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Andrew Rueter Nov 2020
I don’t want to consume art to escape my life
I want art that makes me confront my life
I want art that uncovers my blind faults
and reveals my secret triumphs.
What do I need to change?
Why do I need to change?
How do I need to change?
And why is the time for change now?
These questions help me escape from needing escapism.
fray narte Dec 2020
To outrun this storm on foot is a fool's errand. So if I stop — if I choose to stay here and drench myself with its sorrows — press each bit against my chest, will they finally feel mine? Will they feel my aching for escape? Will they finally let me go?



Alas, maybe it's not a storm I'm running from, but something else.
lua Oct 2020
gasp
heave
pant
the ringing in my ears
the lump beating in my throat
the sound of my heartbeat caught in a flame
that burns bright and angry
in my lungs
as i taste iron on my tongue
and blisters bloom
on the soles of my feet
like flowers in a summer's field
and yet the stench of sweat
the cling of cloth against my skin
raw and pink and thick with grime
but i'm running out of time
i won't ever stop to breathe.
Sungmoo Bae Aug 2020
Blissful art those
that are ignorant.

They know not pain,
for they do not know what pain is;

and I wish
I could join them,

the children of the oblivion.
(C) Copyright: Saul Bae (Sungmoo Bae)
lua May 2020
the dogs howl and bark to the beat of my feet
as i go
stomp
stomp
stomping away
on the damp soil
my heels dig through wet dirt
as i run
to somewhere i don't know yet
i have no destination
but the only thing that keeps me running
is the fact that my heart is still pumping
and blood still rushes through my veins
and i won't stop
until it does.
run away
little runaway
jigyasa Feb 2019
see now love
that's what happens
when you keep living in your head
life passes you
right by
Taylor Ganger Jul 2018
I live in a room unlike the others
There is no collection of books lining the walls
No box of records lying in the corner for me to flip through
Nothing haphazardly littering the floor to keep me from walking
No unfinished paintings tucked away somewhere
No counters covered in dishes, and no full sink

There is no sink at all
Or any place to **** and ****
And I can only bathe
In what I want to wash myself clean of
I live in a room with walls of plastic
And an aroma of ozone from burning out
I have spent so much time running around the room
Because there doesn't seem to be anything else I can do

Right now I'm tired; I am resting
But I will miss that ozone
And I will keep on running
Like I have forgotten that there is no door
Or window to climb out of
There is only use in escaping what is in the room
I rest to escape the running
When there is too much happening
And the ozone burns my nose
I run to escape the idea that nothing ever happens
And nothing ever will.
Arke Jun 2018
We'll run away together, love
To the shores of Italy
Among the rows of grape vines
Beneath the willow trees

We'll buy a villa in Positano
Red brick and marble, by the sea
We'll dance with wine and moonlight
If you'll run away with me

In the boutiques and cafes
We'll drink espresso and high tea
The pebble streets call out your name
Come with me now, let's flee

A one-way ticket is simply frugal
I'm sure you will agree
We'll kiss beneath the Elba stars
And create a new reality
Joshua Wooten Jul 2016
you who floats in my psyche:
be wary of this place--
this ocean is uneasy
and it will swallow up your ship
in little seconds,
spit up the boards and drown the sails,
drag your crew to the ground,
their breath to the sky,
and you to shore
somewhere you don't know
where you'll build a new ship,
pack more rope
and stronger sails.
not every thought you'll brave
is deep enough to sink anchors into
and you'll quickly run aground,
but some will stretch down too far
and you'll run out of rope
before the metal strikes sand.
find a place you like up there
and hold fast to the ground if you can--
double check your mooring
before you fall to sleep
or hang a hammock up high
and float somewhere new;
watch unfamiliar clouds
laze above your perch
and listen for storms
Joshua Wooten Jul 2016
the tides are impossible these days
moving in and out of focus,
leaning and falling back from shore
clawing the ground as they're pulled.
they sift through the rocks
like a child looking for shells
or burying his feet
as deep as he can in the gravel's warmness
before the cold comes for his ankles.
the water moves faster than before--
now that the moon's in an ice chest
shedding dust and gravity
somewhere in a ship far from shore--
and the men who caught it
have hopelessly lost their way,
victims of an all-too-sudden high tide
and violent, rushing winds.

it turns out it didn't take much
to take the silvered old rock down.
moonlight is spun like a web
down in pillars to the ground and water,
sticking to sea spray and the clouds,
suspending in the air.
a couple of fishermen caught it
while filled half-and-half
with sleep and moonshine.
they said it wandered near the edge
of the cliff where night meets the day
and when they threw the net up
the moon's web got twisted, tangled in rope
and pulled it right down with them.

some light floats on.
broken strands of silk take to the air,
still attached to the ground and water,
though the connection's cut at the other end.
they're waving away today, in the sky,
like a luminous greeting:
hello, or goodbye.
people watching onshore say it's pretty
to see the moonlight like this--
they say it looks like a field of tall grass
pushed sideways and whirling,
carrying fireflies and ladybugs away
from the overgrown--
and they feel like the insects
buried deep in their own glowing forest,
talking to the sea and moonlight with waves.
I'm fond of this piece.  I've got a lot saved on my phone and this one is my most recent, which draws me to it for some reason.  I nearly always think my most recent piece is my best, maybe because I see the newness and imagine myself in the poem, becoming new as well.  but maybe not who knows for sure
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