"uni" poems
Dear me,
I hope this letter finds you kind, I hope it finds you at ease,
I hope it finds you as you were born.. a soft spring breeze.
I am writing this letter to inform you that you still have space to unfold, that you are a continuum that doesn’t have to settle for the broken uni-verse where you were unraveled.
You, love, are not limited to your synonyms.
You can develop into a sandstorm speaking the names of the Saharas to your left and to your right.
a sandstorm that does not blind the sufi midnight traveler.
a sandstorm that travels beyond the desert.
a sandstorm carrying a water-well for the thirsty.
You can develop into an ocean that doesn’t stand in arrogance where there is land.
an ocean that waxes and wanes to the rhythm of the moonlight caressing you.
an ocean that doesn’t erode the rocks standing on its shore.
You can develop into a soft spring breeze that makes a home of all the other seasons.
a soft spring breeze that gently ****** through a baobab tree trunk.
a soft spring breeze that playfully tickles the arms of a nesma on her university bus writing this.
Kindly find attached to this letter the love your father has tucked in bed a long time ago and never double checked on it.
Kindly find attached to this letter the understanding your mother stored in the kitchen cabinet she is too short to reach.
Kindly find attached to this letter the forgiveness you have tried to grow out of sunflowers seed every winter.
Always sincerely,
Forever yours.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
Seating comfortably in this machine
Watching them sell things by the road
That's the hustle
Heading to the capital
That's where life thrives after Uni.
To start my hustle
The constant of all this is fear
I'm scared
Not of demons and witches
But the real hustle
School built a comfort zone
A chance for allowance from old ones
Now it's time to move out
And hustle.
My default life ends
Now I can be who I want to be
No scolds from parents
But from hustle
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
“Exams are important don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise. People will try telling you that they don’t matter in the great scheme of things
“There is more to life than exams Lisa. It isn’t the end of the world if you don’t obtain the grades to get into university” mum said.
This is all ******** I’ve no intention of spending my life flipping burgers in some crummy burger bar. Do you know they have the cheek to call these places restaurants?! Problem is strictly between you and I, you won’t let it go any further will you? Promise, cross your heart and hope to die? Well as you only have my first name and it would be impossible to trace me I’ll let you into a little secret. The truth is that I am not academically gifted. Don’t get me wrong I try. No one tries harder than me. I’ve spent weekends huddled over my books cramming for my exams, “Lisa no mates that’s me” but it goes in one ear and comes out the other. I just can’t remember things, head like a sieve thats me!
Well here I am now in my room at uni. You should have seen my mum’s face when I got the grades. There she stood her mouth gaping open like a stranded fish. Quite comical really. Did I say that all my hard work paid off? Well it wasn’t that difficult for an 18-year-old bomb shell like me to ****** the head master and get my hands on the exam papers prior to the examination. Perhaps academic qualifications aren’t everything after all”.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery
room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue,
the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's
scrubs as they usher in unity, with no imp-unity, the risks,
while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in
peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary
brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the
palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's
palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued
original of what has been painted an uncountable times before,
and before…
tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful,
he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early
island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill
foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities
of this summered simmering, human warming and baking
and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better
accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences
of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our
collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers,
un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish-
ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer
it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover
to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark,
the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm,
the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful
rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to
ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one
feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks,
nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized
emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture
of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated,
goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of
old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place…
7:00am
Silver Beach
Shelter Island
Aug 19 2025
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 8:00 AM UTC
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.
Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.
The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.
Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.
Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.
Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.
Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.
And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.
Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
Rilled
as
a Rose,
Petals Painted
with Radio-waves Billowing
amongst Bouquet of Ballerinas,
a Blossoming Trailing
New
stars Born
and Blushing
Foaming
at their
Skirts
like
wrapped the
up like home, Surf of the Sea
in her Doesn't it feel
spiraling Scented with
arms? of her sleeves, warm
Sewn into cotton fibers cosmic
the latte?
uni- Oh,
entire verse before
our we
was grew
She // taller
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
ed,
i "don't" know what me and my
"little bird" would do without you cause'
"uni" "take it back" to
"grade 8"as you
" kiss me" under the light of "all of the stars" cause'
"i see fire" when we both collide
and this "lego house" we had built for
me you and this "small bump"
so please don't "runaway"
but if you do i understand cause'
"even my dad does sometimes"
but don't fly away forever like a
"firefly" cause in the mornin' we'll sip some
"cold coffee" or we can get "drunk"
and you could "give me love"
but you'd have to "wake me up"
cause after all i am on "the a team"
watching as "one" of the "autumn leaves"
fall slowly down
and i realize that "im a mess"
so please don't "runaway"
we could take a "photograph" with
"the man" and "Nina"
or we could look at the "tenerife sea" while
we acknowledge our "afire love" and then i will
pull up my "shirtsleeves" and you can
feel my "bloodstream"
and maybe we could "sing"
what? i guess this whole time i was "thinking out loud"
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
this
poem
started off
intending to be the shortest poem in the world
nay,
more aptly
in the whole wide, wide open uni-verse
but ambition overtook it
and it aimed to stretch far and wide
an Aristotelian hubris, you know
like the ambition of Macbeth
going beyond what Mrs Macbeth intended
and so this ambitious little poem of ours expanded
starting meek as grass
growing zealous
and went beyond itself and its kind
this
poem
that
had such humble beginnings
that dared to want to be the shortest poem in the world
but turned out loquacious
and it could go on, it said,
beating all length, breadth and dimension
and would have -
but it got into convulsions and fits
and shock
when it had gone beyond its shortness
and it couldn’t even spell
couldn't even get words right
floating in a soup of red lines in Word or in Mac’s Pages
and so it took its own life
or someone stabbed it like they did to o’erweening Macbeth
or to our poor, poor misunderstood Rasputin who being a Saint was thought a Devil
but was all humble
as the shortest poem in the uni-verse
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 10:06 PM UTC
Behaviour of Writing
In psychology pre- uni.
Case study of a mental man.
Or crazy lady on a play day.
Remarked on mental cases.
Exhibiting strange behaviour.
Writing so was stated.
A subtle gentleman perhaps.
Lady chilling in the evenings.
Picks up pen and writes.
Why I asked,
Oh why,
Oh why is writing thought strange.
We writers we,
we are not deranged.
Write because we wish to .
Scrawl to save our souls.
Scribbled wishes in verses.
Cathartic.
Words drawn because we want to.
Words drawn because we can.
Removes the daily curses.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
Not like the ones we used to know
Where the hoods and robes are
making things all *****
Those kooks dressed up white as snow
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
His uni underneath the tree
With his new Doc Martins
That he'll look smart in
To show his mentality
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
I'm glad it only is one night
With his new plaid shirt on
This racist *****
Hia tree...has no coloured lights
I'm dreaming of a WHITE Christmas
What would he do if he just knew
The KKK man
Had better re-plan
His Christ....he was born a jew
I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, black or white, green or grey, red, brown and yellow. Have a wonderful Christmas Season, because it is Christmas after all.....and remember, this is just a poem, just fiction. I want a White Christmas, but, one with every colour of the rainbow treated equally, and hopefully some nice prezzies and a song or two by Andy Williams and Bing Crosby.
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
two little ugly creatures
astride me shhhh-oulders
residers and deniers,
opinion~haters,
into each ear, they whisper~creep,
do don't do don't you'll be sorry,*
***never~good~enough~
and~you~know~it***
*never in uni~sons,
now look how sorry~sad you are...
dear old dad
when done with the outside torturing,
slip right in and down the ear canal,
up to the brain, thought~mongers,
(what's a monger anyway?)
the voices of my depression,
you can't, you couldn't, you lose,
yo yo you lost you are o v e r,
my body snatched, my past erasing,
turn me into mongrel,
half~man, half~dead
a monger-el,
a contemptible god,
contempted, contemptible
that's the word refrain
of the men in my head*
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
TW : eating disorder, suicide attempt, abuse
In my phone
There’s a contact name that’s just swear words
The occasional bad bad word that I can say in therapy but don’t in public
And it’s my mom’s contact name
I changed it after our 1millionth fight
Right before I left for uni
Because she called me fat
And at the time I was five months sober of my eating disorder
Maybe sober isn’t the right word but whatever
And my brain snaps
I scream and cry
She screams back at me
I call her “fat” back because I’m mad
And I spend the night sobbing
I even call my abusive dad who chose to leave therapy because he thinks he’s getting better
He hasn’t left his girlfriend who restricted food from me yet so, are you sure Dad?
And he tries the whole facetime while I audibly cry to not sound mean about her
And I thank him for trying in my head
Because my mom only refers to him as slurs or Satan
I eat the entire cake she got me in the fridge the next day
Before even noon
I feel bad immediately after but at least she can’t have any
And then I’m suddenly jealous that she didn’t have any
So no weight gain
I drink two cups of iced coffee with that extra calorie Starbucks syrup
And then my sister gets me Popeyes
She gets me this after yelling at our mother
Because we don’t really talk that much openly
But we both have our own scars from her words
Mine developed into eating disorders, cuts on my legs, and just general mental illness
Hers just developed into being a rock solid wall
When my mom comes home and sees me eating
She takes a bite
Aug 20, 2022
Aug 20, 2022 at 11:07 AM UTC
There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Stress
Jeden Tag
Stress
Ich kann nicht mehr
Es ist 5 Uhr morgens
Mein Wecker klingelt
Ich will aber noch weiterschlafen
Mindesten noch 5 Minuten
Das geht aber nicht
Sonst verpass ich noch den Bus
Ich komm an
Wieder Schule
Ich kann nicht mehr
Es reicht
Ich hab kein Bock
Ich muss aber durchziehen
Nur noch 2 Jahre
Dann bin ich endlich fertig
Dann zieh ich endlich weg
Aber dann geh ich in die Uni
Ich weiß nicht mal was ich studieren will
Noch mehr Stress
Und danach?
Arbeiten
Arbeiten bis ich sterbe
Wieder Stress
Vielleicht sogar noch mehr
Man kann dem stress nicht entgehen
Oder?
Kann ich dagegen was machen?
Kann ich den Stress ausweichen?
Nein
Das geht nicht
Denn Stress bleibt
Es ist so wie ein Kaugummi den man nicht abbekommt
Es ist so wie ein Monster das dir hinter läuft
Es ist Stress
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 11:27 AM UTC
Nagpadagat kami kan saróng aldáw
Ta ako pirmi na sana bagang ribaráw
Gusto ko man sanang malingáw
Kaya uni nagbabaláw-bagáw
Kaibahan si Papa naglangoy sa taháw
Kan dagat asin pagkatapos mabalnáw
Maugmahon lang ngunyan na aldáw
Makakan kan dara ni Mama maski na bahaw
Itong inihaw na manok tapos sabaw
Igwa pang masiramon na lugaw
Si tugang yaon sa pampang naglalakaw-lakaw
Garo may balak na magpalataw-lataw
Aram kong masakit makakuha nin ilaw
Na mataong kusog buot na mapukaw
Sa satuyang kalag na nakatúkaw
Garo baga bagong mata, mungaw-mungáw
Mabagsak man an bulalákaw
An masinggayang pagmati ma-ibábaw
Sa kinaban, Dawa pa an inaaagihan ta halangkaw
Udók sa buot asin bakong karáw
An makaibahan kamo, Dai malilingaw
Na mapadagat ulit kita sa masuronod na aldáw.
—𝐔𝐝𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐚 𝐁𝐮𝐨𝐭, a Bikol poetry
Aug 19, 2020
Aug 19, 2020 at 11:37 AM UTC
.
*•
fes-
tooned
against the
canvas of night
•your efforts would
reach but it's just too far•you twinkle the hardest...despite•
being crowded by the other stars•at times i see you
faltering dim•you fight to conserve what
fuel you've left to burn•as you
feel the encroaching void from uni-
verse's rim•keep twinkling for only
time...will tell what's
left t- o learn•
• •*
.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Orangey so tangy loosely
her words flowery so
rustic fun* erotic*
the panic straight
jacket going ginger
snaps her ticket
*Pocketful of sunshine
in your pocket*
****** the maestro
In the stars of the cosmos
On the edge but earthly
Let's go slow
Did we miss the
whole entire glow
"So Tickle me Pink"
The stardust funds
of the trust
Having a light fuse
The picturesque
Fields so mystique personality
Lights up unique
Your word against mine
In a matter of fact were in
It's your cue waves pull me in
If so the sky does it remain
always blue such a variety
Of cookies no outrageous
Time for Oreos
What's inside its outside
Cleopatra's eyes snap away
Like a masquerade
Don't rain on my parade
Love of Virginia innocently
Love is the drug
insanely
Scrapes on her knees
The western front
Ginger Snaps
Those bottle caps and buzzing
honey bees Tangerine trees
Galavant like General Lee
Ginger the gunslinger
She's the singer
eating Saralees
Whats to boot
But getting closer
To the naked eye
to the surface be wise
"Owl Hoot"
So lovely genuinely
He's husky and ruly
Apps Gingersnaps
Exchanging cat naps
Her lips in higher
states of trips
Trying to get there
Bohemian Rapsody
The Queen of the
economy
Photo editing Unicorn pony
Another brainless wedding
We are the champions
What a snitch like a witch
Bad luck switch the lion's den
Topiary timeless good luck Zen
Loud sirens
Drug trafficker morons
The plastic Surgeons
Backstabber persons
Blue jeans snap taking a
Sniff Shiba Uni howls
To be loved in beauty
My Mom Judy good
earth bounty
Tall and sleek every week
Smells of Ginger
no danger
The earth on her cheeks
Can love be any truer
Into the Gala the apple
of her eye never goodbye
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:17 AM UTC
We've both been through a lot lately,
Enough that we make the most
of distractions that present themselves.
I don't like to sit down and study
How a signal from your brain,
Reaches receptors in your toes;
Or how a muscle twitches.
And you don't like to be alone.
It's been our tradition,
The three of us,
Since we were about fifteen,
To modify our bodies;
(read: mutilate).
We pierce and ink ourselves.
You got your jumping Koi
When you were fifteen
Still in high school.
We got our ******* pierced in the last year of school,
Bored with the idea of maths or science
We wanted something interesting,
And that's what we came up with.
You came back to school
And couldn't stop showing people,
Even when they didn't want to see.
We all got our animals together,
My cicada, your frog, your bird,
The leaver's dinner for school was that night.
We were still rebels.
Then uni last year,
Two quotes in braille around our ribs,
And your quote in Latin
(which turned out to be Italian)
"No lies, just love."
Now today,
A new cat on my arm
And a rose on the back of your neck.
We are perfect,
Immaculate.
Procrastination at it's finest.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
i'll admit i found him humorous upon first sighting.
he was
obese,
with one leg,
in a motorized wheel chair,
wearing large sunglasses,
a volunteer firefighter cap,
and awkward headphones, circa '79.
"hello there, sir!"
he shouted as his wheel chair and body
shifted, slanted, bounced with each crack in the pavement.
"hey, how's it goin'?"
i called back, with a warm and hospitable tone.
i've been trying to be more social.
"i am blessed, but sir, would you be so kind
as to help me get some food?"
"yeah sure. where's the food?"
good deed for the day.
"i don't know, i guess around this here corner. i'm lookin' for that pizza place."
"oh okay, i think it's just over here past the bookstore."
"alright. what's your name, boy?
"josh. and yours, sir?"
"james. josh it is a pleasure to meet you. and i thank you.
you see i'm homeless, mr. josh. and you wouldn't believe
how often people turn away from me, josh."
"that's awful."
"yes it is. but i pray for them.
they need it.
may the lord forgive them. may the lord forgive me."
"here's that pizza place."
"excellent. would you go in and get me some food?"
oh. i'm buying him food.
that's what "help me get some food" means.
"of course. what would you like?"
i returned ten minutes later with a gyro, a pepsi, and some chips.
"thank you mr. josh," he said with a bright smile, "this will be a fine meal.
now, josh, you have done a good thing. look at my eyes."
he removed his sunglasses.
his eyes seemed normal enough.
"i ain't no druggy or dope fiend. i'm just james w. green. mr. green.
i was a bass player that just fell on some bad luck. now josh, i'm asking
you as a friend to just give me a little more, so i can eat tonight."
this made me uncomfortable.
i hate to admit it, but i began to suspect this uni-legged, bass player, of ripping me off.
i gave him a 5-dollar bill. that's a weeks worth of suppers at taco bell.
he said a prayer for me.
then he asked me on behalf of jesus,
"can you look into your heart and give generously? just one big donation and who knows what could happen!?"
i gave him another ten.
"thank you mr. josh. i appreciate it. remember me? and do me a favor?"
"sure."
"tell the world about mr.green!"
you're welcome, james.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 1:41 PM UTC
Initial day at uni.
Took a little stumble.
As down the road I rumbled.
World of study.
Well thought out.
Off my bike I tumbled.
Over the handlebars.
In front of the cars.
A not amusing somersault.
It really wasn’t funny.
My humerus, got broke
Not at all amusing,
Certainly no joke.
Not a funny bone to break.
University was no ball.
Off to uni.
Arm in cast.
In front of the others.
What a giggle.
Trainee nurse in pyjamas.
Battle of the one armed fly.
Impossibly undone!
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
I visualize you
who I will never know,
Constant Stranger
I call you, I imagine
you when I write
and to think, you
will never know me
like the few who
I am close to, those
who say: I don't
understand what you
are talking about,
but I know what you
mean...you know
there is no other poet
on earth like me
and I know there is
no other poem in the uni-
verse just like you
and every two folks
have there own way
of loving, the poet
and the poem know
what they like, like
the kind that takes us
into different and strange
countries until we realize
at midnight, we are alone,
you and I, Constant Stranger,
anonymous mates whose love
can never be consummated.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
I'm too sad to write my college essays
My loneliness is not allowing me to concentrate
But if I don't get into Uni,
how will I get a job to support us?
Maybe I'm too focused on my fear
that there won't even be an "us" to support
I over think everything, day after day
My brain will analyze every move I make so I don't upset you,
why can't it do the same for Algebra?
If there were a class on depression
I'd be the star pupil
They'd label me as brilliant
if only my grades were as high as my anxiety levels
The only fix would be a class on you
I could learn your ins and outs
and create a formula on winning your heart
Instead of a final, I could just fall in love with you
and pass with flying colors
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
the whole uni-world-verse is a work of art
painted, sculpted, written, strummed, yelled, whispered, spoken, hummed,
watched, read, walked, met, clutched, felt, thought, fraught, shot, healed,
sealed, revealed, eaten, clapped, drummed, hugged, kissed, loved, hated, caressed,
sexed, hit, held, slit, melded, tripped, tasted, clothed, wasted, hurt, emaciated,
bounded, re-created, infinite, hallucinated, framed, contained, insane, profane,
profound, no-sound, throned, starved, crowned,
and could the hues and colors of experience be expressed
I would have worked this art to show and speak to no one
but as the same, no none
and yes some
to a sandwich multitude and the star-gaze vigil
from the back, to the front, in the middle.
all big, all mid, all little
and silent as a God watching young girls play fiddle.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
Campus streets
College jeans
Drinking
Excitement
Football teams
Tuition fees
Classroom leans
Confusion
Home
Dorm room dreams
Finals it seems
Ready to scream
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
"You're such an extrovert!" They loudly claim
"I'm nothing but a loner" I secretly say
...
..
.
loneliness is the most familiar feeling of them all. i'm a thinker. i sometimes wish i weren't. but i am. i constantly feel like i am detached from everyday life. too much of an analyser to immerse myself in it without feeling like i'm acting. i have always felt and still feel lonely. the odd one out amongst siblings. the only child of a mother's second marriage. the people in my life are too different to bond beyond shallow communication. i love my family and friends but our connection is too superficial for my needs. even though i go out, i laugh and play the part, i sometimes feel that something is missing. i sometimes feel that no one really knows the real me. i don't even know if i know the real me. sixth form is now over and i am starting uni next week. will i continue to feel this lonely? being depressed and suicidal at home whilst being ms perfect at school was my reality for the past 7 years. i can't believe how proficient i have become at hiding my feelings and expressing only what i want to express. no matter how hard i try to let loose and stop overthinking, i find no one else like me in my life. i feel like i have nothing in common with anyone. i feel trapped in a world that judges me at every turn and yet never bothers to try to help or understand.
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC