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Shane 4d
Boredom
Nothing to do
Nothing to say
Nothing to feel
Its peaceful
It’s perfect
If only it didn’t feel so wrong
The yearn for excitement
Something to do
Something to say
Something to feel
It feels so right
If only it didn’t lead to a want to do nothing
A need for Boredom
Nothing to do
Nothing to say
Nothing to feel
And such the cycle goes on
And on
Forever longer
waiting in line
for something interesting
this light of mine
will always be the best thing
waiting in line
to see a new movie
i saw it online
it looks pretty groovy
waiting in line
to ride a carousel
the names of every animal, couldn't tell
waiting in line
for a celebrity to sign
my snapback hat and then
i'll feel divine
waiting in line
to drive and see you
traffic always makes
my time seem few
waiting in line
for the next train
the carriage stops now
they all look the same
waiting in line
to get something to eat
hunger moves throughout
and pain through my feet
waiting in line
to wait in another
i've been in here for days
don't want to be a bother
waiting in line
to an elusive pit
people line up
so seen as fit
waiting in line
'till i finally leave
the photopass shows
only five seconds on the screen
waiting.....waiting......waiting......
done.
inspired by time spent waiting in queues.
blank Jan 26
got caught up talking
balked through the window and fell through the back door
umbrella still in bloom

left rings of condensation as footsteps
and also frostbite in 60 degree weather
and also footsteps for nobodies to follow
freaked out by stale nature
valley-cracked teeth
translucent petals poking through nag champa clouds

lost spider solitaire
twenty-one times in a row

lost all the gaba napping in classrooms
and spinning circles around itself
untuned cerebellum in atrophy against the spins

lost it
won an advil liqui-gel
and quickly quit:
jumped off the peak of its dose-response curve
into the pool of a hallucinogenic july

doesn’t matter:
komorebi’s turned apocalyptic;
sunset's turned subvision

now you make shadows on the mirror and wet-floor signs on the tile
get caught in spiderwebs not a foot outside your bedroom
blast faith through android speakers suffocating in her comforter
drown your plants in ***** water

never heard a silver lining
only eat up deserts
for the cacti that’ll propagate later in your throat:

a seventy-five cent zinnia’s last whiskey-driven photosynthesis
rootbound
--written sept. 24, 2019--
It is rooted to my teeth
                         my stomach
                         my nostrils
                         my nasal cavities

It rustles when I breathe in
It begs for more when I bite
It screams when I swallow

I cannot be your choir boy
And I will not kiss you
                   not today
                   not tomorrow
                   not tonight
I've now made it through my second semester of university only to find myself wolfing down an explosive, uninhabitable vindictiveness to quell the equally overwhelming emptiness that eats right back away at me.
I have 16 or so unfinished poems strewn around my notebooks. I'm hoping to track them all down and complete them here, and I am also hoping to be dead and gone sometime within the next 315 days.
Lizzie Bevis Dec 2024
I dream of morning sunlight
bathing the room in gold,
a gentle awakening,
as the day unfolds.
Rain falling softly
on cobblestone streets,
watching lovers share umbrellas,
wishing I had someone to meet.

I dream of Candlelit dinners,
watching the stars above,
spontaneous dances,
and falling in love.
My life is a canvas
of dreams unfurled,
wishing for perfect moments
so that I could paint the world.

Yet in reality, my alarm is blaring,
I sit sleepily, letting my coffee go cold.
I then rush through the traffic
as the morning grows old.
I splash in murky puddles
and soak my worn shoes,
Then stand on the crowded bus,
chuntering away my morning blues.

When at home the microwave beeps,
and there are bills to pay.
I watch Netflix in silence
With a tv dinner to end my day.
I then lay alone in bed
in this mess that I conceal,
with a quiet awareness
of how I truly feel.

©️Lizzie Bevis
Dom Nov 2024
i no longer cry
about the dirt under my nails
the smell of work on my underarms
the nicks on my knuckles.
my body now sings
the hours spent laboring.
Malia May 2024
It’s like I’m walking
Home from school,
Counting the houses
That look the same.

It’s like I’m skipping
The cracks again,
Humming the tune
Inside of my head.

It’s like my shoe laces
Keep coming undone
No matter how much
I tie them up.

I pick at the thread
Hanging off of my sweater,
Not bothering to bend down
And double-knot.

And then when I trip,
I sit
And wonder
Why.
Amanda Kay Burke May 2024
I'd rather feel icy touch
Than absence of your fingers
Despair
Disappointment clutched
Fear
Traces linger
Fatigue
Constant stress
And everything else we despised
I'd rather feel these than nothing I guess
Pain better than desolation disguised
You dragged me down darkened road
Threat of danger was a low-pitched hum
Senses burning seared and slowed
Rather feel the fire than be numb
Perceiving nerves stretch with agony
All I do is survive
Prefer ache over dull monotony
It proves that I'm still alive
Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Jeremy Betts Mar 2024
Life is tricky, gets sticky quickly
Been known to present instantly
I'd love my day to day to be monotony heavy
This smile is a forgery
...mostly
My demons are imaginary
...not likely
Every foot placed in front of the other is scary
I've been doing it for 40 plus years, I'll figure it out eventually
Look how easily I lie to me
Do I know anything wholeheartedly?
Same sh*t different day,
And honestly,
I'd welcome blasé openly
Hopefully
I get the opportunity
Sometime before I check out completely
With no option to even maybe possibly
Attempt to retry the recipe

©2024
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