Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ants Mar 2014
Lost in translation
It’s a messed up situation

Looking for each other in the night
Knowing that being apart is a constant fight
She is hoping that things will get soon bright
but in their case for sure it won’t be tonight.

How long are they going to keep up this game?
Does he still know her real name?
Aren’t they idealising each other?
and forgetting about what bothers them in one another.

She has second thoughts about it
Her heart needs a first-aid-kit
First time she allowed herself to feel
but now she starts regretting this deal

Are they supposed to move on?
Forget about what has been done
or continue this unreal trip
and live happily like in a movie clip…
Cara Dec 2015
I wish I could ariculate,
but it has all been written before.
And yet here I am still dreaming of the ineffable, the inexplicable, the as yet udetermined.

Oh to be a cliche,
idealising times of the past
while th present grows bleaker.

Things lack beauty.
The beauy I find in books and films, are lies when it comes to my reality.
And the arduous task of going on feels like a puzzle impossible to solve but one I cannot leave alone.
Things lack beauty,
for me.

Life lacks the luster I have been shown previously existed,
and by romantising the previous, I only pull myself furthe away from the beauty I know must be here.
It must.
Must't it?

However the rare specks of it I find are the ones in her eyes.
And they parade themselves infront of me, knowingly.

But such things have been written before and will be wrote again.
And yet still I wish to articulate.

Oh to be a cliche.
i don't know what this is
Harley Hucof Feb 2019
I can never respect people who take decisions for others,
Omni present child wearing adolecence .

People must never assume they have all the answers
When you play the role of the actors
Idealising philosophies and mystic factors
You judge, aware of your sorrow bearers
And with each sin, a silent look, and a feather
Torn apart to make it clearer
That he whom survives is repressed
While the new trend is depressed
Yet somehow i still picture you in your white dress,
Realigned.
And the voice i talk to you with
Is mine,
but you are not me
So how can i define
The slips and fissures of your subconcsious mind
And thirst to be free.

To each his field and angles
And if hell is heaven
i am still the devil

Words Of Harfouchism
People judge people who judge people who judge who etc..
Tamara Lynn Nov 2019
We unwittingly became intertwined
Believing that our hearts could be pleasantly aligned
Although truthfully our souls were greatly confined
Stop your crying my love, it’s a sign of the times
Here we were doing that chaotic dance of so called romance
Were we masking the fact that we weren’t intact
Could it be that self love is what both of us lacked
Idealising a fantasy of what could be
Did we get caught up, ignoring the underlying misery
We can never be since it’s unrequited, you see
We must first help ourselves before we can love anyone else
And so we’ve become unwarrantedly intertwined
Only to unravel everything bound so closely together
Until all that’s left is a fragile memory that can only be treasured
Sixolile Nov 2018
It is easier to focus on the past.
It's a lived experience, and the future makes us apprehensive;
And we live and have shared experiences,
And experience people in a new way every day.

But, often, we focus on perfection.
Things have to be perfect;
And, yet, often, we remind ourselves there is no such thing as perfect.

But, perhaps, there is.

Perhaps we are all perfect, but
We are imperfect when we meet another's perfect.
We begin to project our own selves, unfairly, unto the other person.
We call it flaws; she is flawed for not meeting my perfect.
And that is not fair.

We are but strangers, after all.
The great adventure would be to acknowledge another's individuality.
To explore them, wholly, without idealising our ideas of perfect on them.

There is fond joy in being wholly accepted for the person you are,
Instead of what people wish for you to be.
To be understood for your unique individualism,
Instead of being critiqued for your eccentric nature.

I am, but imperfect and flawed when not wholly accepted for being me.
#love #relationship #friendship #life #depression #happiness #acceptance
Jane Aug 2021
today i wish i had grass to settle my bare feet in, a printer to take my reading away from the screen, and friends to unravel some ideas that I have percolating but barely have words to put to yet. i want post-it note messes and tangential rants over fruit smoothies in the sun.

today i wish i could thread together fringe ideas and substanceless maybes by myself. or more accurately, i wish the doctoral research project was not so lonely. that it championed collaboration of ideas and became a project of care, of community, of compassion not focused on colonial concepts of breaking ground first but instead of ruminating, pausing, treading water, observing and reflecting. on inthemoment not firstpastthepost or beforetherest. rest as pause as care as vital as lifesource of thinking. dreaming first. dreaming always. dreaming and idealising and creating. mess becomes beauty. becoming. the doctoral project is a waiting place, an expectant limbo or rather a succession of waiting places, elevator lifts to new floors but never a transition straight to answers. never up up up. elevators that move in all directions. escalators maybe. certainly shopping centre escalators. forever stalling, breaking, too fast, too slow, unsteady as we step off.

what a mess. and yet what beauty. and still a project that requires so many moving parts, so many individual pieces to function, to culminate in the final result - movement. forward or standing still, long way round or unmechanical steps. organic. always.

grounding, like toes in the daisies and heel-crumpled buttercups. natural, nature, not a fix but a part of the process. stopping, breathing, back to roots. basics are care and care is anything but basic in frenetic lives. but removing bureaucracy, deadlines and paperwork as limitations, ignoring processes and breaking protocols is a glitch in the capitalist machine. a glint in the grin of an accomplice who revels in the breaks, the breaking, the pauses and fresh starts in new branches. divergence is crucial.

deep breaths, cool breeze through cracked windows and a reminder that hot laptops on crossed legs will be there tomorrow. now to rest and to think. always thinking, always distilling. but today the sunshine is more important. the levity of the outside more pressing than years-away deadlines, Bureaucratic Other forces.

today is paperless, weightless, endless. new life grows through cracks, persistent nature and persevering natural. in my own time. how else will the project evolve?
Dr Peter Lim Apr 21
Utility
            above beauty:
             the latter
              can't feed the hungry

             some or a few only
             will set all aside readily
             for the sake of beauty-
             such dreamers are a tiny minority

              life isn't the paradise
              for the singing of poetry
              which looks away from reality
              in idealising  beauty

             the truth will bear out eventually:
             too short-lived and fragile is beauty
             the sun cannot shine for all time
             the night will set in and beauty will sink into obscurity

— The End —