Poetry competition CLOSED 21st June 2021 12:36pm
WINNER
Kaden_Malis (Kaden Malis)
Kaden_Malis (Kaden Malis)
RUNNERS-UP:
DCLXVI_1989
and inechoingsilence
DEPRESSION
Inside out
Life is so meaningness
Damp and awkward
Effort so senseless
Disappointment like clockwork
I wonder when it was
That I lost my Grit
Why the all thesepieces
That refuse to fit
Is it payback for Deeds
Gone unpunished
Slaughter and Theft
as i dug through the rubbish
Damp and awkward
Effort so senseless
Disappointment like clockwork
I wonder when it was
That I lost my Grit
Why the all thesepieces
That refuse to fit
Is it payback for Deeds
Gone unpunished
Slaughter and Theft
as i dug through the rubbish
Written by Joewaynejoe
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Steer by the Stars
There you are, exactly where I used to be
At the same age and time
Looking at the waves and rage of the sea
Hoping for a ray of sunshine
There you are, standing at the top of the cliff
Staring into the cold abyss
Gazing endlessly like you’re wondering if
All of this will go amiss
There you are, with profound compassion
Delicate fractured soul
Hiding behind a smile with closed caption
Trying to find your role
The answers will come to you in time if you’re patient
You’ll learn to steer by the stars on those darker nights
But remember never settle for less or become complacent
And most importantly, never lose the will to fight
I can see your smile by the light of the new moon
Here you are, you’re almost out of your cocoon
139 Words
92 Unique
Written by wallyroo92
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Gaia
Sometimes I think that the world would be a better place without me in it,
That the heavens would sing at my arrival and the world herself would sigh in relief.
I think that when the gods made me they made me for something else, something more.
It is as if everything I am made up of, all of the pain and the tears and the anguish,
It is as if it was not designed for this place, that the world herself could not hold me still in her whooshing arms.
I sometimes believe that the ones i love and know would be happier with me gone,
That they too would sigh in relief, knowing that I was looking down through the heavens and the stars.
That they would move on, leaving me alone to lie in peace for the rest of my days.
I sometimes think that world herself has given up on me too,
That she has tried to build me up with nothing but carcasses and sunlight,
And yet the darkness that lives within the cavern of my being swallows it up too quickly.
I sometimes wish, hope, and even think that I will be brave enough to join the skies and stars,
To become one of the lost souls that the earth herself can no longer hold on to.
But I never do.
That the heavens would sing at my arrival and the world herself would sigh in relief.
I think that when the gods made me they made me for something else, something more.
It is as if everything I am made up of, all of the pain and the tears and the anguish,
It is as if it was not designed for this place, that the world herself could not hold me still in her whooshing arms.
I sometimes believe that the ones i love and know would be happier with me gone,
That they too would sigh in relief, knowing that I was looking down through the heavens and the stars.
That they would move on, leaving me alone to lie in peace for the rest of my days.
I sometimes think that world herself has given up on me too,
That she has tried to build me up with nothing but carcasses and sunlight,
And yet the darkness that lives within the cavern of my being swallows it up too quickly.
I sometimes wish, hope, and even think that I will be brave enough to join the skies and stars,
To become one of the lost souls that the earth herself can no longer hold on to.
But I never do.
Written by Fallen_Angel_194
(Angel.)
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What does depression feel like?
Depression feels like empty emotionless evenings lying in bed, too tired to even eat.
It feels like not having the strength to shower or brush my teeth, to even breathe.
He feels like a never ending nightmare, except that I am completely and truly awake.
Depression is begging unseen forces to take you away, to end it all.
He is like suffocating on land, choking on the air that I am breathing through my lungs,
He is every unfinished conversation that I have ever had, every unspoken confession.
He has stitched my tongue to the roof of my mouth so that I cannot speak,
He has taken my mind body and soul away, leaving nothing but a husk of what I was.
Depression feels like wanting to be held by my mother, but not having the strength to move or even stand.
He feels like an anchor chained to the base of my lungs, stealing my air each time.
He feels like unwashed laundry and a room so dirty that all I can do is cry.
Depression feels like truly dying, being on the brink of what I assume is death,
Coming so close to being over and done with, and then at a moment's notice,
He is gone, and the weight of the world upon my chest has vanished.
But I cannot be happy yet, because I sit and wonder when he'll strike next,
When he'll come back to me again.
It feels like not having the strength to shower or brush my teeth, to even breathe.
He feels like a never ending nightmare, except that I am completely and truly awake.
Depression is begging unseen forces to take you away, to end it all.
He is like suffocating on land, choking on the air that I am breathing through my lungs,
He is every unfinished conversation that I have ever had, every unspoken confession.
He has stitched my tongue to the roof of my mouth so that I cannot speak,
He has taken my mind body and soul away, leaving nothing but a husk of what I was.
Depression feels like wanting to be held by my mother, but not having the strength to move or even stand.
He feels like an anchor chained to the base of my lungs, stealing my air each time.
He feels like unwashed laundry and a room so dirty that all I can do is cry.
Depression feels like truly dying, being on the brink of what I assume is death,
Coming so close to being over and done with, and then at a moment's notice,
He is gone, and the weight of the world upon my chest has vanished.
But I cannot be happy yet, because I sit and wonder when he'll strike next,
When he'll come back to me again.
Written by Fallen_Angel_194
(Angel.)
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Related submission no longer exists.
Beautiful Black Flowers
(I wrote this piece during the year after my mom died and I was off meds, could not pay my bills on my foreclosed home, and spent my days talking to men around the world on porn sites. Thanks.)
Every house on my street is neat
And green and trim and linear
Like something out of a Tim Burton
Or John Hughes film.
But I imagine the grass in my yard,
Dry and yellow and overgrown,
To be opening its million tiny mouths,
Thirsty. Water, please.
Help.
Please.
I am female. This morning I am ripe,
I smell of blood and longing
And womanly things. I burn
And melt in adoration.
Surely everything I touch
On my destination within this
Quiet house must be scorched.
There must be a million tiny black marks
Of my strange consciousness
Everywhere.
My mother's ashes lie beneath
My brother's bathroom sink.
I ache to sift my hands through them.
Mommy. I have questions.
Do you have answers.
I feel like a mother doting on children
Who secretly despise her
And can't wait to leave the house.
My heart races in my chest.
I hear a thousand times a day,
Help me. Mommy.
Help.
Me.
Last night I dreamed
I had a thousand sons.
They were somehow all immigrants,
Taking a boat to America
To begin a new life.
I stood on the pier, waving,
I wanted to speak but my voice
Wouldn't emerge.
Don't forget me, I cried out in my head,
Don't forget me because I loved you.
But their heads were already
Turned away, something new
And exciting awaited them.
Now, beautiful black flowers of mold
Blossom on the walls.
There is always a taste in my mouth,
Some essence that lingers.
I wonder if little things have taken root
Inside my brain and slowly, softly fester.
I smell of things right and not
Quite right. Perfume from yesterday,
That strange metallic scent of woman.
It jars and snags the air.
It's a fecund smell, it's rich
In something fertile and lush and full.
But it's stale, its purpose is finished.
Every month something leaves my body That could have been human.
For some reason things are glitched.
There are skips and bumps in nature.
Nothing human will ever come
From me again.
I will begin to move now.
It is automatic, autonomic, it churns
And clanks into gear without thought
Or much programming.
I think I can hear the grass today.
It's so thirsty. Please, it screams,
And all the voices from a million
Tiny mouths are cracked and parched.
A million tiny answering mouths
Inside me are opening
Like horrible flowers,
Trying to find their voice.
I'm so thirsty, they cry.
Please help.
Answers.
Answers.
https://youtu.be/VrbhhoSMw04
Every house on my street is neat
And green and trim and linear
Like something out of a Tim Burton
Or John Hughes film.
But I imagine the grass in my yard,
Dry and yellow and overgrown,
To be opening its million tiny mouths,
Thirsty. Water, please.
Help.
Please.
I am female. This morning I am ripe,
I smell of blood and longing
And womanly things. I burn
And melt in adoration.
Surely everything I touch
On my destination within this
Quiet house must be scorched.
There must be a million tiny black marks
Of my strange consciousness
Everywhere.
My mother's ashes lie beneath
My brother's bathroom sink.
I ache to sift my hands through them.
Mommy. I have questions.
Do you have answers.
I feel like a mother doting on children
Who secretly despise her
And can't wait to leave the house.
My heart races in my chest.
I hear a thousand times a day,
Help me. Mommy.
Help.
Me.
Last night I dreamed
I had a thousand sons.
They were somehow all immigrants,
Taking a boat to America
To begin a new life.
I stood on the pier, waving,
I wanted to speak but my voice
Wouldn't emerge.
Don't forget me, I cried out in my head,
Don't forget me because I loved you.
But their heads were already
Turned away, something new
And exciting awaited them.
Now, beautiful black flowers of mold
Blossom on the walls.
There is always a taste in my mouth,
Some essence that lingers.
I wonder if little things have taken root
Inside my brain and slowly, softly fester.
I smell of things right and not
Quite right. Perfume from yesterday,
That strange metallic scent of woman.
It jars and snags the air.
It's a fecund smell, it's rich
In something fertile and lush and full.
But it's stale, its purpose is finished.
Every month something leaves my body That could have been human.
For some reason things are glitched.
There are skips and bumps in nature.
Nothing human will ever come
From me again.
I will begin to move now.
It is automatic, autonomic, it churns
And clanks into gear without thought
Or much programming.
I think I can hear the grass today.
It's so thirsty. Please, it screams,
And all the voices from a million
Tiny mouths are cracked and parched.
A million tiny answering mouths
Inside me are opening
Like horrible flowers,
Trying to find their voice.
I'm so thirsty, they cry.
Please help.
Answers.
Answers.
https://youtu.be/VrbhhoSMw04
Written by toniscales
(Lost Girl)
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Drifting back to you
No matter what..
My Mind dirfts back to you.
A single thought,
Brings back a flood of memories
No matter how much it hurts to remember..
My mind drifts back to you.
And I'll sit in silence,
While the hole in my chest gets bigger
My sorrow leaking out
My Mind Drifting Back To You.
R.I.P
My Mind dirfts back to you.
A single thought,
Brings back a flood of memories
No matter how much it hurts to remember..
My mind drifts back to you.
And I'll sit in silence,
While the hole in my chest gets bigger
My sorrow leaking out
My Mind Drifting Back To You.
R.I.P
Written by Scarybutnotscared
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Lurk
You lurk
unnoticed
whispering from darkened corners
the lies that suck my energy
while strengthening your voice
You exert subtle influence
convincing me to choose
the soundtrack that feeds only you
while leaving me in damp melancholy
You tilt my world
imperceptibly
s l o w l y
until suddenly I find myself
half
way
down
a
scree
strewn
slope
sliding
gently
into
the pit
It would be easy not to fight
surrender to your silky welcome
but I know it's a mirage
what you really offer is torment
Still,
you lurk
and I'm tired.
unnoticed
whispering from darkened corners
the lies that suck my energy
while strengthening your voice
You exert subtle influence
convincing me to choose
the soundtrack that feeds only you
while leaving me in damp melancholy
You tilt my world
imperceptibly
s l o w l y
until suddenly I find myself
half
way
down
a
scree
strewn
slope
sliding
gently
into
the pit
It would be easy not to fight
surrender to your silky welcome
but I know it's a mirage
what you really offer is torment
Still,
you lurk
and I'm tired.
Written by brokentitanium
(k.)
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The Crow
There’s a dead crow hanging against a clear blue sky
(that’s my soul up there)
*
It’s been there for months.
Catching my eye on every drive home,
piquing my curiosity because
I can’t quite tell what it is from a moving car,
but I have my suspicions.
A feathery blackness in the crook of branches,
not shaken free by wind,
or weighed down by snow;
persistent through the seasons.
I’m obsessed with it.
My girl, who is yet unaware of true darkness
Says “mom, it’s just a piece of plastic, silly.”
But I know.
It is the little black spot in my soul,
lurking in the back of my consciousness
through every season of mood,
ready to rise up and peck at my heart.
Just a small speck on sunny days,
but then growing with its wings of dark night,
enveloping my face in feathers,
obstructing my vision,
gripping my core with its black decay.
*
There’s a little black spot on the sun today
(that’s my soul up there)
(that’s my soul up there)
*
It’s been there for months.
Catching my eye on every drive home,
piquing my curiosity because
I can’t quite tell what it is from a moving car,
but I have my suspicions.
A feathery blackness in the crook of branches,
not shaken free by wind,
or weighed down by snow;
persistent through the seasons.
I’m obsessed with it.
My girl, who is yet unaware of true darkness
Says “mom, it’s just a piece of plastic, silly.”
But I know.
It is the little black spot in my soul,
lurking in the back of my consciousness
through every season of mood,
ready to rise up and peck at my heart.
Just a small speck on sunny days,
but then growing with its wings of dark night,
enveloping my face in feathers,
obstructing my vision,
gripping my core with its black decay.
*
There’s a little black spot on the sun today
(that’s my soul up there)
Written by brokentitanium
(k.)
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Open Wound
My Face Is Bleeding
not blood
But the tears I shed
From the wounds of my eyes
Pouring Out My Pain
not blood
But the tears I shed
From the wounds of my eyes
Pouring Out My Pain
Written by Medinda
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