surreal poetry

Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.

Diary of a Homeless
For the streets have claimed me as one of its own. To get out is the goal. For these stinky and sticky clothes that cover my dirty skin is not for me. I will try everything in my power to not fall victim of it. To not become one more story is the thing I want. Poem after story, we hear and say so much about it. Have you lived it? The storm of thoughts that take over your being. For some, is just so much easier to beg and plead for money that you'll never know where it'll go. Food? Medicine? Habits? I'll never understand why and how someone can reach this level. But, no one will understand my reasons of being like this either. Hypocrite, I know. Hypocrisy is keeping these thoughts flowing and the mind going. This is what I like to call: "my own habits". My version of "Being in control". Pathetic, I know. This idea of working hard is just a blur to me. I desire to be in doors with a fan or AC full blast all over the house and have some kind of calm and peace for one day. I don't want to think about: "Where do I go next?" or should I say WE? Yes, We.
By Moon2 years ago in Poets
Wretched
The pain I left deep inside of me It resides in you so idly I can't stay to watch you grieve Let go or watch me leave Best to let you be
By Erianna Gilliam2 years ago in Poets
Why is it still dawn? . Top Story - July 2024.
It's an understatement to call it the naked truth Whereas it nakens inferior parts of us that have been scorched by the naked truth. I'm entitled to the gratitude of these thoughts They help keep me entertained While pain is the most forced about Entertainment of ages that our hearts keep being glued too. Why do I try to run away from something that knows my end to finish? I'm troubled by the past that keeps on predicting my future. Having a good heart only led me astray But - why is it still Dawn? If I've got guardian angels watching over me Bottled up emotions turned to ashes Meant to be thrown away into the ocean. Trying to revive the energy of my living being I'm stuck between knowing our failures and rewriting better explanations for old mistakes. The explicit bandage exposing our wounds has us feeling dead while we're told to - Breath. If hell really exists then going to heaven would be my greatest sin I'm not fond around people that try to justify the good things one can achieve if they follow the - Word. The word is what you make of it And I've not only lost hope but the real definition seems to have lost it's meaning. But here is another word with a crucified meaning - Why Is It Still Dawn?
By Irvin 2 years ago in Poets
A misfit design
Consider me your least favorite clothing item worn out in your wardrobe The only time you put me on is when you create a facade of lost hope Drenched with darkness from your mind for how you think of me My eyes a window to my soul The silence liberates the atmosphere for we cannot afford to wake up demons we've put to bed The clock on the wall rotates Anti-clockwise, because we live reality in the past Unforseen sequential patterns of thought occur, reshaping the perceptions we have of ourselves within We start to view ourselves from a third person perspective, for how we tell a narrative without the inclusion of our faults Persueing the masses to our favored judgement How was the end become a plot with us starring as guest characters Every memory of us like a fatal accident, certainly has led to the death of my heart Wandering the after-life of a love vendetta More souls seem lost in a villainous conscious Being led by pain, their context of grieve highlights a file line of dying sane Living the present moment only to have an alterior motive to being absent in our past-scripted dialogues So identical in bondage of our minds it feels like this pain was self-inflicted I am my own mirror victim An author of a story with words I trail down to the depths our their convention The very same words I've said to you containing empty spaces of completion
By Irvin 2 years ago in Poets
Cost of Hope
I once held stars within my palms, Their light a promise yet unfurled. But time, it seems, had other plans, As reality around me swirled.
By Ravi D2 years ago in Poets
Detach
Nothing and nobody is definite. That’s challenging to your ego right? Your ego won’t let you believe that there is no definitive ANYTHING.
By Nomfundo Gumede2 years ago in Poets
The Question: What Kind of Illiterate Are You?
By standard terms, illiteracy means lacking the proper credentials to fit into modern society. But what if your literacy is someone else's illiteracy, and they mock your ignorance in their part of the world? Standards often ignore minorities, leading to conflicting definitions of literacy.
By Marcelinus Apakhade2 years ago in Poets
Gardening
Soil beneath my fingernails represents the flesh of the planet, mimicking the appearance of a hungry child devouring the flesh of a fresh pomegranate.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Poets
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Time, its restless skip With a chip on her shoulder "Why are you so vague, I need an answer Please dont make me beg
By jake c2 years ago in Poets
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The condescending neurotics With theyre bathrobe in a twist And world all squished The false idols have now Sold out to the cash cow
By jake c2 years ago in Poets
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Preaching from the choir But you cant get any higher It must be The boss Soldiers scream In a bellhops dream Dont fight my drawl
By jake c2 years ago in Poets
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Nowhere to hide The crowded shores of opportunity And a tidal wave of fear Try to move inland But find they are not welcome here
By jake c2 years ago in Poets