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AL 2d
I hate pools, oceans, lakes, rivers.
I hate the feeling of the current against my body.
The fight to stay in one spot when the water wants me to go with it.

I hate how it whispers let go,
Like surrender is serenity
As if I haven’t fought too long to be here,
On my own terms

The chill that wraps around my limbs
Not gentle, not kind
But insistent —
Pulling me into depths I never chose

I hate the weightlessness,
Not the freedom, but the absence of ground,
The loss of edges,
Of lines I can hold onto

And I remember the diving board —
Toes curled over the edge,
The sky too big
The drop too deep

The water below dares me to jump,
Like it knows I don’t belong in the air,
Like it can’t wait
To swallow me whole.

I hate the silence before the splash,
That breathless second of doubt,
When the world holds still
And I almost believe I can be free,
Free to fall.

But I never am.
I step back.
The plunge is not worth the drowning.

In water, I am always unrooted,
Always drifting,
Always one breath away
From vanishing
Place me
On a waterfalls edge
              Above fifty fathoms
To be humbled
With my aggression
One step in front
At arms length
At the distance it finds
                         Its fulfilment
Then from one step behind
I’ll gaze through aggression
            To witness the point
            From where discipline dissolved
Simon Bridges Apr 24
Pulled happiness towards myself
                                       Held tight
                                       Grips loosen
                                       It sways away

Pushed sadness back
                             Beyond reach
                             Kept pushing
                             It recoiled

       Emotion is best left
           As an untouched pendulum
           Moving freely within my experience
Carlo C Gomez Apr 22
A bit of Black.
A piece of Scarlet.
There's no turning back.
When I place my rings upon you
nothing is beyond my grasp.
Each rotate to became the main body of it.
In place of angels
the hand of friendship
forms a pattern on the wall.
It's there to remind us
we're all sitting targets.
neth jones Apr 19
walking down the street                            
the winters day folded              
              settled snow awaiting damage
waking  as the morning fumbles with city residents
                                    and caravans of cars bumble                        
               unused to the tumble and witty wade of it all

my view is unveiled and hearted
simple vision  in fellow with the other senses
but IT'S THEN ! and then (aftershock )    something was altered
something in perception  was marched astray and put to sacrifice
just a tick off from the uncanny flank of lucid
                         and i know something's not right
my readings rank as nudged
       someone wishes me 'off the case'
what did my senses experience
       that could've been entered into evidence ?
i stop in the street and stoop my bags into the drift
why was my report changed                
       so skillfully between the source
                                            and my intake ?
just a single moment    a blur and a splice snip
what was i not meant to observe ?
was the rug pulled out from under it all
even if for only a spilt second ?
did i witness the goings on behind the scenes ?
the agents of governing wealthy illusion at work ?
adjusting the set ?  correcting an effect ?
wizarding our fantastic lives
the grand fabrication
...or perhaps  simply a feeling
thepuppeteer Apr 16
I'm not in control

I can't stop

I don't want to destroy myself
But my hands, they do

I yell and scream
Try as I might
I cannot stop

My hands won't listen to me
They are not mine

Please stop tearing me apart
Please stop the pain
Please stop destroying this body of mine
This poem is about a type of BFFB disorder known as Skin Picking Disorder. I feel rather uncomfortable talking about this topic other than what it's about, so I would appreciate it if you don't ask questions about my struggles with it personally.
Theo Apr 10
Am I set aside or isolated,
Like a little girl among trees?
Taught to fear the Bad Wolf,
Through my grandmother's stories.

Am I set aside or isolated,
Like grain of sand in an hourglass?
Put away for display,
Only purposeful while it lasts.

Am I set aside or isolated,
Like succulent in a condo?
Deprived of sun, drowned in water,
Bought for someone else's sorrow.

Am I set aside or isolated,
Like a bird with clipped wings?
I have feathers, I could sing,
But was never meant for soaring.

Am I set aside or isolated?
Now I'm pondering in despair.
They say I'm meant for something great,
But not allowed to do better.

"The bad wolf, it'll **** me."
"Outside the glass, I'd be blown away."
"The pretty sun, it might scorch me."
"In my safe bird cage, I'll watch... but stay."
Remember they're monsters

Not just in theory, but really

It's no longer about the evidence

(If it ever was...)

But a call to collusion

They want you silent

Unless you recite after them

So they can write papers

On pipe dreams
Ahmed Gamel Mar 28
Who is right—us or them?
None stand pure, all condemn.
Same mistakes, the same old tricks,
a world that bends to the strongest sticks.

They want what they want—flawless, bright,
a hollow dream wrapped up in light.
A lie that grips, that shapes the mind,
none escape, none unwind.

Broken thoughts, blind beliefs,
like flies drawn close to tainted grief.
They circle, they feed, they take their share,
but none ask why, none even dare.

All fear when new thoughts rise,
the steps of change beneath closed eyes.
A world still wears the same old gloves,
different hands, but still it shoves.

Never bow to a stick, break free,
step ahead, seek, question, see.
Rise before they bring decay,
before they mold minds into clay.

No stick will feed the hungry mind,
no chains can hold the ones who find—
the truth, the cracks, the space between,
where freedom waits, unheard, unseen.
"Sticks and Fish" explores the conflict between control and freedom, questioning societal norms that demand submission. It reflects on the flawed nature of both the world and the people within it, highlighting the struggle between blind obedience and the hunger for deeper understanding. The poem challenges authority, urging minds to break free from imposed limitations and seek their own truths.
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