Brian O'blivion
Brian O'blivion
Jul 1, 2013

and watch it burn

Terra Lopez
Terra Lopez
May 31, 2014

in a perfect world

what if i were a blonde bombshell
Ashley Garza
Ashley Garza
May 13, 2013      May 14, 2013

what if i were a blonde bombshell

would it be different if i changed

would it be a little better

could i be a pulse on your radar

a blip on the screen

a little bit of static flipping through the channels

or maybe just me

could i have a place in line

a moment of your time

would it be different if i changed?

patient yet forlorn on saint valentine's day

Marshall CB Hiatt
Marshall CB Hiatt
Mar 24, 2014

People wonder why I forgive.
I wonder why they don't.
Mistakes are taken.
They happen.
It is a duty,
A necessity to forgive.
To apologize for others,
When they won't for herself.

My dad asks me why I let myself get used,
I tell him
We use amazing things every day and smile.
He doesn't get it.

Every plus has a minus.

Julie Butler
Julie Butler
Nov 11, 2014

I guess I know just what you're thinking
But you know not of what I do
When I'm sitting in my room
Daydreaming only about you
I guess you feel a little foolish
I guess I acted like a fool
I wish you knew how I was feeling
I wish you knew it's all for you

Bobby Bachelor
Dec 9, 2014      Dec 11, 2014

I just lay my head down sometimes
It just becomes too much
To deal with

It's like
I can't feel whole
Like something important is missing
I'm just left with this

I don't know anymore

#moments   #blonde  
Taite A
Sep 4, 2012

having decided that your duty is to bring music
and a little bit of danger to the lifeless streets

of suburbia, you draw yourself up as a rebel with a cause,
hold your arms out like the spirals of the milky way,

sending the glowing children congregating around you
into a feverish whirl, because space is curved

and so are the suburbs you traversed across to bring them here,
winding through hills and streets to conduct

this sermon on a mount, so even the things that
appear to move straight are really spinning around.

you have stolen your father’s turntable,
and his old records, and his oversized coat,

and while the sunset begins to stain things
in a golden light, you put the needle

on the vinyl and open old wounds
while the only voice you have ever loved

claws its way out of the box and into
the grooves of the sky, making the stars

scratch and whir, and time instead
settles into the beats, breaks its lineage,

and begins to, like everything, spin.

Mar 21, 2014

You're love.
You're the bite, the sting...
the words that are hanging on my jaw.

You're my little bird.

To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment