the Hello Poetry portrait gallery
is becoming full of empty frames
what individuals had a hand
in these harassment games

we've been deprived of many
talented written contributions
the villainous mob most adroit
with their unwarranted executions

blank boxes tell of an almighty
mischief being awfully made
by they who are wanting
to garner every accolade

under a serious threat our
fraternity of poets are thus far
and of seeing unfilled cubes
there leaves a permanent scar

  Mar 15  Dean Rhetoric
beth stclair

cloud of dark
skies, where
the hollows
of the night
unwind
their
flowing
streams,

boy, you
make me feel
alive,
i am your
dream,

unravel
the stars at
my feet,

push me
against a wall,

burn into me
like mist.

#love  
  Mar 14  Dean Rhetoric
Thea O
Thea O
Mar 14

FULL MOON

EXT. ANYWHERE

Albino night
flops around on the pallid
cold granite
in manner of pikes
gasping for liquid breath, until
it resembles anything
that's ever died its death.                           CUT TO:

EXT. ELSEWHERE

Doris the Day
smoothes her polka
dot skirt, checks her teeth
for crimson and high fives the earth
on her stilts.                                                 BACK TO:

EXT. ANYWHERE

Albino night lies
in the puddle of white,
quietly glistening,
a shoal of the run aground light.

  Mar 8  Dean Rhetoric
Alyce Black

At 2:30 this morning
I was jerked from a
steamy
erotic dream
back to my cold
dark
bedroom and I reached
for my vibrator
hiding the soft
buzzzzz
of my shame under
the thick
covers

I opened my phone
to browse
erotica and the
plan
was to take my time
and
start my morning right
five hours later
it's morning
and my vibrator lays
forgotten
on it's side
because Google has led me
on multiple searches
(one after another after
another after
another
after)
and now
I'm reading reddit threads
of breakup stories
because it still hurts
(less,
but still)

Eroticisizing
emotional trauma
is definitely
a healthy
coping mechanism
but for some reason
I can't get off
to anything
this morning
so I guess
I'll go back
to sleep

Nothing makes me more nauseous than 7 consecutive ruined orgasms. I need help.

My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.

 
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