forum Poetry
Started by @Knight-Shives group
tune

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anthology anxiety

There is a callous on my left hand
It says
“This person is a writer”
It lies.
I am not.
I’m a mess;
A recorder of thoughts,
Using words to cope
With the melancholy thoughts
That invade my brainspace
Until they spill over
And case a tsunami’s worth of damage.
i just want them to stop…
My callous lies;
I am not a writer.

i read this at the open mic last night! it's definitely not my best work but uh- i like it

@darling-velocipede group

hi so i don't really come on notebook much atm, but if you miss seeing my poetry ig you could dm me for my discord tag? anyway hope y'all are having a lovely time on this planet

@Elder-God-Whisper work

CATHARSIS:

There’s a relief that comes,
When you realize you cannot care,
And that’s it’s okay and that,
You don’t own anyone your share.

But I’m still reaching that point,
Attempting to live for myself,
Because I’m learning to care for me,
And can’t help you help yourself.

I’m slowly arriving at my station,
The first one on my path,
And will get off soon to explore,
And escape an abusive wrath.

@Tired-but-passionate

O Lord of Time
He pulls the strings
Controlling my every movement
Pulling me and the rest of humanity relentlessly forward
You’re running out of time, he says
Nothing lasts forever
Of course not, I think, and yet here I am
Wishing time didn’t exist
Time creates order, they say
Without it, madness would descend
And the universe as we know it would cease to exist
Sure, I think
But humanity has become obsessed with time
A society of schedules, dates, and agendas
Controlling how we think about the future
Perhaps that is also
A fear of mine;
Running out of time
I want to slow down
While my mind runs a million miles an hour
But Time grabs my shoulders, pushes me onward
Move, move
Make haste, make haste
Time waits for no one
Time doesn’t care
About how tired you feel in the morning
Time doesn’t care
That you stayed up till 11 to finish an assignment
The Lord of Time is indifferent
To humanity’s affairs
He only knows that
Humanity bends to his will
And that is how it will always be

@ElderGodSwimwithGamers group

A Puppet

I am not my own
The strings attached to my arms
My legs they move on their own
I’m screaming
But the strings keep me smiling
Even as I look out now


Blind

I cannot see
The petals blind me as I march on


Minds

I am in a prison of my own making-
Or is it my parents’?
Every movement is lost to me-
Or to the world?
Who knows, but the strings are there
The puppet master-
Or masters?
Are ‘they’ just a machine-
Or a ghost?


Not

What a beautiful girl
But I’m not, I am an ugly man
This dress is weaved from spider’s legs
The strings of their silk
I am paralyzed but still I go on
Pretty girl, won’t you sing us a song?
Ugly man, won’t you play a tune?
No I won’t but still I do


For You

My mind and body are not one
Is it really mine then?
This prison carries on
But I stood lost long ago