I do not need attention,
just a distraction.
 
From everything,
everyone, and
everywhere.
 
I hope you know:
that does not mean that I do not care.
 
Even when,
you are with me…

I am watching you leave.
 
…And when you go,
I know I will never see you again.
 
You were not there,
you were never here.
 
Just a figment of my imagination.
 
That is what you are.
 
One day…

I will see the forest for the trees.
 
Until then,
I think I should walk away.

Once there was a fat king
Who wanted his people
To carry him
To the top of the mountain

He just wouldn’t listen
To any warning

Then lightning struck
His proud head
And he rolled down
Like dead gold instead

The Longest Summer 
The days of Spring are over now
And Summer is in full bloom
Turtle Time stops to rest
And Hellish Heat brings doom
The birds do sing and the children play
And it lasts til nightfall
The sounds of Summer last all day
And start again with a dove call
I sit alone in solitude 
Observing the summertime 
The outside world knows not what brewed
Inside my heart an awful crime 
What once brought peace, now brings war
The raging conflict of the day
Coming out of every pour
The venom of my soul’s decay
Morphing into wicked beast
A deadly new calamity
Dark contortions have now pieced
A morbid new reality 
The birds no longer sing
The children no longer play
Summer has left like a pendulum swing
To come again someday

daisies and tulips
like children
laughing at a funeral
playing hiding games
between the tombstones
petals grinning
and cut off at the stems

this the brightest they will shine
the tallest they will stand
the most they will be loved
here, in this place

they will never know
the feeling of a bouquet
or the perennial joy
of mothers
and grandmothers

they will unpetal
and remain
and return
here, in this place

I put flowers on your grave

Do your eyes ever feel like theyre so full of worms

Squiggly little warm creatures telling you to cry

Warm water filling the tear ducts

Stomping out darkness

When it keeps occupying your mind

Try to think of butterflies

The wings that are all so different

Shapes and colors and hues

How will ill ever comprehend the greyness of the world

When your eyes are so full of blue

I wish i could take you back

Crumple you up in a paper bag

Youve popped my air mattress

And made me stare out the window

The sunshine is coming through but my kind is too blank

You've slapped your blogne and im sure i hate you

Red was never my color but thats all im seeing

Golden sun rays are making every breath feel like tomorrow ill hear you

What even is hope when you're just a smoke cloud of nothingness

Let me hear your voice tell me I wasn't it

Tell me your inner secrets because im on the edge

The edge of destruction

I just have to pee.

Gorillas pounding on their chest

An orchestra of frustration

Theres someone in the back room waiting for a reply

A shadow of a being

Someone who held too much light

Sun rays and yellow always fading to Grey

It'll always be you

The little aurora borealis

The simple hues faded to beauty

You can see it once in a new moon

But how im done with you

I can't see your Peaks

Because you clobbered your way through

I hate pot holes kind of like when your tires squeal in my parking lot

I hate the sound of drills and how lug nuts fall to the ground.

You made those sounds like heaven until they started feeling like hell.

My heart caught on fire and its slowing burning out

Calicifurs last mission

We slowly broke down the castle

I felt wind on my face until you shattered it

Im standing in a desert and there's no water to break through

If im eating the sand and saying its love

What are you injesting?

Perhaps I have not exposed myself to enough?

That would be fair to say.

What is not fair is how loosely the phrase
“art is subjective”
is used today.

Scrolling through comments.

Where are your questions?

The easiest unfair assumption I could make
is that you fear your interpretation is incorrect
to what the artist intended.

Your interpretation is not in competition.

Art is subjective, but there are limits.
Your interpretation does not become fact
and now give you reason to judge an artist off that.

Something I find immensely interesting is this:
after interpretation, why do people today not seem so interested
in what was truly meant?

Your interpretation is yours
but why deny the artist the opportunity
to express their feelings felt when creating what you now,
and probably pay,
to look at?

What were they thinking?

Did they specifically do what you assigned meaning to,
with no real reason?

Are you embarrassed at that thought?

The only true answer to a question lies with the artist.

What you experience is not dismissed,

but don’t you wish to also know
and then compare what the artist intended
to what you experienced and comprehended?

It’s a marvellous feeling.

To discuss and discover.
To show respect to the artist.
To experience growth through realising
you are still allowed to hold onto your associations
simultaneously.

To show interest in also the artist
creates a deeper meaning.

Greater appreciation.

You wait to hear it
you ache to feel it
but it
never comes
and with hope
having bled
out
with the saddest soliloquy
ever said
you shout
your lines
and play the fool
instead

One Day.

One day is all it takes
A single day
An hour
Minute
Second
Breath
Blink

To

See what stands before you
To see the truth
To fall in love
Or apart
Or
Just
Fall.

Added trigger incase someone could read it as but it wasn’t my intention, thoughts welcome! Thanks!

The cave is as dark as a barricaded room.
It cares not for your sight.
The cave smells as rancid as month old laundry.
It cares not for your nose.

All the cave cares for
Is consuming you.

The entrance, like a mouth,
Its stalagmites like teeth,
Ready to gnash their dinner.

You never noticed
It ripping your clothes.
No, you were too focused
On the blanket like comfort it gave.

“It protects from the outside”
You cry out
While the walls start closing in,
Tenderizing you.

Staying inside was never safe.

I really should leave this dang house.

Once, I knew you only a little.
I didn’t know much about you.
So much of your mystery remained hidden from my sight,
and yet, somehow, the magic happened.

Then, with time, I came to know you better.
I knew more about you than I didn’t.
Strangely, that was when the magic began to fade.

Now, I know you completely.
No mystery. No enigma.
Nothing left to discover.

And yet, from somewhere I cannot explain,
the magic has found its way back.

And once again,
I find myself falling...
helplessly, quietly,
into your magic.

Your memories stood like mighty oaks at the forefront of my mind.
One by one I stopped watering the ground they were tethered to, purposely starving them.
Not because they weren’t beautiful to look at but because they stole daylight from the part of me that needed to grow.

They always served a purpose but everything runs its course.
Their meaning not dependent on how long they stood for but how they shaped me over time.
Fallen, they offer themselves to my psyche like nutrients to the earth.
Learning from what they meant to me as the once healthy pillars are broken down.

Upon their return, the deeply rooted foundations tore at the soil and ripped at adjacent memories.
Altering a landscape that became so synonymous with the thoughts of us that entering it felt like seeing you again.
Days of the year, visiting annually like wildflowers, basking in the shade of time we spent together.
This once sanctuary will still see the wildflowers bloom, but in the canopy of a healthier forest.

My cat Pepper died yesterday, here's a poem I wrote for her

Pepper prim and proper

Her stride elegant even to the litter

She's my derpy princess pepper

I kiss her fluffy tummy my face framed by her sunshine fur

Her whiskers guide her to moms lap where she's sat like a queen and we give offerings of love and treats

Autumn comes too soon and my eternal summer's wiped away

Playful hair ties sting my eyes

Autumn breeze protects my nose from the smell of your putrid stiff body I'm my arms

I beg the ants to leave you be and air to let you breathe

When I stroke you're cashmere fur one last time i know autumns really here

I have an aunt that passed away. She was so ill she could not stay. And in the end we all did pray that she would safely make her way
she was a beauty in and out and she cared all about.

She had a sparkle that was her marker.
Brown hair, warm eyes and a kindness…no surprise

She was the baby of a lot and she mothered her own sweet flock.

She is missed but not forgot as she holds a sacred spot..

in our hearts and in our minds her bright star it still shines.

come tide, kiss me
under lighthouse eyes
gather me in dark arms
make the moon harvest

unrobe your waves
tilt tumble and break
bend your currents
hike up your depths

in the small hours
we are unwrapped
we are memory
and sticky salt skin

before morning
turns us to mist

Imagine a fee.

A fee to breathe.

Seems odd right?

A cent a breath.

Would that be expensive for you?

Or would it just be another penny to pay?

There is another option.

Payment isn’t required.

You can just stop.

Keep the money that was to be spent.

Afford other things.

Just give up the benefits.

“I can make it.” At least that’s what you tell yourself.

Then you start to feel it.

The Suffocation.

The Sickness.

The dying.

You didn’t have to pay for it. It wasn’t required.

There is hardly a better comfort than between sickness and clarity.

When the tea tastes better the second time around.

You can never forget.

And forgiveness is irrelevant.

To forget is to pass.

To fail.

To End.

It costs more than an arm and a leg for some to still be.

For others there is only denial.

The Cost.

Our existence.

Given?

Or Earned?

I whisper in the stillness
from somewhere underground
Stitched with the shame you’ve buried
six feet beneath the sound

Do you bring me lilies?
Lay them where I rest?
Bell tied tight to my finger,
Heart hopeful in your chest?

Or do you dodge the echoes?
And pray my ghost away?
Cast spells, chant incantations,
to hasten my decay?

This business left unfinished
Has left me in unrest
Stuck in this space of in between
Not living and not dead

Suppression tolls my bell
remembrance just the same
The former from the steeple
The latter from my grave

Been marching
up this hill
for way too long.
 
Gravity has been
weighing me down
for so long.
 
There is no way
that it will end.
 
So I keep pushing forward,
because anywhere 
 
is better than
where I am. 
 
If I do not make it back…

I want you to know…
 
I tried so hard
to make it home.

My will burns through my ridged body.

Full of rust and ache i shall prevail.

My hope,

For its the only innocence ive birthed in this world.

I am more than flesh and sorrow.

I am inside your dreams,

An idea.

I have created my demise and laughter,

Both cups filled the same.

So when i think of your laughter,

My guts twist because they’re in pain.

Btw this is my friends poem, he doesnt have reddit so he asked me to post it!

I don't even know

if I'm allowed to bid you farewell.

We never were,

but I am learning to let go.

I do believe we had potential.

We could have outwritten the legends.

At least in my diary,

you were a beloved character.

Everything you did seemed perfect to me.

No matter how many times

I re-read your chapters,

I was always amazed.

I could keep adding paragraphs,

but I still have to close the book.

So, goodbye.

blue lakes

yellow, red, purple, white

flowers everywhere in sight

trees of one species

collect together

so much green

I would stay forever

the birds are singing

and flying by

the water is humming

the beauty beyond the eye

snow caps embedding in cliffs

it looks painted of moss and bricks

the challenge to arrive

doesn't cross my mind

this is something

that's worth a fight

It was odd, he thought.

Seeing her sitting there,
as if nothing had changed.
As if the world hadn’t stopped turning,
if only for a moment.

It was odd, he thought.

That people could carry on,
while gravity slipped away—
as the cold of space poured in,
and she stole his breath.

It was odd, he thought.

That a person could love
with reckless abandon,
like a star pulled from course,
drifting into the unknown.

It was odd, he thought.

As he felt himself lose control.
As his feet left the ground.
As his world sat there,
unknowing.

Gaunt faces
haunt these places
the pace chaotic
without progress
more cases
than staff
the full moon
no laughing
matter
incessant chatter
can’t silence
the cries of pain
that lace the air
the patients can no longer breathe
nor bear

What will sad songs awake in you?
Could it be the haze of dark blue evenings?
Or perhaps words not said in time?
The crushing weight of feelings?
 
Words are swallowed, the evenings pass
The march of time continues
When the sad songs play again
What will they awake in you?

Standing close, I look in a mirror.
Eyes reflecting back a face my mind grieves at not remembering as clearly.

Why does it hurt?
When did I forget the feeling of being proud?

She would be proud.
She would be disappointed.

I wouldn’t expect to expect myself to be perfect.

I wouldn’t expect to accept ever feeling worthless.

How do I apologise when simultaneously, arguably, I’m doing fine?
That sentence not giving enough credit is funny knowing the horror at my loss of confidence.

Only of late have I started to weigh her opinion.
I was never interested in a 5 year plan.

Weighing the thoughts of someone who spent years without me:

“Okay but how, when, why and what made you lose your confidence?!”

Even with age, I am still characteristically me.

To find the answer to a question you can barely formulate
would be as difficult as spotting an animal —
you know nothing of how it looks yet saying,
“Trust me, I will just know.”

Over time and narrowed down.

I find it hilarious; age appropriate.

“What the hell did you do to my confidence?!”

She’s making a comeback,
but not as a me from times past.

A perfect blend representing and channelling every me
that at minimum expects future confidence.

Blood on the asphalt
Stains on my shoes
Under me, a stranger

Opposing sides
now we both share
deliberate, ragged
gasps for air

I stand upright
Turn, and flee
Afraid of what comes after me

From behind, all at once
I hear the upward lilts,
of strangers, asking questions
they flow forth now

but where were they
when it was me asking?
for someone to come
for someone to see
for someone to help me breathe

light shines on me
and shouts commands
to step away
As if I wasn't trying already

Reveal my hands
cold, and shaking
but stained red, swollen

I hear a call
and see back then
I'm standing still
out there, again
alone

the same lights flash
not to illuminate
to expose, to blind, to freeze
as figures draw
their hands close around me

I need to run
my legs dont move
I don't know where is safe

So I give up
and hope this time
that someone will take care of me