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I S A A C Jun 2020
California king bed, my dreams taking over again
The daydreams hit differently, waking up and you aren't next to me
Place pillows to emulate you so I can sleep comfortably
Imagining my baby cuddling, hand on my waist so elegantly
My heart unlaced, ready to take
My faith I give, ready to taste
Every inch of your skin, including the air you breathe
Intermingling our energy with you underneath
Love me until you can't stop loving me
Poet X May 2020
there’s no distractions any more
the books can only hold me for so long and
it's only me
in this house
that is not home and
my thoughts are all i am left with
my thoughts are all i am left with
my thoughts are all i am left with
Eleanor Apr 2020
So noisy, it’s crushing
Its songs; sad ones
happy ones, silly ones.
It's jokes; fallen pens,
****** texts, Durcan’s poetry.
None of these thoughts are helpful.
Not even by a little bit.
Pastel highlighters, a new pencil case
My jacket is green.
I did the bare minimum of Spanish
I organised a previous debate’s cards
My Irish notes glare at me.
My math's teacher won't give up.
I keep all of history in my head,
But not in a place I can access.
I can give you Sinn Fein manifesto
but not the sections of Mozart’s  
23rd concerto in A major.
The room is loud, but silent in  
Comparison to my argumentative mind.
Busy, so busy.
Nothing will be done.
My mind is often times busy, confusing and distracting. i know a lot of people in similar situations. This poem is meant to represent what it is like to have a busy mind, be very stressed or have trouble completing tasks because of a constant stream of chatter. Enjoy :)
JK Cabresos Mar 2020
her words
are savory
i might
devour,

but i
should escape
from her
maneuvers
Copyright ©️ 2020
Traveler Mar 2020
I've had enough
of all these living
breathing distractions
fused to my synaptic reactions
reminding me that I am but one
the leash of realization weighs a ton
in harmonicas hormonal perfection
it's easy to lose an election
It's a beautiful day
I never want it to end
but I lose my balance
when the distractions set in
......................................
Traveler Tim
Grey Dec 2019
Ideas swirl in my mind
Forming windstorms
That pick up scattered thoughts and words
and grow into tornadoes
that whirl across my mind.

They distract from life
From what's real
and what matters.

But when I sit down to write
They all flee in terror
And my pen hovers above the page
filled only with scribbled out phrases
and my own insecurities.
I always have these stories and ideas in my mind, but when I go to write them down, the words to do so evade me and it comes out as sloppy, half-formed, and not anywhere near as good as they were in my head.
TMReed Oct 2019
Afraid of her waves,
I steer into the trees,
fashion my nest
From the oars and leaves.
Teach oldies to the birds,
mice, the harmonies,
squander afternoons
waiting for the breeze.

Afraid of her waves,
I fly toward the heavens
to roam with pilgrims
crying rivers and oceans.
I listen to their stories
of ruin and misfortune.
And discover boats can be
both frightened and broken.

Afraid of her waves,
I crash into the moon,
bug the man inside,
a bit of a recluse,
with questions rounding
How the ocean moves.
He bellies of an ache,
But I know it's just a bruise.

Afraid of her waves,
I spin off seven rings
slingshot out this galaxy
on black and speckled wings,
tumble through a universe
where no and everything
look so eerily the same
that my boat begins to sink.

Afraid of her waves,
I row anywhere else
until walls crumble down
until oars row themselves.
When I scale her summits,
gobbled by her swell,
I peek over my shoulder
where the sea, she's ever still.
Psychostasis Oct 2019
In this garden,
This beautiful creation I've blessed with my wisdom and experience,
I see in dimensions no one else can.
My third eye gleams in the sunlight, glowing and glistening like a perfectly cut jade.

In the distance, I see my goal.
It breeches the soil and reaches for the sun's warm embrace,
Escaping the mortal coil without ever leaving its vessel.

I approach.
Through the travel, the soil beneath me turns to salt and cracks.
The bees turn to wisps of a time once forgotten,
The butterflies, ghosts of a forgotten era.
The sun and Moon become a single entity forever fused in a dance older than time itself.
The sky turns dark and bleeds attempting to warn me of the horrors protecting my ambitions.
My claim to my destiny becomes shaken.

I power forward, blinded only in the physical world.
And as I approach the apple hanging gracefully from the tree
The snake will whisper its temptations,
And God will scream and tear the heavens asunder, seeking my cursed flesh and blood.
And as I pluck my ambitions and wisdom, digesting it and the truth whole,
The corners of my stone eyes will crack,
My third eye will screech,
And I will watch as both God and the serpent battle over my intentions.

I am The Prophet.
My destiny is written by me and me alone,
And all those who take claim to my soul will be cut down by my power.

I am The Prophet.
Where my gifts and talents, ambitions and goals, and curses and vices originate
Is unknown
But these are answers that do not matter.

I will tame the serpentine prince.
I will take claim to the power your God once stole from me.
I will refuse the sun its moment to set, plunging myself in eternal sunset.
I will embrace the moon as my lover,
And I will not allow you, nor anyone, nor anything power.

I am The Prophet.
I will scan the horizon with my peripheral vision
And blind myself with the sun's direct effects
To strengthen the sight of my soul.
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