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the cold seeps into my bones
like tea in a cup of hot water

and like the hot tea
it burns me within
with its touch

i hate it

and as i sit on a warm bus
peering out the window
thinking of you

my hatred only grows
I hate winter
I didn't push you away,
I actually wanted you to stay.
It was so easy for you to blame.

I cared,
But now I'm too scared.
Scared of love, commitment.
it's very simply put:
  "it's not you, it's me."
and it's true,
i fear loving more
than i do less.
i fear using my half
to fill their whole.
i don't want the only one
with a collar
around their neck
to be me.
belonging to someone doesn't sound so bad when they belong to you too.
Why do I say it’s nothing…
When it’s killing me inside?

I turn my face away from the bright light
Upon darkness
To lie there unknown by all

If only they knew what thoughts flooded my mind
I build dams to block them
And bridges to walk across
But dams can’t hold it back forever
And the bridges seem to fail…

My hands are weary
I can feel my soul grow old
And my eyelids droop low
I can’t keep doing this forever

I wish someone could hold me
So when the waters rise
It wouldn’t feel so cold
And lonely
I could tell them all
Without judging myself
But it all just fails again and again
Leaving cuts on my thighs
And bruises in my heart
So why try this time
Or the next time

I have a mind darkened by misery
Nobody would dare to touch it
They could just have someone better

I tell myself
“Just hide away so you don’t lose more
Do you really think they care?
They’re going to hate you now
Better forget yourself
No one will ever love you”
It’s slowly killing me
Burning me from the inside out
Can you see the flames?
I won’t be here much longer
And all that will remain
Is an empty soul once filled with joy.
Robert C Ellis
So if earth cascaded through the destruct of heavier metal stars about the time I was born
Is my blood a beastier metallic and drawn
to dirt and did the days
when I learned to read pull harder on sunlight, ribbon ing it into the jet stream and I never gained
trust.  No matter the sky I short sell breathing for the rust.
Moments are so apocryphal they had to molecule Bible
The spiritual sleeve between breathing pool memory
In these sun dipped hesitants.
We are just the  taunt whip strap of discovery of Gravity between sea and heavenly dead bodies like the moon
Slowly unravelling our bloodstreams
And I watch the party revellers in tinsel and gabardine be the molecules scientists claim for history
So my need to teethe every human
It's Astronomy
They’d waited too long to say

“I love you”.

3 words. 3 syllables.

Yet they held millions of emotions unspoken.

and now that they’d done it, they wouldn’t,
couldn’t, stop

they told each other all the time. In the end of the argument and before the good news.

In the middle of the storm, even though it was hard to see, and after, when the raging winds had settled on a breeze

before the rising sun turned the sky pretty colors and after it flickered out and faded away into the dark

Underneath the stars that their love had been etched into

There was no love until death for them. Because it would never stop. Their love was beyond. It rose above any border that would dare to try and stop it. There was no finish line

because they were each other’s end game.  
The waning moon loves to hide
And the dominant sky loves to cry
And the one who has nothing loves to give
And I my love, love to forgive.
Eshwara Prasad
What color is love?
Let me tell you about my friend
With pale light skin and ginger hair
She has a personality so beautiful, it’s rare
Whenever I’m down, she’s always there

She has blue eyes that eases the mind
With a smile that can brighten up anyone’s life
Her name is Cara but to me, she’s Mother Nature
A perfection trapped in a human figure

I’m like a sinner and she’s the sister
Listening to all my worries and adventures
When I rant about how ****** in the head I am
She reminds me how far I came to be the better man

It’s been an absolute pleasure meeting her
A one of a kind diamond treasure
I’ll always be grateful and forever love her
Even if I am a bit more edgier
Crystal Freda
Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.
The poet's curse. We feel your pain.
We'd rather not but we have no choice.
We need to put it on the page like a
tiny red corpse we never forget. Weep and
pray and deny a god. Death lives inside you.
To raise
humble kid
is my priority.

I can
Make my CHILD learn
By preaching
By teaching
By giving
Knowledge of

She will not learn
by preaching!!
She will learn
By my ACTIONS..!!

If I don't
Share MY things
With My

She will learn NOTHING..!

I can make her
learn to share.
By making her give -
Clothes to needy
Toys in orphanage
Candies to the deprived.

she will
just learn to be PROUD

If she learns by
seeing me
She will become HUMBLE..!!

To raise a humble kid is my priority..!!

Sparkle In Wisdom
11 Jan 2019
Inspired by a incidence I heard at friends place.. after the whole episode the first thought that struck was
What actions will the kids remember and grow on??
I poured myself
inside your cup
pretended to be tea
your lips pursed to the rim
burning kiss
bile churns
you forgot
I'm made of sins
Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife,
drag race in the background,
my Samantha doll by my side.
This isn't loneliness anymore.
This is just life now.

I'm not very good with words anymore,
maybe I never was.
So little has changed and yet everything has.
I still long for love.
I still want to be wanted.
That might never change.

Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept,
come to love.
I may be my only friend here,
but that's one more than last year.

Nothing I create is good,
but I'm learning to create anyway.
I'm learning to share my bad art,
at least it's art.

I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door.
Someone outta shut him up.
I used to think that was an evil thought,
now I know there's no such thing.

I turn 21 in 2 days.
Math. Yuck.
I'm old,
getting older every second.
I will grow into this skin,
I'm sure of it.

I'm grateful.
More than anything I am grateful for it all.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the guilt,
the anger.


No one reads these except me.
So this one is for her.
For you.
my love,
my villain,
my biggest fear.

May this year be kind to you,
may you be kind to it.
May you listen to your spirit guides,
may you accept what you never could.

Growth is sticky and wet,
Knowledge is thick and grey.
May you be the light and the darkness,
the cut and the band aid.

More than anything,
be okay.
You're gross,
in a sort of beautiful way.
May you be okay with that.

Bad art is still art.
I think so.
For now.
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
Even with no punctuation
it seems that everybody understands  clearly.

No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
Luna Maria
are the ink
for the pen
a poet uses
to write
- L.M.
time will heal
and silently
collect the scars
that are
meant to be
left in the past

after all
simply isn't enough
to make us last.
to her, the one who got away
Mitch Prax
To this day,
your name
still hurts my tongue
but I still say it anyway.
Sometimes I like to
hear my soul
gently tear itself
There is a fire inside you
Like that of a rising sun.
You’re the promise of a new dawn
Like the purple and the orange of the setting sun.

You’re the sound of the Ocean
That can still be heard inside a shell
after a million days.
You’re the poem and the rhythm in it
And finer when they words don’t rhyme.

You are stronger than your past,
Stronger than your doubts
And even stronger than your fears.

You are more than what they tell you
And much more than you thought you could ever be.
You my dear, are beautiful and complete
Because the fire inside you is, YOU.
Love is like a squid
really odd and weird
all this time it hid
then suddenly appeared

Making you fall deep
down to the oceans floor
taking a giant leap
where you've not been before

and suddenly it's gone
sometimes in a blink
but poems like this live on and on
written with it's ink
the loneliness doesn't bother me quite as much
as being alone w i t h you does.
written on jan 01, 2021 / 5:14p
by: d.f.
Though time has built
endless warp
suffering and pain
ancient dust of Africa
breaking down the chain
can you hear
winds of change
through the brain
ancient dust of Africa
a message of hope to all parents
Third world child
In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.
You've given me tons of reasons to leave,
But I still stay
Because those reasons weren't enough
To keep me away
pretty girl,
the boys are out to get you
they'll take away your flower
they want what's only yours

pretty girl,
blossom slowly,
stay in your cocoon for now
for summer can only last so long
and soon it will be over
Everytime I close my eyes,
I see my world burning down.
There's this fire behind my eyelids
that the tears can't put out.
Fawaz Hashmi
I represent a bunch of apple which fell in the absence of Newton
I belong to the series of lightning which struck when Franklin was asleep
All I ever wanted was to be discovered, known and heard
Now I cry in times of silence, and in all quietness - these still waters run deep
vik the computer
did you know
about all the poems i wrote
about you
you were my craving
i don't really know exactly what it was
i guess it wasn't love
in the end
and since
i can't feel romance
and you -
can't feel desire
we were destined to die right there
the night we shed childish skin
from "marble demons" ©2021
idk what's going on
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you
if only i could chase you with pizza but shots don't work like that

Tears bestirs the moon
Heart dangles as willow weeps
Cruel, her love short lived

Another mini haiku from my journal based on the Chinese myth, Chang'e. 💜
So many variants but beautifully melancholic and tragic no less.
If you haven't already, please watch Over the Moon which is a retelling of the story. Great songs, Chang'e's costumes design is sublime [I love Guo Pei's work!] and a lovely tale.
Always and Forever is one of the most beautiful songs sung with her love, Houyi.
As always, thanks for the support! Yall are amazing and blessed.
Stay safe and well out there!
Much love,
Lyn ***
phil roberts
There's a shower of rain
Yet the sun still shines
There must be a rainbow

An old man nods in his chair
He came from nowhere
And went nowhere else
Journeying all the way

Now he journeys through time
Down the aching years
Things that he's seen and done
Some good and wondrous
And some of them terrible

An old man nods in his chair
Behind closed eyes
All the things he's seen and done
The people he's known
All the things he's said
Within his nodding head

Tears pour down his face
Down the canyons grooved by time
And yet he smiles
Gently and softly
There must be a rainbow

                       By Phil Roberts
I thought I'd give this another airing.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.
The comfort of a lonely bed.
A bed that wraps the body in soft warm sheets.
Hugging sorrows away,
pillows kissing heavy lids.
So the body crawls back to bed
way too many times
in need for its company,
missing every sunrise.
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