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I miss you like the December earth
      Misses the sunlit rays on a cloudy day
Cold for you I yearn each dawn
      And churn and burn as the aching Pacific waves
A crashing hope upon wishes bent
      At 11:12 my world set straight  
And all that a man can do is wish
      That this will be the fated day
You walk into my life
      And stay
A storybook demands this stop. As Hollywood would guide me down the inevitable plot. But as for me and my house, I wait and burn for a deeper love.

Ick, screens are so shallow. LOL.
days strange
like spaghetti without taste
missing home

Written on December 08, 2019
Chris Saitta
Corded muscles of the neck ferry the voice of sky,
Charon of words adrift in a salivary dislocated sine,
A fracture of breath, the stenciled rowing of a sigh.
Psychopomps of moonlight, past-throated vultures,  
Carrion of clouds even if stripped clean in vulpicide,
Even if our scorched and coining tongues tip at stars.
In Greek myth, Charon ferried the dead across the river Styx and Acheron in Hades.  A coin was placed in the mouth of the dead to pay for passage.

Pyschopomps are figures who guide the dead to the afterlife, in myth and some religions.

Vulpicide is the killing of a fox.
rachel kirkpatrick
i thought i could let you go,
yet you pour out of me
each time i pick up this pen.
i guess i just wanted
to love you
a little
l o n g e r.
- ****.
she’s vulnerable
flesh carved out of velvet
blood as thin as water
mind as malleable as clay
it appealed to you, this softness
of touch in the morning
of voice in your ear
of bleeding heart beating
you sought it out
her hair as soft as silk
the sunshine off her sternum
her mouth parted and wet
she’s beautiful
the way she fits with you
her hand wrapped around your own
her laughter filling your silence

but without warning,
her soft touch turned to
a million bugs underneath your skin
her voice melted into
the shrillest sound at night
her vulnerability withered into
a weakness you couldn’t escape
you tried to let her down gently
as gently as she let you in
but you misstepped
and let her destroy herself.
Lexington Warner
not the flower but
the bee kissing
rosebuds, making
living things

no sunrise on
mountains but
the sun
herself, every
flame burning fierce
sploding gainst
the sky

not an ocean but
a stream softly
and rescuing
the lonely
the lost

not forever
but tragically
and every
you are here
i will be
what i am -
the pollen,
the planets,
the wanderer,
the poet -
dedicated to
Every new connection
Brings pain and no happiness
Love is the only reason I am here today.
But sometimes,
It makes things so much harder.
The sun or agony
Who will rise first in my eyes?

Yogyakarta | Haeml;c
A Poet's Voice
as i have
loved you
i too shall
leave you

crucified upon
the cross of love
by the nails of your
false accusations

the stench from
the blood i shed
for your forgiveness
rises to masque
the musky scent
of your sensuality
He: And we‘ll have a house near the ocean and we‘ll both renovate it every year
She: I can‘t wait to live with you
He: I can‘t too, be right back, gonna grab a soda

last online: 7 years ago
Today my friend told me
I was acting strange
I gave her the
of a sugar high
But really,
I was just being
Moonbeam Dream
“We are poets.
  We don’t cry,
  We bleed on paper”
Kate Copeland
Fifty and
so much
My dad
The Mac
Hyde Park
Oz and Cali
UK and Spain
Upstate downtown
There you go
There you are
Be the moon
and inspire people
even when you're far from full
Satan Dark
Red, red, burning red

Die alone and never cease to dread

Red, red, burning red

Burn in hell and don't seek an answer to when

Red, red, burning red

Cry yourself to sleep until God says you to tie your neck with a thread

Red, red, burning red

Let your hatred never be given a chance to spread

Red, red, burning red

Thee hope you never dare run from the promised prospect

Red, red, burning red

Bleed to death and don't dare to flee just yet

Because oh, red, red, burning red

We will never let you sleep that comfortable in your bed

Red, red, burning red

Don't ever let yourself think you were forgiven for the damage that you made...
No longer I shall sleep
Unless your hand is upon mine,

Counting the beats of your heart
As our souls entwine
The point of all this
Isn't to be happy
I realize that now.
So I ask
What is?
i laugh at the irony
that love broke my heart.

if my mind
was the universe
thoughts of you
would be the
stars that fill it
beyond measure

arms wrapped around me
as neon crimson floats through the air
crowd swaying back and forth
fain smell of cigarettes and liquor
beer spilt on the venue floor
sticky beneath our feet
i lost an earring
i can't remember why i was so upset


that is what i miss the most

who do i have to embrace now

what embraces me now
but silence?

soft water
hard stone

tender heart but wild and over grown

maybe one day
ill learn to let go
you ever just miss having a person? and cant tell if you miss that one person or just having someone, anyone at all?
A poet is no more than a person
A mother
A daughter
A lover  
Someone needing release
Or someone needing to recover

It’s the art they create when that ball of ink or stick of led dances on the canvas they so perfectly prepared.
And when the end result and their purpose become perfectly paired.
I want someone to know me well enough
That they know when I'm actually tired
Or when I'm just saying it to hide behind
Noni Winters
I stumbled upon you
Like a child
that finds a pretty stone

Bewildered by your presence
I sat and admired
Counting your cracks
Caressing what makes you glitter

You stood infront of me
Bold and beautiful
Like nothing I'd ever seen

And as you gave me your attention
I think I misconstrued your intentions

I wanted to put you in my pocket
But you said no

So there you sit
Perfectly unpolished
A love

I can only visit
Vanessa Gatley
My empty heart didn't even have a
Big enough hole for ur hand to try to
Touch it and make it feel like
Liquid Feather
After all the pain
I can't help but think
Is it truly worth it?
joe machetto
sitting here watching
the sun go down

waiting for the shadow
that waits for me
Same day last year was different;
It was a lot of of ups and downs.
Things were left because it ain't right;
Same day next year will be different.
December 9, 2019 - 02:14

Looking back, I really made a lot of mistakes. I am trying to not let those things define who I am as a person, and I am still doing my best to be better each and every day.

So, I am still thankful for all the days - up to this point - of having a fresh start since then.
She takes the stand
With the voice of millions on her back
And speaks the fact that we all know,
far too well to be true -                  
                                           Me too.

She is heard but not believed,
She is heard with faith deceived .

When will it be enough -
Is one in six not enough ?
Is one sister, one friend
still - not enough?

one colleague, one mother, one wife, one lover -
one teacher, one doctor, one preacher, one author -
one husband, one son, one brother.
Which one will it take, to stop
the non-consensual clock
and make us realise that -

Time. Is. Up.
I'm jealous of the rain
It gets close to you
Closer than I ever will
It touches your skin
It combs your hair
It comes when you're sad
It stays when you're happy
I love you but you don't love me
So I say
I'm jealous of the rain
Sorry I haven't written anything as of late. I have been really busy with school. I really hope you enjoy.
Edit: thanks for the comments the original song is Jealous by Labirinth
Wala ba akong karapatan mapagod?
Rinig na rinig ko ang hiyaw ng aking kaluluwa
Gustong-gusto ko, pero hindi pwede

Dinadaan ko na lang sa tula ang kapaguran ko
Dinadaan ko na lang sa tula ang sakit
Dinadaan na lang sa biro at libog
Sa halakhak at ngiti
Sa mga sigawan at kwentuhan
Sa kalungkutan at panloloko sa sarili
Ito'y ang aking araw-araw

Kay sarap isipin
Kay sakit marinig
Pero sana'y makahiga, pikit, at idlip rin

At kahit minsan sana'y
Maramdaman ko ulit
Ang tunay na kapayapaan
I am distracted by the notion
of love
and a little hope
and everything
in between
Mitchell Duran
It's a little late for
A smile
It's a little late for
A mile

You promised
Maybe I did
That the sun
Would always shine
Both of our eyes

You're a tad quick
With your pick
You're a bit knicked
With your tick

But I love you
Just the same
There's no reason
I wouldn't have came

Walk toward a dead poet
Expose of a soulless

One day

They'll have a soul

They believe

Is not worth

Close your eyes
Count to ten
Take a breath
Find a pen
Write it out
Let it loose
Don't get lost
In these woods
For one day
You might get stuck
Way too far
In the muck
from time to time i go blind
the one time?
i looked at you and felt jealous.
i didn’t realize
and wouldn’t have
hadn’t you told me that
you did the same
looking my way
at the same time.

and isn’t it sad
and hard to explain
as it is to understand
two mirrors
face-to-face can
see bright as day, all
then their own rays,
Anmol Mago
And as I woke up

I saw a flower
weeping in
the golden
morning hues

It reminded me
O beloved
of the time when our
love used to blossom
As innocent as
innocence ever could be
and now through
each passing day
I feel it withering away
Dedicated to (you)
Every time
You'd see me with a sad face
You'd tell me to smile
Every time
I seem moody
You'd tell me to smile
And when you know that  I won't smile
You'd end up doing the things that will make me smile

You said my smile
Was my biggest attraction
But little did you know
My smiles are all because of you
Dear God, it’s me, lonesome
The only friends you give to me
End up leaving shortafter
What did I do?

Dear God, it’s me, anxious
You tell me everything that could go wrong
And tighten my chest, make my breathing unsteady
What did I do?

Dear God, it’s me, depressed
You give me so many good things
But even more to ruin my happiness
What did I do?

Dear God, it’s me, Reagan
I can’t figure out what I did
To make you want to throw the worst my way
Please tell me, what did I do?
“You’re not good enough”
Is the one sentence you should
Never tell yourself.
Hi. I’ve been struggling with this my whole life. It’s like I’ll never be able to convince myself. I feel like my poetry is at a decline. I feel as if nothing I write is good. I couldn’t tell you the amount of “drafts” &  private poems I have on here just because I’m afraid.
Afraid of ridicule.
Afraid of hating myself more.
Afraid of everything.
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 too *******.
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.
When my hunger is no more.
And when all is numb,
when the snow below my feet is nothing more,
than mere ice.
My eyes close at once.
Everything is dark.
And soon, I am a pile of snow.
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