I cannot shut my eyes,
for there you are,
I cannot open my eyes,
for there you are.
You haunt my every thought
I wake up in cold sweats,
because I dreamt that you hated me.
I daydream about us being together,
And I'm devastated
Because I know it will never be.
I try go about my day as normal as I can,
But I keep seeing your figure appear, EVERYWHERE!
How do I escape you?
Do I even want to?
This feeling is complacent,
it just doesn't feel adjacent,
too much or to little,
reciprocation is unrealistic,
your stupid but unforgettable,
unattainable and unavailable,
there's a bond hard to break,
I want to escape,
but isn't that a mistake?
We could’ve been something just as much as we were nothing,
you were a boy but I wanted a man,
I was a woman but you wanted a girl,
two different people,
two different worlds.
-popular_loner
There are terms humanity uses, phrases words appear."
To communicate emotions, in aim of clarity, or to help
Verbally in communicating our anxiety, or sense of honour
Even anger, love or fear.' Some terms are formed generically.' Yet others are forged and planned.' To strike
At the spirit, heart and souls of 'right thinking women and
Man' the word ( elites ) is being used to describe indeed
The dregs..' its as dis-informative in the context and concept
Indeed its correction ' must get now on its legs' to
Highlight those of repulsive ways..Who glorify abuse who
Plan nightmares today.' Who facilitate urusry murder and
Greed, who co-opt and co-erce for the basest of needs who
To be validated are willing to do the vilest' the dirtiest things.)
Scum could do.' I find no word low enough.! No term that
Will match.' To the acts of these lunatics and the sick dreams they hatch.' (They call wicked for good) remember
My friend; (2020?) and just extrapolate' then and only things will
Get on the mend!
Withered zest of life, and ashes of bleak hope,
will have been seeping through the slits of this green heart,
For one that was not imbued with love,
is meant to forevermore remain dry and torn apart.
When I'd give an arm and a leg! --
What's more, every Christmas I beg:
I want a dog! Please please pleeeaase!
But mom complains of poop and fleas.
I'd claim responsibility to give a wash
But my dream of a dog goes-- squash
I plead, I persuade, and I pray --
Promise to walk my dog every day!
No matter how much I blatantly bribed
Mom's allergies leave me dog-prived. :(
Failing to get enough sleep or
getting poor-quality sleep are
resulting to health hazard; it
is known fact, it makes us unfit
to discharge daily acts with cheer.
It's voluntary let’s admit
but unintentional, can’t quit.
Sleep deprivation is seen more
in young generation; appear
to ignore outcomes a bit.
Yet, avoid action, though aware;
to work pressure they do submit;
postpone sleep and needed health care;
fail to do best, though they commit;
timely sleeping they shouldn't ignore.
~X~X~X~
The Signature Sonnet is introduced by B Chandler of Allpoetry.
It’s another invented sonnet pretender in 3 quintains(15 lines)
It is metric, written in iambic tetrameter and rhymed,
Turned on only 2 rhymes aabba bbaab ababa
Volta not specified, but not excluded.
Pasted from http://poetscollective.org/everysonnet/signature-sonnet/
Thanks to Mr Lawrence Eberhart for the resources at Poets Collective Site.
Principled or vile, honorable or depraved,
we all view the same stars,
suffer the same dread.
The richest minds among us were
all once bedwetters.
The puerile erect walls like Trump’s fortification,
they imagine iron and concrete impervious to the
ghosts of culture and language,
never recognizing the absurd futility,
never once realizing their enslavement
to their own defenses.
Here we are conjoined,
the tormented with their tormentors,
the marginalized with the entitled
awash in the night long freezing rain
culminating in a new morning light
where we yearn to find new hope.
No one has reformed.
No one is converted
and yet, no one is the same.
The pages of days flip past.
We find great promise discarding
our malignancy of mind,
the dark ages we left behind.
We see a future as we climb free
from our climate of abhorrence, the
mind games of conspiracy,
though we still contend with our bigotry,
our racism, our dogmatism, paradoxically,
we also find our capacity to love unconditionally.
The question is:
“Are people still collecting
memories, these days?”
"This isolation
isn't bothering me much.”
I say, if I'm asked.
But I’m not sure that’s
true. After hundreds of nights
of dull solitude.
I think each night might
carry a value - of dear,
and unmeasured loss.
Loss of memories
- because they never happened.
How have we all changed?
They sit alone
the discarded
those we choose not to see
dirty blankets and dirty faces
while we walk on by
They sit in the darkness
afraid
vulnerable, cold and hungry
sleeping in snatches
as rats roam the streets
while we lay in our warm houses
how many tears do they shed
in fear, in hunger and in desperation?
I say a prayer each night- to keep you safe
those of you, young and old and inbetween
men, women and even children
while we walk on by- and chose not to see.
Today I saw twenty homeless people on the streets of my home town-why?
At times
The nights
Are painfully long
And seem to pass by
So very slowly
It makes
Me feel like I have no hope left
It gives me feelings of despair
Like a tarantula of rain pouring down
It makes me
Want to cry
Like snow drifting from the sky
I drift
In and out of sleep
And wonder
Is this how I will spend the rest of my life sleeping?
If we knew in advance that all daughters and sons
keep us up every night: yours and mine — everyone’s
(teething, peeing and screaming,
yet so INNOCENT-seeming),
we’d be living in convents like well-rested nuns.
The hungry creative seeks a morsel but fails to get
The helplessness and lack of support makes it fret
The one that yearns to succeed seldom gets the floor to tread
The right time, the right care is always to be bred
The potluck is right around the corner of my room, so smells are wafting in already.
Luscious wonderful terrific delicious smells – pumpkin, cinnamon, chocolate, mayonnaise.
You cannot smell mayonnaise? My heart goes out to you. I am sorry for your loss,
Someone just took the lid off the baked beans again. I do not dare try for those, knowing
How low my rear is to the ground, spending my day walking past little low children who
Do not deserve to receive the memory of me enjoying a big sweet tub of baked beans.
I was hospitalized with a spastic colon, and urged to not eat any of my favorite foods any more.
My favorite foods are jalapeno peppers, chili, spaghetti, fried chicken, and more jalapeno peppers.
Matter of fact, I could eat jalapeno peppers on my pumpkin pie, and not miss the whipped cream.
A connoisseur of all the foods I should not eat, but I can now smell, I decide to take a little walk.
Those who see me think I am doing something important. I am. I am saving myself from me.
The child in me was a fan
Of peanut butter, one brand
It cost more
At the store
So I never got Peter Pan
Unable to see, unable to gaze,
Unable to picture his face,
Blindfolded to truth, in the netherworld room,
She was bound to the wooden shed gate,
And all she could do was hear his footsteps,
Stepping their way in the black,
And smell the sharp smell of the flickering candle,
And anticipate a genuine smack,
She loved how her insides stood to attention,
Her senses shocked to withstand,
She loved how her sight and free had been taken,
Replaced by his every demand,
This couple loved depriving their senses for love,
Loved their confine in the shed,
This couple loved living an extreme little life,
Where the old wooden wall was their bed.
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