Long Napowrimo Poems
Long Napowrimo Poems. Below are the most popular long Napowrimo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Napowrimo poems by poem length and keyword.
I remember it being green. The
color so sublime that it takes
away melange of misery. The
wallowing self in the streets
that leads nowhere. I remember
them being brown. The path so
stern that you might want to mi
-ss it but it is so hard to do just
that. It often reaches to an aban
-doned building, the cracks and
crevices are hosting a lot of
yellow within it. The kind of yell
-ow that makes you want to have
ice lollies. I remember the building
being grey. Carrying on it's should
-ers the dullness, the hate, the ugly
associated to it. The yellow tells a
different story. It doesn't care
about the green, the red, the grey;
the misery. There's blue directly
diagonal to it and in it there's a who
-le expanse of pigments. The hues
and the tints that are just wondero
-us for many but for yellow, it's
what the world is. This city is beige,
it always has been beige but if you
squint your eyes at a precise angle,
you'll see lavender falling down the
sky and everything will be fine.
One moment you are sitting still,
the other you're not. The worst
moment for anxiety to hit is
probably when you least expect
it. Can you expect it though? It
waits for you to be weak, or to
be your happiest self. It strikes
when you feel nothing and then
your whole world comes collapsing.
Anxiety, holds you hostage in your
own body. Sucks your soul and
keeps it that way, lifeless and
unattended. It's the feeling of heat
in an air-conditioned room, the dip
in your heart while taking a dump,
the paralyses induced when you
hear about that one trigger that you
just discovered is triggering.
ANXIETY, the word is enough to
render you inactive, perplexed,
agitated, sad, and all the other
emotions you can't name. This
blank document writing itself
and bringing within it the anxious
scrolling while the heart still dips
and beats in tones not understood
by me.
I often look at my bookshelf and it dawns on me
the beauty that it holds is far greater than
what I ever will see. In all that it seems and what the
eyes see, what the heart seeks, I shall never know.
I often look at the dust that is now taken hostage of
these marvels. I try to brush it off and I stop, as if
forcing it to take me too for my story is in there,
somewhere, not known to anybody. I often hold
my breath and try to count all those stories that
reminded me of mine, I hold my breath in hopes
of forgetting to breathe for I shall seek solace in
my dusty host drifting to the world that is my own.
The walls piercing through their plaster,
as if watching me, mocking me, there
are four. I'm locked in a room and my
demons are feeding on my mind. The
bed shakes sometimes, and sometimes
it refuses to move, it holds me close
and screams that it'll never let me go.
I'm locked in a room and my demons are
feeding on my mind. My bookshelf sits
there, waiting for me to run my fingers
through it like I used to, but I don't have
that childlike enthusiasm left in me like
I had in November. I'm locked in a room
with my demons who never let me sleep.
I'm locked in this room with my demons,
and they are feeding on my soul. I'm
locked in this godforsaken room, seeking
an out and these demons are sucking the
life out of me. I'm locked in this room
awaiting my sweet release.
I've come to a halt. My body
doesn't want to move, it is
breathing out air, inhaling and
exhaling but moving, no. It is
done, I am done, my brain, my
body, every nerve in my system is
done. I recently watched this
show called “Feel good” in hopes
to feel good myself, and it hit me
like an epiphany, how comedy
often masks the complexities
of nature, we call it mental health.
So, now that I've watched
something that was supposed to
be feel good, and I don't feel good
after it, I think that the feelings that
are resonated by my mind, my body,
will go unnoticed. I don't know how
to feel about it and whom to talk
about it. So, now, my body is in this
state of self loathing with an ounce
of anxiety because I wanted to watch
something that'd make me feel good,
but instead I watched something that
made me miserable.
I don't know which type I am. The A
type which is always ready to for an
adventure, would want to talk on the
phone and not really on the message
Or the B type, the one who really lie low,
loves to be left alone with their
thoughts, just need a book and coffee.
I don't know which type I am. I am the
one who wants to be there, always,
with my friends, having fun and seeking
adventure but not always, I carry my
favorite book to my favorite places
alone and in that quest, I start feeling
lonely, the kind of lonely that comes
when you're surrounded by people. I
don't know which type I am, I think
these types were created by us to make
the people conform to the set principles
and to understand ourselves the way
we perceive everyone else, ordinary and
vanilla. So, I don't know which type I am.
I am the type who gets a bout of *****
only sometimes. The kind of courage that
forces me to download a dating app but
doesn't help in actually going out and
meeting people. The type that enables
my every act of sneering insolence and
makes me believe that I am a product
of these baseless by-laws, and I'm ought
to be like this and act like this. I don't
know which type I am, but I know that
I am not what the world wants me to be.
We exist.
The Zeigarnik effect is a psychological phenomenon describing a tendency to remember interrupted or incomplete tasks or events more easily than tasks that have been completed.
It slips, crawls, follows even. It drops
when you're least expecting it. It
barks at you, trying to get a bite of
your amygdala, forcing it to resort to
mediums uncanny. The incomplete
to-do list, handing on my wall, shouting
at me, calling me names. The
incomplete to-do list, sleeping next to
me in my bed forcing me to look at it,
embrace it, acknowledge its presence.
It lurks in the background of your life.
Calls you names, bends you in positions
you're not accustomed to. The incomplete
To-do list, making faces at you, holding
you and not letting you go. The back pain,
the pain in your limbs, the pain in the heart,
the head- I want to rip it off. Rip this feeling,
my brain, my heart.
In a perfect world, you are making me coffee,
just the way I like, point two five cream, and point
five sugar. It is a perfect world because I can hear
you sing and we know how you hate it. It is 7 in the
morning and we’ve woken up early because that’s
what we do in a perfect world. Love happens in
little moments in a perfect world. We collect these
mementos and god knows we have a jar filled with
these. You look at me every day and don’t wish for
anyone else and since it is our perfect world, I wish
the same. We move out of this place, we go to work,
we come back home and it is perfect. It is perfect.
Is it perfect?
I swear I saw you gag on the soufflé I made, I hear
your audible annoyance when I asked you about
your favorite anime. There are moments in our
conversations that are lopsided, flaky, downright
awkward. There are moments in our jar that are
okay, just okay. We reach out for each other’s
hands but somehow they get twisted instead
of getting entangled. It is like being handcuffed
with a tree and the tree never grows. But it’s a
perfect world so we go to sleep and wake up with
you making me coffee and I wishing for no one but
you and it’s perfect.
At an approximate distance of 2 benches, you stood there, every day explaining how two negatives makes a positive. I remember, that day, ages ago, when you told me that I was special, and I knew you meant it. I know you'll mean it even now because I believe in you. That very same day, my best friend and I sat on the extreme left row and waited for you to enter. I remember the look on your face when you saw that in a class of 60 students, there were only 2. I remember the anger, the agony and peace. I see your face in my dreams sometimes and when I do, I see peace. Peace in your eyes, smile on your face and words, so many words. I remember how you waited outside our exam hall to wish us good luck and I know you don't know this, but I really needed that. I've never told you this, but the majority of my life seems wasted, but that one moment is what covers up for it.
I don't want to tell you what all you taught that have made a huge difference in my life, but I really want you to know that what I've achieved, yet, is less of me and more of you. You were supposed to teach us a language, correct our grammar, give us essays and yet you taught us virtue, morals, taking responsibility and I owe all of my ideals to you. While we were being taught about calculus and accounts, you were teaching us how to be a human being. I've never had an epiphany like this before, but today that I'm standing between what is right and what is correct has made me realize what you meant when you said “we make our choices based on what standards we set for ourselves.”
This one time, the last time that we met, you looked at me while crossing the road and smiled. At that moment I realized that I didn't need anything from you, just the fact that you recognized me was enough affirmation and I shall cherish it all my life. I don't think I'll ever have the courage to send this to you, but I really hope that you change the life of many vagrants as you once did mine.
Love,
M
As she stood there, waiting.
Waiting for a sign, a reason perhaps,
I'm glued to the television, knowing
Her world is about to collapse.
The pain in her heart, is mine
too. Her eyes all cried out, staring,
directly at the camera, I can sense it
in my bones, it's obtrusive, glaring.
I hear she screamed when she saw,
the pool of blood and people oscillating.
Her whole world destroyed, in a moment,
truly vile, nauseating.
I'm a mere spectator, in this dysfunctional
world. Forcing my thoughts, evaluating.
And there she is, fighting every day,
running, crying, dying, alternating.
I move around my house, helplessly.
For I only know her pain, not understand it,
hating the world, the people, everyone,
for the crimes they didn't commit.
Will she get the justice she deserves?
I do not know, but I do know
that tonight, we'll both won't sleep,
we'll both see him, alive, breathing, a shadow.