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Debra Lea Ryan Jun 2024
Sunset

A Chess Set

Books to Read

Cups of Tea

Music

And a Sea View

For  WHO and ME?

On Mondays!

Ha!

Then WHO will plan the rest of  the Week?

I know!

Take it as it Flows!

Sweet!

(c) Debra Lea Ryan
27/06/2024
☀♥ƸӜƷ✿♬
Communicating to my Sense of Self! Ha!
Muse Serenade Jun 2024
Me
Hard to be me
Will i ever be me
I am loosing myself
But I want to be myself
Even for an min
I need the peace in
I am not who you think
I will not be the way you think
You can't force me
You cannot be me
I just want to be happy and be me
Atleast for once
Your clutches are too right
It is hard to breathe
It is hard to live
It is hard to control emotions
Lemme breathe
#me
louella Jun 2024
a friend to me is like a bullet,
a little sting entering my body.
a friend to me is a swarm of flies,
an unmanageable mess.
a friend to me is someone broken and ruined on the inside.
i love elusively and leave a forest fire in my trail.
you try to call the firefighters to calm my erratic flames,
but you cannot stop me from sabotaging.
you cannot stop me from being alone.
but i love you with every inch of my soul,
hurting when i see your letters slowly disappear from the mailbox.
the fire is violent and you are not fireproof;
though sometimes i dream you are.
i dream i swallow my worries and hurl them in a suitcase down a cliffside.
i dream i don’t burn down the house we built,
instead i reconstruct it when it starts to shake.
you cannot love me from a distance—
i completely understand,
that you wouldn’t char your fingers;
you wouldn’t have any left to touch me with,
sweetly and so compassionately.  
i cause the deaths of so many beautiful things because i fear they will fall apart anyway.
i feared you would run away,
leave me dusty and frail,
but you loved me until you couldn’t anymore
until my fire singed your skin
and your soul just couldn’t bear one more second of torture.
i understand fully why you had to let me go.
writing is so cathartic.
about you and me and of course, about the uncertainty.

written yesterday
published: 6/7/24
louella May 2024
who
the moon—she knows of who she is;
i have no idea who i am.

perhaps a jellyfish
who stings when she’s provoked
not always under duress, sometimes
just because she feels threatened by the enormous depths of the sea.
perhaps a lover,
a silly little heart
that glows when it’s full
that beats when nerves flood in.
perhaps a sailor,
wandering and contemplating a world
where one could be free
and devoid of responsibilities,
chasing the stars and seas
yet somehow sees them as omens
she must avoid.
perhaps a daughter
with harp string fingertips
with legs that waltz with no regrets,
who breaks her back to measure up
and sings the craving to bed at night.
perhaps a flame,
one swallowing all the elements
destroying every path,
begging that they’ll stay.
perhaps a girl
who loves unashamedly
and naked and like an ember
like a forest fire
like a jellyfish
like a navigator of the seas
like a throbbing heart
like a delicate daughter,
perhaps everything all at once
everything and everyone that ever breathed in my vicinity
perhaps an amalgamation of all the creatures leaping in my chest,
scraping at my rib cage—thoughts dying to be uttered
said
muttered.

perhaps no one.
started with the first lines on may seventh and now i finished it today when i was bored in class.

i wrote this while thinking about someone, it’s funny that people don’t even know i’m writing about them haha. sometimes i don’t know who i am and i do stupid stuff. idek, enjoy this poem.

5/20/24
#me
Jeremy Betts May 2024
Hear ye! Hear ye!
Know me and hear me
Oh but please don't look over here at me
What a thing to say, but see
I don't want to be seen, my plea
It feels kinda cheesy
I thought it'd be easy
But it just got so messy so quickly
And the harder I try the more it eludes me
You can't live a life heard but not seen and not be seen as a cautionary
A tale of a someone broken mentally trying to use hurt and pain creatively
Never taken seriously,
Kinda gimmicky
Ultimately a one trick pony
I know it but it hurts still when it's throw back at me
I can't handle the cheeky hostility
So openly hidden in the commentary
It can't be avoided but it's also not necessary
Maybe this isn't for me
Or what's more likely,
Is it's probably not that bad actually
Ah, gee,
Yeah, nevermind, sorry everybody...
I just noticed it's only my insecurity ripping at me
My apology

©2024
Lydia May 2024
when the alarm goes off I hit snooze two too many times
now I’ve overslept by twenty minutes
I look at myself in the mirror and run a brush through my hair and think
Well at least my hair is behaving today
Lydia May 2024
to see the parts of me that are melancholy and depressed
as beautiful or bewildering
would be too much of a compliment to myself,
the words sing to my soul,
describe me so perfectly I rename myself with the formations of these letters until I become them,
I have spent my whole life as the color blue, melting into puddles every chance I get,
I’ll look down just in case
so you don’t see me,
my eyes give me away, by
reflecting the blue on the inside that drowns me in my feelings
Pulling this one from my drafts. Sorry all of my poetry is so depressing
Jess May 2024
These thoughts
so dark
These visions
so bright
One cannot exist
without the other in line
Like the stars that shine
through empty space
Don't  you  see  it?

                         The
D u a l i t y
                 Of
L i f e

The                            
B a l a n c e
                 Of
L i f e

We hold the key
To destroy                                            
                                          To create

But to wield
such power

Who are we and
Who are

You
And that is the Journey of life. To find who we are, or rather, to remember who we are.
The stars shine in a vast nothingness.
the heat creates light and form, and with the right mix...eventually you get...life.
If there is no meaning, then what's the point?
Randomness breeds Nihilism.
And that breeds despair along with all of it's cousins,
creating a chain reaction.
As within, so Without. As above, So below.

We are responsible for what we create, weather we know it or not.

Artists create through pain, but also create through joy and love. We have intense emotions. They are both a gift and a curse.
We have the ability to transmute.
Everyone does in some way.
I think therefore I am. I speak, therefore I create.
What you think creates the world you live in. What you speak forms it into existence.
How we use it is up to us.
There is a blessing in every curse
and a curse in every blessing.
Otherwise, how would we know anything without it's opposite?

*If I don't believe in something beautiful than I will fall into myself into utter destruction and ruin and fall into the darkest depths my thoughts can fathom.
Seeing the beauty in the smallest of things keeps me...alive. It keeps me here it keeps me from falling, it keeps me from making myself disappear. Sometimes I want to die. Other times I feel nothing.
But what pulls me out of that is seeing the beauty of things,
the balance, the compassion.
Sometimes I need to fall really hard again to see it once again.
Because every so often, i need to be reminded of just how beautiful things are,
but to do that I need to pull myself through the darkest depths of myself and face the hell i created for myself to remember what the light once looked like.
Such is life. In all things.
But that's just what I think.
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