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Title : Deep and Meaningful

A begger sits on the street
How different can he be from us
He breathes
He eats
He dreams
He lives
He is a diamond in the rough
He is an unpolished penny
He is a -

I’m sorry.
I can’t do this anymore
I can pretend to be deep and meaningful
Pretend my poetry has a purpose
Pretend like my usage of metaphor
Says something deep about my soul
When all I’m really doing is going down a list
From seventh grade
Listing all the things I can do in poetry
“Literary Devices
It’s like food
With spices”

I don’t want to feel smug
When people look at me
And say
“That’s deep”
And pretend like I’m some sort of visionary.
I could write a poem called
“Ravens in a Coal Mine at Midnight”
And describe
My quote-unquote soul and emotions
And act deep and profound
When describing my inner thoughts
In prose that sounds like I just
Followed the three-step poetry plan

Step One:
Talk about what you’re feeling
or thinking about.
It could be about School
It could be about your feelings
Extra points from teacher
If you talk about a social justice topic
Like “Autism”
Or “Depression”
A-plus if you talk about
something meaningless
Like a random encounter at night
Or a chair you bought from Ikea

Step ‘Twah
Find some words in your poem
Like “the car” or
“My feelings”
And replace them with words
That basically describe it
How a liberal arts major would
Replace “car”
With “Growling metal steed”
And “my feelings”
With “ten pound weights around my soul”
You get bonus points
If you use 10 lines
To describe something
You could say in 2 words

Step 3:

You could call this a roast
Of all you people who are better at poetry than me
You could say I’m jealous

I’m not

You could psycho-analyze me
Say it’s some repressed feelings

They’re not.

You could simply say I’m being rude
And you know what?

I am.

Because poetry is just like painting
You could throw hours of work
Carefully composing the colors
The lines and the feelings
The flow of the brush.
Or you could take a spoon
Fill it with paint and throw it at the canvas
You can’t tell the garbage from the art.
What took time
What took blood
What took sweat
What took tears
What took a lifetime of cooking in a pot
What took hours of simmering in quiet contemplation
What took an actual artist actual thought and actually expression
Is indistinguishable
From what took an asshat like me
Twenty minutes on Google docs
Ten of which were used to choose a font
Thinking about how to break up lines
Of what essentially is a paragraph
To make it sound “poemish”
The garbage looks just like the “art”
Just like Jackson Pollock.
I guess what I’m trying to say
F*ck AP Art History.

(Sorry if that comes off as assholish. I wrote this a while ago and I was reminded about it when this thread popped up again)
It could've been

I took mushrooms again
To find myself
Or maybe just as another escape
Escape I did
It wasn't pleasant
It didn't give me much
A bunch of thoughts that don't make sense
Another dream I've yet to wake up from
Another reason for those in my support system
To get concerned
For my well being

Well, being that I'm pretty sure I'm alive
I think it's going alright

How it went?
Oh, it was something like scary, and sad, and strange, and pleasant
A bunch of nonsense again, I guess
I try to interpret it
With bits of information
I can process

At times it felt like that hallway in PT
Or groundhogs day
My life and how it is
And again
And again
And again

Base 10
And back again

A dot
A line
Concentric circles
Hyper shapes
And somehow back to where we started

Back to the game
Back to my awkward thoughts
Back to my awkward tics
And the wrong things become everything

Back to the door
Back to another cigarette
Back to bed
Back to check my phone
Back to struggle with a simple task for much too long
Back to negative thoughts of other people
Of my friends
Of myself

Back to my own head
Thoughts that make
And less
And less
And less

Back to that red eye
Back to it's just a little one
Back to thought loops
Back to that's amazing
Back to that's stupid
Back to the end
Back to this is the end
Back to this is everything
Back to you are no one
Back to hyperautoastropseudopsychoanalyzation
Back to everything
Back to nothing
Back to thought loops, thought loops, thought loops
Back to this happens all the time
Back to my mind
Back to this is just a little one
And again
And again
And again

It felt like days
It felt like weeks
It felt immeasurable
It didn't feel like me

I got out at some point
I can't tell you what I did
Or what I learned from it
This time

I think I fell asleep
But I don't remember my dream
I just remember getting up at some point
To some chill guitar in the other room
To my friend
Yes my friend
Saying that they were glad I was back
And I don't know how I felt about it
Or anything

A bunch of thoughts that don't make sense
Another dream I've yet to wake up from
Another reason for those in my support system
To get concerned
For my well being
And again
And again
And again
And then it ends
In the water;
My body by my arms
From one rock to another.
What started out so innocent,
Jumping from rock to rock and
Playing in the water
That now became a river
In which I nearly fell
In which I nearly drowned.
Bedsheets engulf from foot to head while
Hands reach frantically about the cotton cave
Grasping for the warmth of one who is absent,
Smelling the breath of comfort on the chest,
Knowing closed-eye blackness awaits after
The panting end.
This is a haiku
I'm not good at poetry
Please do not judge me
Air tearing at lungs
Sunlight burning the retina
The bed with just yourself taunts and calls
Back to sleep while brine inflames the eyelids and cheeks
Only stifled by yawns and distaste for the day
Greeting all with murmurs that poorly hide your anguish.
Air tearing at lungs
Sunlight burning the retina
The bed with just yourself taunts and calls
Back to sleep while brine inflames the eyelids and cheeks
Only stifled by yawns and distaste for the day
Greeting all with murmurs that poorly hide your anguish.

tbh idk what the internet etiquette for replying to forum posts is but just wanted to say that is a really powerful opening line, I love it. Air tearing at lungs, that is very good nice job
Woah thanks dude
feeling fleeting feelings
that flutter in the snow
flakes fly all around us
a flurry to behold

we were falling freely
when warmth embraced by cold
wandered, wavered, whimpered,
did melt and then no more
I'm Sorry I'm twisted,
I'm sorry I'm broken,
I'm sorry I'm tested.
I'm alone desiring remission.

I know kids who cut their skin
Thinking their life has no clarity,
While people get under their skin,
Is it what they are meant to be?

I was once like them you know,
I thought what they did in their heart,
But as I got older my pain began to grow.
Youth was only the start.

Some how I am still alive,
I've lived past my expectation.
Everyone around me starts to thrive,
How will I reach their expectation?

Maybe I make no sense and sound irrational,
But for once I hope you understand,
But depression is international,
And I've lived years longer than I planned.

I thought that I'd already be long gone!
I hate myself and wish I were dead!
Nobody sees I stand alone!
You don't know what goes on in my head!
IDK if this is a poem but... whatever!

Future Plans
I'd like to live in a small, pleasant, midwestern metropolitan area. I'll make lifelong friends together and our kids will play together. I'll stay in that same town for the rest of my life and move to another country.
My career will be accounting and I'll head into it straight after college but I'll have been a cross-county truck driver. As a stable, loyal, and committed worker I'll move up in my career and also have been a piolet and flight attendant .
I'll come out to my parents about my religion and become a nun to hide my identity from my parents. I'll send my parents the essay I wrote Junior year and maintain a healthy and strong relationship with them for the rest of their lives.
I will NEVER have kids, but I'll adopt and my best friend's families will go on vacation with my family.

I'll hold on to who I am now, but I'll grow, change, evolve to become a better me.

I'll come to terms with reality but still believe in silly things,

And have the perfect life without ever expecting myself to be perfect.
I'll wake up earlier and get to sleep in.

They wouldn't want it any other way because they never wanted it a way in the first place.
Idk if I'm supposed to give feedback but I hope that you wrote that like that purposefully. In case you didn't, I wont elaborate. I'm very sorry have a nice day.
Pained eyes gaze upon
An illuminated popcorn ceiling
Revealing the mess on the abdomen
Produced in the just experienced darkness,
Uncovering realities missed
In the witching hour’s waking dreams,
Reminding over and over
Of the futility in searching
For comfort in sweaty faces
Behind a glowing screen.

Yes I am gross.
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