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Amanda Kay Burke Jun 2020
They say at the end of your rope to tie a knot and hold on

There is light touching the horizon

But what do you do when your grip slowly slips loose?

When insides of your palms are lubricated with sweat

And the crevasse below darker than a black hole

So much that it threatens to rise up and with one tug take you spiralling downwards to swallow you whole

So instead of making a knot at the bottom of your fraying rope you may as well tie a noose instead
The whole poem was really just written as buildup to the last line
NotThisBixch Jun 2020
"why are we always trying so hard?" my eyes shift towards my mother, and i say "when we are going to die anyways."  
"beti," says my mother as she walks up to me and sits next to me holding me in her arms, she continues "it's because most of the time we're striving so hard isn't for ourselves, it's for the people we love."
i miss my mum so much <3
MS Anjaan May 2020
Our most clear and beautiful image
Is situated in our heart and imaginations..
So I say-
Be that, you are in your imaginations
You will be unique
Most of peoples have a glorious image of themselves in their imagination they should try to be that
If
If I had stoped doubting
And just kept myself contented
With what you were willing to offer
Would we have not
Lost it all?

If I did not try too hard
And cried as I yearned for you
In times we were apart
Would you have stayed
In my trembling arms?
Shrika May 2020

~ rewind, replay,
regret, repeat. ~


I stop on this
crafty bridge of time,

scraping my nails
against
the rails of reasons
piercing my gut,

scarring
my already
withered psyche,

clouding my
tarnished mind,

clawing at my
distorted reality,
excruciatingly;

questioning
my existence .


Today it changes.
Sometimes, thoughts are my own enemies, trying to learn some positivity.
rarae aves May 2020
To comfort me
You judge before you listen..
advise before you understand..
the rush to share
your challenges & success stories
because you’ve been through worse..
and now, you know it all.
So very admirable, no doubt!!
But wait.. you were here to comfort me,
not blow your own trumpet!
Isaac May 2020
Seize the speedway.
Try going outdoors.
For at the end of the day
This day was yours.
Written 20 May 2020
Yashri May 2020
The cracking of your bones,
sounds you hear when you crouch.
Trying to protect yourself from whom?
Your spine can bend
and extend
no further, protruding out
ready to snap, you twist and you moan and you groan
when will this stop?


You feel as frail as a bird
One that has fallen after its very first flight


The cracks are what you hear
when hope is lost.
You feel like your weakening will
can weaken
no further.


stop
just stop.


Listen here
Don’t listen to yourself breaking
Don’t slip through these cracks
Standing up is now your cause
Hope is not lost
So sit up and straighten your back


The more you crouch, the more it hurts
That corner you’re attached to is not your solace
or quiet place
you crouch there, only in the cold embrace
of your crumpled shirt


Corners don’t shelter you from your fears;
they cage you in with them.
They widen and stretch the cracks on your skin
Allowing pain and judgement to seep in
Cracks are gateways letting the water in…
Water that dampens your flame, your fire
and Hope
a precious thing


You’re hidden yet left wide open
Stuck in purgatory
This liminal hell
You hear the tolling of your own death knell


Are these cracks the
pain before your rebirth
the shedding and flaking
of your skin
which will leave you behind, a rejuvenated being?


You decide if these cracks will only exist
as a reminiscence of the passing pains
or will your thoughts dictate
that these cracks originate
from the epicentre of who you are?


Will you let this cancer-like spreading of the cracks continue?
Or will you stand up and straighten your back
To close up the cracks
and save you from You
This poem is an inner dialouge. It is about facing your fears and getting back up after. Feeling like a failure makes you vulnerable and afraid and it cracks open a pandora's box filled with self-loathing and doubt. The poem is about acknowledging the pain and facing it.
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