms violently as I try to withstand
The strain and aches of my tiring hands.
As I was about to tire, a miracle did come
Through the door I bust and tackle freedom.

Twenty years later,
I recall hazily that stormy night
And yet don't know if it was alright.
My mind recalls not what happened before
Or what had intoxicated me that fabled night of yore,
But my mind is crippled and these eyes feel sore.
Olivia Daniels May 2018
I can’t get my brain
To shut the hell up.

I don’t want to talk right now. please leave me alone. it isn’t you i
  promise, it’s me and
N othing can stop me from thinking that it’s my fault and
  everything is my fault. why are things this way and why did i
  lose you and my friends? i can’t help but think and
F eel depressed because i love you. i don’t want to lose you but i
  have and i’m not happy, i’m almost never happy anymore. or
  maybe i never was. emotions exhaust me but they’re all i know. i
  don’t usually get angry but when i do i go off and
J ust shut up! you’re wrong, i’m right. why can’t you see that? i
  need structure, it’s how i function and you are so incredibly
  unpredictable which excites me, even if no one knows, because
  that’s risky and i like new adventures but i need stability which
  my life, my existence, can’t provide

because i’m too complicated to make sense,
My life is contradictory
I took the MBTI test and got INFJ which help me understand so much more about myself then I ever have before. I highly recommend it to everyone, as long as you answer honestly, it's good to help you understand yourself
...are a study on a subject matter
that someone else has undertaken
on your behalf.
Evan Leonhard Oct 2018
my circadian rhythm beats
at such high frequency
my mind is shattered
shards of broken thought
litter my consciousness
my insights lie scattered
Hannah Christina Jun 2018
I don't mean to only express myself
Let's turn our gaze outward to something else
Because really, we're nothing
reflections and vapors
our lives seem so long to us then as time tapers
down to the end
getting faster again
and it's time that, my friend
in this time that you spend
looking out for yourself realize your wealth and your life and your thoughts they are
I'm nothing at all but a freckle of dust
but looking around there are millions of us
there's a picture out there taking shape so we must
have courage and dare to strip off all our lust for
our own affirmation
our self-presentation
must find a foundation in something much bigger than us.
As you cry to be heard pause and listen to hear
for when long you have listened the Light will draw near
and you'll find all the words that you cannot deserve
so please gather the nerve discontent to preserve
And climb outside and point out to the stars over hills
and from you the joy and the knowledge will spill
For expression is best when it's not just for you
My confession is this, let it always be true.
I think this one is best read as spoken word/ slam.  If there are parts where the rhythm feels off let me know!
girl gonzo Nov 2018
girlworm, you grab a wrist like you've known modesty in the shyness of a bare feeling gripped tight on the one offering it
tightrope fingers falling into the spaces of unspoken territory, slipping into familiar qualms like the worn lipsticks that fits the grooves of my lips like an object of my affection
knowing the contour of what i'm never aware of
anxieties creep like an overgrown lawn
these fears personifying into antsy women invading my kitchen telling me that there's not enough ventilation and the stove is on leaking gas into the baby lungs of a young smoker
and when i begin to argue they give both a look of sympathy and disgust as they say "oh child you drown so easily"
so i sit chewing my nails as i count the birds outside flying back and forth from their post as if they can't remember where they're going towards or if there's something that could possibly pull them elsewhere
my mind swirls in the smoothie of a plastic cup that sticks to the coffee table, the rings of different bottles painting circles for me to memorize again
my paradise sits with the roughness of his knuckles and the ambiguity of eyes that could know everything and i would set fire to the stars inside because of the jealousy that grows from pretty things being smoldered under skin
when i begin to lose my person, pale and shivering i go towards it
empty stomached and ready to be buried in the clothes of her
that i can imagine becoming the consistency of yogurt in my lap
kissing back my tremors as i lift up her hair from curious shoulders
dry-heaving the importance of the cheeks that feel warmer as they settle on hands that are brought together as if in deep prayer and i know i will collect myself again one day
girlworm, you're a swarm in my chest and i am me
...about to do FORTY YEARS...

how much
more do
you need
to see
that you
are in
a tyranny?

This is akin to handing Socrates a poisoned vial

in his new documentary on HBO...

he says,
if it doesn't feel right

Does THIS feel right?

a million+white kids feel yah,
a million plus




If I were a White Judge,

what i would give to
have gone to law school
and been a White Judge

Right Now

A Black Capitalist acts like J.P. Morgan

"Off the chain I leave CONGRESS soft in the brain cause SCUMBAGS still want the fame,
off the name, First of all, you ain't STOLE long enough to be fu ckin with me
and you, you ain't strong enough
So whatever it is you puffin on that got you think that you
Superman I got the Kryptonite, should I smack him with my **** and the mic?"
-DMX (sic)
don't it?
a Black Life matters here..
B L Feb 14
My reality bends, but doesn't break . . .
            Oh! how I love to watch her shake.
I love to watch her struggle,
              as she fights not to crumble
                      Into the void that she creates.

All the while, she's subtracting,
                   Extending, then retracting . . .
She functions as a prism,
         But it's not light that she's refracting.

She exhales in waves of reverb and vibrating oscillation,
        She creates all that imitates
        In the shadow of divinity,
                                                As she balances the equation.

Giving birth to the chaos, she finds replication in order . . .
As the random escapes, and attempts to distort her.
She's graceful and strong, yet falls apart when out of step.
Never stopping or regaining a second,
Nor a chance to catch her breath.
So in awe we observe her,
The birth-giver to grace, in a dance of life and death.
Derrick Jones Aug 2018
Part 1: Birth

There is only flow when I go to the unknown
I roam an abandoned home
It looks like ancient Rome, frescoes and domes
I call out, the echoes tell me I’m alone
No phone service, I am nervous
I wander through these haunted halls
The size of a million shopping malls
I begin to feel so small
A sudden flash and I am dashed to the realm of vision
A photon’s silent fission causes a collision in my eyes
Chemicals climb my nerves like vines
They activate my brain
I gain the gift of sight
I can finally see the light
Technicolor sprites ignite from the night
They surround me and confound me
Dizzy with the brightness
My body dissolves to lightness
I am one with a firework show
I am an ember, drifting to and fro
I am the spark, the flame, the afterglow

Part 2: Escape

This house that was haunting me
Is less daunting in reality
To my surprise, I realize my eyes describe a scene I can’t contextualize
I’ve lost my corporeal form
I’m tossed but never torn
I am the fabric of the universe
I fold, tesselate, invert
There is no ground, no up or down
As I fill this infinite space
My mind is racing
My self erasing
I am carved into a simple tracing
I am a thought confined inside a casing
Cut down to size I rise to the surface
Shot into the sky, I gain a purpose
I stream toward an enormity  
I reach escape velocity
I smash into reality

Part 3: Dissemination

I am a thought that was caught
Shot into the moment
Because I am where the mind went
Sent into the present
A representation of an inner mentation
A random rumination
A rogue communication
An intuition loaded like ammunition
Fired from a rifle
Too late to stifle
I ram through the fog of resistance
I slam into existence
It’s survival of the fittest
If I fail to catch attention
I will fall out of this dimension
I am rescued by a mention!
My salvation is conversation
I am converted into sound
I reverberate through air and ground
My vibrations travel through eustachian tubes and neural grooves
I move the chemicals in your head
Make you think of me instead
Now I am yours to spread
Exhaled like vapor
Written on paper
Cell phones are my savior
With digital capabilities
I avoid temporal instabilities
Evade deletion by replication
Copy and pasted
Then excreted
I’ve been tweeted!
I spread through the interwebs
Integrate into inner webs
And now I am a part of you
Weaved into the heart of you
There’s no reprieve, no undo
I will influence the future
A humble contributor
Whether I bring shame or glory
I am a part of this story
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at
Thanks for reading!
An expert in mycology,
Of Norsian biology,
And fjordian psychology,
A troll, I troll the livelong day.
I troll the livelong day away.
Mushrooms for dinner, breakfast, and lunch:
My comrades call me Edvard Munch.  
In lyric peaces I live in league
With Jean Sibelius and Edvard Grieg.

Celeste Geld Mar 2
Sunset grazing the horizon of my day
Where has it gone? My heart in dismay
The beauty escapes from the sides of my eyes
While my heart beats faster and faster
For the anticipation of the missing day.

Of all the things I want to accomplish
None of them done
Would I be content if only I could halt
To see the gratitude I yearn to express
But can’t find a way among all the distress

My chest crawls unreasonably
Watching a beautiful day turning into night
In contrast to my fear of missing out
My hand stutters and I reach for stillness
Although the wants seem so endless.
I find myself stopping in a crowd of people and time slows still. Their laughter, their unpredictable movements, the fights and the resolutions and the bonding of brothers--all quiet. I am left in the fabric of things to wonder at the tapestry we call a culture.

How am I to know what is proper when all have their own true mothertongue? Who can teach me what to say when all I know is jumbled and disheveled based on who I've been and what I know?

I leave behind a southern legacy of liturgy and doctrine that outlines exactly what is human and exactly what is not. I step into a society that constantly years to fill a void--please Lord, find us someone who knows the Truth.  

Their apathy and nonchalance is false; bravado is left wanting. I know they they all cry out for connection and seek it in flesh rather than spirit. I am caught in the midst of the pursuit of happiness and the quest for morality. I know not what brings joy to humanity, I hike towards that river and hope it is not run dry like all others.

In the study of psychology, I have found so many places where words fall short and the great carnal animal within all of us takes precedence, demands attention, seeking comfort in a world that often overlooks those that need it the most.

Love is a fragile, timid thing that is most often hard to find and difficult to voice. Instead, we lash out in aggression to hide that inner child that needs a tried and true comfort of a known embrace. We seek forgiveness and express it in anger, manipulation, meeting our needs however possible because this is America, after all.

This is all we want in our sequestered human heart, the beginning of redemption.
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