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Zywa 5d
After every step,

I have to take another --


Yeah, with all my wits.
Autobiography, part 2, 1939-1945 "Het geluid van bloemen" ("The sound of flowers", 1993, Marten Toonder), chapter XXIV - December 1942 (in the war)

Collection "**** & Lord"
Reece 6d
This summer, I’ve thought a lot,
About how I’m in a liminal standstill.
The crossroads of life,
Childhood to the left, and adulthood to the right.
Which way do I go?
I don’t have a choice.
The only way to go,
Is forward toward the void.
I must go on,
Listening to the songs that spark my envisioning,
Imagination bleeds into reality.
I must accept,
That there’s never enough time,
But that’s okay.
I’ll water her flowers and try not to complain,
Because she means the world to me.
The singer and the lyricist,
Moved on from their precipice,
Perhaps I can do the same.
I’ll rise, like a daisy,
Even when the world is feeling hazy.
I’ll remember what the Wendigo told me,
And what I learned from Dracula’s kidnapping.
It’s humbling to find,
That I’m at the world’s whim as much as it’s at mine.
Just a change in my paradigm.
I’ll make sure I won’t be like Vain,
Or like Russel, used for his brain.
I’ll overcome my fear and drive,
And leave my other fears behind.
Acne won’t entrap me forever,
There’s always another summer,
Though the heatwaves might be a ******.
I’m all in,
Avoiding artificial interactions.
I’ll try to see what they see,
And overcome this anxiety.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey,
But I’ll fight through the haze.
I’ve seen,
That the last summer of reprieve,
Is as much of an ending,
As it is a beginning.
Most of the poems I've posted since June have been from a collection I wrote over the summer. I wrote fifty-two poems, all related to growing up and things changing, as they always do. I hope you're able to pick out the references to my other poems!
Piyush Sep 2
A person desires his life,
To be lived outside time.
How much more will he lie?
He asks questions, he asks for a knife.

A world of hope, a world of life,
Will they give, will he buy?
Dust till dawn is your time,
How to grow, how to die?

A word to write, a letter to die,
Thoughts are given, the curse is mine.
Fake emotions, the faces are dry,
How to choose, when to cry?

Choose your crime, your guilt now,
Why is my love often stuck in the market of beauty?
Do this, do that, keep yourself busy,
Fulfil the hungers of the greedy.
Across the street
her grass grows much
greener than mine.

Here grass struggles
with pine needles
to feel the sun.

Could it be we
live in a thesaurus
where she chose effort
while I was assigned toil.
girlinflames Aug 19
It’s not about choosing between two men—
It’s about choosing
Myself
Always.
there is something
ugly,

about being born in
the dark,

no home, no purpose,
just this ever aching feeling
that you are something more
even though the world tells you
that you are ordinary,

you have no answers,
no one to give them to you,
because nothing is really known,
just something we made up to
cope.

we had to give things meanings,
names, purpose,

humans have an incessant need to
find where they belong,

maybe it did that on purpose,
blinded us from the start,
limited our knowledge,
limited our understanding,
threw us in this place where
anything can happen,
just to see what would
transpire.

Something so ugly, so cruel, and yet,
I understand, and I love it.

I am my own to mold.
I'm kind of new to poetry, I usually try to write novels but poetry is my therapy and I had an urge to share my drabbles.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
I wanted to travel the one on which she went
But I was afraid that the road for me wasn't meant
And I wanted to take the road which for both of us was good

I dared to take a step on the path chosen by her
As I haven't ever wondered how awful I would be without her

Then I thought about the difference it would make in our lives
Maybe by keeping a distance for a short period our immature relation may turn to husband and wife

Keeping this in mind I have chosen the second road
And i hope this will make her my wife in the next episode
                                            -Soham
Sometimes, love isn't about chasing — it's about stepping back and trusting time. This was written in a moment of calm and quiet clarity.
there's probably something
far deeper at work here
something quite important
and worth delving into
to be explored more
thoroughly
consequentially
consciously

instead i'll probably
just end up thinking about
that shoelace in my boot
the one that still
needs to be replaced
ragged and frayed as it is
and i'll wonder how long
i can ignore it before
it finally snaps
and i'm left with
no choice anymore
Lance Remir Jun 24
Why
I wished you yelled at me
Strike at me, scream at me
Curse me with all the words
Look at me with hatred or disgust

Instead

You stayed quiet
And you let go gently
Whispering those words again
With eyes of hope and heartbreak

Why?

Why did you still love me?
Why did you make this harder?
Why was ending this so **** difficult?
Why did you not end up hating me for it?

Oh

Now I understand
It was hard for both of us
But you were able to live with it
While I can't live with my own choice
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