Alexis Martin
Alexis Martin
Jul 15, 2012

I want to sit in the soil
until my veins transform into roots
and reach through the Earth
clinging to nutrients
slowly my skin becomes petals
opening with the rise of each new day
basking in the glow of the sun

I want to sit in a jar
that you placed on your bedside table
on a warm summer afternoon
reminding you that I am forever yours
but as I slowly wilt and wither away
and you begin to lose interest in me
you will find a new love to call home

zowie conway
zowie conway
Oct 23, 2013      Oct 24, 2013

Resistance is a weed stunting the possibilities of us, our nature,
and the sun that resides in us all.
When we let go
we always move forwards.
And when we hurt we grow,
we heighten,
to a place that isn't initially seen,
as holding on doesn't want to recognise
you're no longer there.
The illusion of resistance crumbles
when we empty our hands,
when our hearts tell our minds
Just let go,
here we regain the power of trust,
of faith,
and the wild playground of our lives
prove joyful again.
To extend out with all we have
knowing this reach has reversed equally.
Dropping the weight like a stone
surrendering in the sea of life,
expanding further still as we sink,
knowing that holding on to that
which resists so much
is not ours to be held,
we are not to remain stunted
in a state of tug of war.
life around us says so,
we are to learn and beautify
as we rise,
as we fall
We mustn't resist.
And so we are,
so we shall be

Shandel Pruitt
Sep 12, 2009

look at me
i'm growing
& blooming
my mind is
the light
the dark
converting them
to energy
to fuel
my dreams
a process

D Lep
D Lep
Feb 27, 2012

Restless, restless
Exhaling a thousand sighs.
My wasted breath
this rotting fruit.
The seeds won't germinate
and I won't sleep.
Have the vines
choke 'til slumber.

Klara L
Klara L
Mar 12

I felt the leaves
on my tree
grow stronger
in your light
you should've warned me
that I shouldn't become
dependent of you
you should've warned me
that lights go out.

the titles are the only part of my poetry that I actually like ugh
Alejandro Medellin
Aug 13, 2013      Aug 13, 2013

Though not many birds,
still perch up on my branches,
I miss them more,
as the years turn into dust.
I miss the flock,
resting on my limbs,
tweeting at each other.
Rabid in their lust,
quiet in their departure.
It has been too many years,
since these leaves,
have been of any use.
Since i have been,
of any importance.
In the summers,
I was shade.
And those little kids,
would play tag.
When they got older,
they would read.
In the spring,
i was a treasure.
As I laid fruits upon their feet.
When they got older,
they would make mysterious drinks.
In the winter I was warmth.
They would hack me off,
and build a fire to tell stories.
When they got older,
they installed a furnace.
In the fall I was beauty,
if only for a moment,
as my tips turned into gold,
or a gorgeous shade of red.
Then I was naked.
When they got older,
they never admired my beauty.
For many decades,
I endured it all.
I was there when they were born,
I was there when they all left.
Or died or went to jail.
I used to be strong,
and absorb these frigid winds.
Which now threaten my boughs.
When i was a sapling,
i would hear,
“This one will be big.”
And i believed it too.
To have so much potential,
but never really amount to much.
I had the makings of a prodigy,
the tallest, strongest tree around,
but I failed myself.
Let alone those who,
believed in me as well.
I had it all not long ago,
but even trees get sad,
if there is no one,
to use us as we were meant.
What am i,
if not the past.
There is a future,
but im not sure,
I will survive.
They will say I died of frost.
but its been too long,
since ive heard a pretty song.
Or had laughs around my bark,
celebrations under my shade.
A simple admiration,
of my natural magnificence.
I will be another stump
on this cold earth.
But before i fall,
I would like to ask.
If a tree fell,
and no one heard it,
Did it serve a purpose?
Or a reason.
I will not live another season.

Feb 17      Feb 17

I am an idle garden, and you are my gardener —clearing out all of my long dead, overgrown worries, making room for neglected words; everblooms shrouded beneath the tangled debris of fear. Your dedication and diligence has smoothed me out with gentle hands and has planted new hopes in a still-budding imagination; sharing all that you are so that one day I could hopefully, in some way, give back to you all the beautiful parts of you that have grown in me.

MS Lynch
MS Lynch
Jun 20, 2013

Sweetheart silent killer manifests all inside my mind,
The moon’s a magnifying glass as it rises in the sky.
At 2 a.m. it giggles, a thick knife in its teeth,
And drops it down into my head as I lie underneath.
The glass I keep so carefully to remain erect in the day,
Shatters and releases a burning, breathing self-assay.
A kaleidoscope catoptric, all frets out in the free,
A band of thought-filled thieves invade to steal my sleep from me.
Tossing and turning beneath the stars, I’ll wait til I burn out,
At night my brain is flooding and in daylight there’s a drought.
Lullaby myself with tears, wake up way too late,
Stuck as an insomniac, suicide’s sweet bait.
I wish I was an autumn leaf, I’d float into the sky,
And every fall I’d have the opportunity to die.
I don’t want to die, I just want to dream,
Instead of replaying my sick realities that make me want to scream.
But this will still all stay the same as my brain and blood run white,
I’ll feed myself with Satan’s sugar, the depressed primrose of the night.

Be my photosynthesis
M Annalise
Aug 22, 2010

I need a function
To be the stem of “functional”
To be the stem of me
So that I may be functional

I need a mother
To love me the way she did
Before the cord was cut
--the root linking her to me
So that I may be a daughter

I need a lover
To keep life burning through me
Be my photosynthesis
So that I may breathe

I need a friend
To pull me from the ground
From beneath the poplar tree
For I was too ripe
For this rope to hold me
And I am too strange
For this ground to love me

shrinking when photosynthesis fails,
Ashlie Margaritis
Ashlie Margaritis
May 11, 2013

Here I am, standing with my chin held high,
A travesty of backbone while my insides quiver.
I can't look back for my aversion of the past
halts my very need to do so.

Three words---tattooed on my bearings.
I count to ten, painting my memories with you;
Taking a step forward--only to unearth that
doing so extirpates you.

I'm a bowing flower following the sun---
shrinking when photosynthesis fails,
shunting through the clouds with all its might.
The sun is out today. Watch me extend.

I take a few more steps forward.

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