I have an idea that I am excited about but I need about six or so more poets to write it with. I will write a couple lines to give you an idea and if you like it, message me and I will tell you the title and the plan for it. It should be glorious compadres!
I hear the stakes sizzle on high, I'm tied to the lies that wrap around my mind
A desolate place, my heart is. Who dares to reside will find that hope is soon left behind
the clarion call
of the goose
in times gone by
like sweet waters
known well to his flock
a band of brothers
yet today, his call
on the heels
of a sharp report
a different sound
an urgent message
a call to gather
a call to protect
a call to form
a circle of hope
for not just
a better day
but a brighter path
because this journey
when taken in lockstep
wing to wing
together flying high
cannot fail to arrive
this brighter path.
linked to http://hellopoetry.com/poem/lend/
Romance them politics.
Make them easy to digest.
Sex sells, mame your love on a television show.
Ho, ho,ho, there's nowhere for me to go.
No, no, no,I'm left with nowhere else to go.
I turn and turn and face the wind and snow.
Lord have mercy on my speechless soul.
Leave a mark so that I will know -
Just where I should go.
Lord show me where to go.
I'm a dog, throw me a bone.
Build me a ladder, to the cloud of my home.
Ancient instinct, not drool on a phone.
Caliope missionairy drone.
Romance them politics.
Feel their legs like wine.
Waiting for a message -
Waitingfor more time.
Can't count drifters,
They don't exist on paper...unless they're a poet.
Don't piss off a writer.
Her thoughts will be validated upon paper,
her eyes will cry tears of ink that sink into the pages forming words never quite forgotten,
your past together will be an anthem to young girls who suffer in the same,
when she spits out her blood soaked poetry the guilt will drive you insane.
Don't. Piss off a poet
Because at three thirty in the morning she will write an angry piece about how perfect your eyes looked when the rain splattered your windshield, how your kind words melted the barricade, and when you were safely inside you lit a match, just to see how many things would catch
Dont break a poets heart,
it will not break her pen and when she sends the message across the web of how you hurt her,
the sound will resonate across the night clubs and everyone will know you shattered her like good china, smashed underfoot by a mad man, tension she couldn't bare, and drunk text messages unsent about how much she cares.
We, were an unfinished painting the artist got bored with, A Mona Lisa on an etch sketch,
you curled yourself around me and tucked yourself underneath my tongue,
you said when I smiled your limbs came undone, and you fell in love with me every time I sung to you,
well maybe I should have sung louder, because my message is now falling on deaf ears,
I want to hear the words, I need you, I want to see you, I miss you.
Instead I'm glued to my screen trying not to send you hate mail so obscene,
I never meant to get this attached to you, and maybe that's why you're running away.
If I asked you to stay would you bother? Or just run faster?
I promised myself I wouldn't write a poem about you, because if I did that I would have to open my mouth,
and I'm scared now that you've jumped out, and have found safety in another girls arms, how did I not realize this would cause me harm, I never wanted to fall for you.
Don't make empty promises, to poets.
We will never forget, because we produce the highest form of lies known to man, I can make words in languages you'll never understand, but with a flick of my hand and the right stance I could make you fall in love with me after the second glance. So don't try to lie to a writer, buddy I've been there. You think hearing "I hate you." hurts wait until you wake up to.
"Your eyes make mine want to bleed, your voice crackles up my spine, and shake me to the core. Every time you look at me I think of how many different ways I could feed your organs to starving children in Africa. Your pancreas I'd send to Guam, your heart to Ethiopia. Lead you into the depths of hell and keep you locked up. In case I wanted to play with you later, no. I'm not bitter, what makes you say that."
Or better yet, imagine waking up to silence. I cannot speak for my words are numb to the bubble of hatred in my centre. If I let it escape I will never stop screaming, I've been meaning to tell you that I could never regret anything we've done together.
How to be a whore. Step one, find a lover, preferably one of the same gender and do not render yourself completely helpless against her charm, don’t hold her too close because her eyes are fire and you must be the moth dancing seductively close to the flame but don’t mame yourself with her words, don’t forget that she’s leaving in a month and you the moth only lives a few days don’t fall in love with her, that would be gay.
Step two, get another lover, preferably one who is awkward and cute, someone who can flip you on your back and pin you but doesn’t because he is gentle someone who fills himself with your smile and takes solace in the fact that just because you’re fuck buddies doesn’t mean you’re not making love, but soon he’ll discard you, not like a broken glass he won’t smash you. More like an apology an epilogue to a song you didn’t know you knew the words to. He will remind you, you are human,
acquire a third someone poetic, you know these are just safety nets in case the first one leaves you, you heave through the pain of every meeting but you still worship your first as if she wasn’t your curse but your lover, but you can’t love her.
Step four; have sex with them, this might seem like an obvious choice but if the voice in your head says it’s a good thing that this fling isn’t fool proof prove them wrong you’re allowed to say no sometimes
Step five: Stay alive amongst the bodies huddled close, don’t fall in love with the first, she is not well rehearsed or as well versed as the third don’t miss your second, not the way he beckoned you closer and don’t hold her, don’t hold her don’t love her, don’t kiss her, don’t miss her just fuck her she’s your sex toy and you’re hers don’t fall for her.
Step six: solitude is simple, measure the space between his dimples on the off chance he’s ever smiling, the timing is perfect but you can’t purchase another round of bullets for this gun, it’s all fun and games just don’t lose it, don’t love it just like the flame
step seven: minutes in heaven is your new best friend, because a new pair of lips will remind you that you’re not as alone as you know you are
step eight: debate telling her how you feel and throwing away the third, but then say no because after tomorrow she’ll be gone and your hands will be tied to his bedposts where they belong
step nine: cry. Because you couldn’t stop yourself from falling and calling her name as you felt the soft grass beneath you.
step ten: send a quick message to the second, thanking him for showing you that it is possible for you to mean something to someone without hurting them. Let him know that before this you thought that destruction was your only coping mechanism because you have destroyed so many before him and now things have changed.
Hold her. You know deep down inside that you can’t hide from the way you feel you can’t exchange your emotions for a safety net you just have to let the pain sink in.
I hate the word beautiful, but it’s all that I can think of right now, there’s the sounds you make when I grab you and the color of the bites on your neck but there’s nothing in between the rapid heartbeats in my chest and the next best thing sitting beside me, you could hide from me, put yourself in a little parcel and package your mind up for sale until you’ve sailed half way to Australia, you could have lied about your past and cast aside a shadow of a doubt but instead when I settled down beside you, your unexplainably soft lips touched the tips of my fingers and lingered on my hips and dipped beneath me whispering beautiful.
I hate the world beautiful, its cliché. Thesaurus’ are made for a reason, I’m caught up in the changing of the seasons and it would be treason to say there is a more fitting word that I’ve heard about you but… I’d really rather not admit to thinking your be-
When the snow softly falls on the lit trees in the moonlight, or the message lights up the screen on your phone and the butterflies in your stomach start to scream. There really isn’t another word for your eyes blood shot and captured by passion, I only have some idea of the way you taste but I’d hasten a guess that it’s sweeter than sugar. That! Was cliché, but hey… please say you’ll forgive me for being so damn forward.
The smoke in this room makes my eyes squint, if you could take a hint instead of taking a hit we’d be a lot closer than we are. Thanks to Mary Jane, and if it’s all the same to you I’d like to say that you are handsome, attractive, be-
I dislike the word beautiful because it’s trivial, of course I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think you were hot. Because God damn do I? Not a volcano, you’re molten lava, after the fires of Pompeii. You’ve single handily wrecked me, crashing into your shore I’m sure you still stretch out your arms to heal the burns left by your fellow man. I can’t stand when I’m around you, my knees quiver and I shiver from head to toe. I must really think you’re beautiful
And I am not about to deny that for every word I’d rather use the word you like best is the most appropriate. And it’s a scientific fact though it’s not backed up by experiments but experience; I’ve found a new way to exercise my right to use something redundant. Here’s my poetic licence, you can check the date of its expiry, I’ve hardly gotten to know you but I know I want to hold you while it’s snowing outside and hide with you from our not quite forgotten fears. So here I am, standing quietly. Stripped of my superfluous splendor and you still look at me in awe, everything is still in this darkness and this snow, I’m not trying to be an actress for you, this isn’t a show I’m just here so you know that it’s true. Your tongue traces your lips and you murmur.
To my first love:
& you were just that. You were the steps that taught me how to walk, but the same ones that taught me how to fall. You were my first kiss, my first shared breath, and my first broken heart. See, you were full of firsts and experiments,but that's all you were , an experiment.
To my next love:
You were the summer sun, and I was a naive daisy that was star struck by your rays that made me feel alive. Because you, love number two, made our age difference, make me feel like I was on top of the world. With each 'c'mon baby' or 'why not' I fell deeper and deeper into your persistent persuasion. I was not yet blossomed to my full potential, yet you insisted perfection. And a girl of my maturity would choose starvation over loneliness anyday.
To "Lucky" number three:
I mean, 3rd times a charm right? That's what I thought too. I thought you were my super hero that was going to heal my bruises (Inside & Out). Don't get me wrong, you did for a while, with your sweet words and innocent looks. But my broken eyes didn't let me see that same look, wasn't just for me. I wasn't enough, I never was. I was enough to quench your thirst, but soon enough my taste became too bland. I mean, who in their right mind would want someone so damaged. Not before long you tossed me like a broken toy, considering that's all I ever really was to you.
To my current love:
I don't want you to be just my current love, I want you to be my forever love. I want you to adore my corny idea of love and my dark realizations of life.It's not even that I want you to love me, it's that I need you to love me. I need a security guard to save me from my worst enemy, myself. So to my current love, hold my hand when you see my empty stare and my empty tummy, and tell me it's going to be okay. Make me feel beautiful, forever, because I can't do it on my own.
They're perfect in morality
And their sense of reality
And I can't take it.
I can't even fake it.
It's killing me inside.
For some reason I hide.
I can't fuckin do this.
They're so fuckin clueless.
They're watching Doctor Who.
I'm locked up in my room
Deep inside my head,
Lookin for a bed
So that I might rest...
[insert profound message about how parents are clueless and society is failing quickly and surely]
To my dear —,
Loving you was living in excess
And once you've tasted excess,
Everything else tastes bland.
Yeah, I had everything to lose
But I still loved you as if I was about to die.
It's so hard trying to keep a straight face,
showing that I'm ok,
but I am so far from being ok.
I'm all alone with no one to talk to...
I think I miss that the most,
just having someone to talk to,
someone to share each day with.
I'm scared, I really am...
The thoughts of you not coming back
grow more real each day we're apart.
I don't know how to give you this space without you forgetting about me.
I wish each and every day you'd message me, someway,
just out of the blue and say
I'm coming back,
That you never left.
Most of all;
say the words
that would bring me right back,
that would bring us right back
"I" and "Love" and "You".
The world turns within and without you
Though contains you, does not limit you.
I am one, I am all -but
A messenger of lies
Or a masked carbon copy
Or a vessel planted to the cold groud,
Though do not abandon my roots.
I am a passion filled star beaming towards the earth
Conditioned far beyond conformity
Listen close, don't be blinded by aesthetic beauty
My words, there lies the message
You are free
Free from machine
The mechanism will function within or without you.