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Olivia V
Moonlight on pale skin
Soft lips part in desire
Lovers in the night
all of my negative thoughts,
encircling my mind,
making me seem,
almost colourblind.
I sit here alive,
                   but I'm empty inside...
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.
"keep your eyes closed love. sometimes all you have to listen is to what the sound of the waves tells you to do"

When I was much younger, beaches were my second favorite places. I still love watching waves as they go by, crashing against each other and the whole process repeating all over again.
Hmm I've only got a
few likes today hmm maybe
my writings not good

Why am I even
writing what's it's all about
What's the point , I only feel

anxious now , deep breaths
Now I feel silly why did
I write that , oh jeez

heart beating feel sick!!
Then my self doubt passes and
I'm back to lovely

place again! Self doubt
sure can grip me making me
feel really down! But you

see writing helps dig
through negativity , am
I a poet or not

Maybe , I'm not sure
But I'm much more too , I'm a
wife a mum a sister

a friend. I've wrote my
heart out for five years now non
stop to be honest

But now I'm in such
a lovely place of content
I'm living happy

Of course I still get
life stresses hit me and yeah
I get negative

But one thing I can
always rely on is my
passion for writing

It helps mentally
to keep me strong and focus
May it come from my

heart or mind or once
in awhile I like to write
stories , fun fun fun :)

I'm slowing down now
Gone and got myself married :)))
Tis so wonderful

Children are growing
up fast , there leading there own
life's more every day

So I'm finding new
hobbies to keep me active
Life changes happen

But to write , will be  
in me always , tis part of me
it's just there always

So to all who love to
write have fun dry those tears up
Find your happy place :))
Have a lovely week ahead :)) love to u all xxxx
His words told your ears love
But your heart told you to run
I don’t want to talk
Somewhere between my eyes and my trembling hands
I couldn’t hold the pencil
To tell you.

It fell from between my fingers
And I watched the chance to yell
Hit the ground
— my voice thins with your hair
Satsih Verma
Listening to a grief,
I look at your lips, where
the words sit trembling.


Teach me to commit
a sin in return for gifts.
Land wouldn't divide sea.


Thirst meets the desert
at the edge of night, where
sun was arrested.
Take the shape of your vessel
Use time as an ally.
Penguin Poems
If want was water,
I would be drowning, my head under completely
and my oxygen quickly depleting.
If confusion was cold,
My fingers would be numb and I wouldn't even
have a coat to ward off the freezing.
If youth was you,
It would be slipping away by the second,
And I can't get a hold to stop it.
my air is gone,
I'm shivering to the bone,
and can't keep a hold on.
But, this is only a poem:
I know I'm not suffocating, subzero, or slipping.
But I can't help but feel like the more I write,
the farther I get from reality
and the closer I get to metaphor mortality.
And at the end,
I decided to
walked away
from you.
Abi Sweeney
How electrifying to think life could be so simple yet so terrifying.
late at night, i lie awake
thinking of things i should have said
all the mistakes i've made
and signs i should've read

then think about what i can't live without
you, front and center in my mind
sometimes it feels like halfway love
almost, but not quite

still, parts of you make me whole
who i am and who i need to be
i think of love letters that weren't torn up
feelings of blue and green

when i'm without you
blank page, artless innocence
i realize how dependent i've grown to you
and feel the need to create a distance

sometimes i look up at the purple sky
and wonder if you're looking too
i gaze at the colors and the beauty of it all
though its beauty would never compare to you
Give me a break,
Some rest I need,
Let me think
What I did in my life.
I lied
I went on site to find a friend
And on that site I lied
This beautiful boy fell into my lie and now I can’t change a thing
In need of advice I tried to be sly
I tell myself I'm not catfish a trap or a walking lie
I tell myself it was only my age only a bit of my life
But this is all just lies
My gut aches due to the fact that I can't stop the lie
I tell myself it's just the expired ice cream from last night
My heart beats hard and then I cry because all I do is lie
Jordan Ray

           Love                                  is                      
wr­itten                    in                    stone
       which                                slowly
             fades                          to
                   sand                   ..                                          
                    ­     ..                 ..
                             . . . . . . .
                              . . . . . .
                                . . . .
                                  . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Still Crazy
drrry spells

~for the r in all of us~

a normative condition, a kitchen condiment, an un-relished
pickle relish, when there in no hot dogged doggedly poem hot perspiration in the fridge or anywhere to be found; nothing but a top sliced bun, ah, plain buns, when old stale dog ones is all ya got left for dinner, during one of them there dry spells that no blonde tanned unweathered weatherperson ever forecast correctly

normative? Oh yeah.

the tyranny of the white, white bread, the white, whittle ya down screen, couture-cold water from tap direct, neck bent, jugged to try and fail to wash down that lumpen ball of dog fur brain drain clog that’s backing up the paper words, in a stomach churning brine holding you back from reaching the top of the Mt. Everest,

rite Norman?

Norman? Oh yeah. Son of Norma and Normally.
It’s in the bibell, look it up!

he is my pooka, (nope, uh-uh, look it up) a six foot tall rabbit,
climbing up my brain stem, strategically strangling my words like
a flea killer collar round my neck, one that actually visually works,
my flea bit words fall to the floor, to live with the dust mites descendants of the ole south, drafts and rejection letters, all whose blessed memory may never die etc. etc.

that was the condition of my condition when I dropped in
(yup, look it up),
Norman sarcastically asking, how’s the weather up there,
any rain in that-northern-brain, down here it’s as dry as an southern old dog panting on a porch in July, panting out summer hot poems write out like it’s crazy going out of style, oh yeah,
you don’t speak dawg that well.

so I don’t know nothing about your dry spells, just climb into
the hottest hot tub, staying all the summer months if necessary,
reading old poems about busted hearts, old dogs, unrealized loves that can’t be forgot, promises kept that one never made,
battlefields of yore, sweatin’ out the toxins till r
sends along a new one,
for I’m a mentally patient person,
whose never seen a drrry spell so long, that was not worth
wading thru, waiting for, till something busted out and
another thunderstorm of a literary good one, errr come along

like I said, I’m a mental patient man, still crazy after all these years...
(yup, that too, you could look it up if ya made this far)
The right person can give you such an overload of serotonin,
A feeling that medication could never suffice
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.
I was never vivacious;
Pétillant girls gigged
So did I
I was dissimulating,
Pretending at points;
In school, secondary—
Yet, after having chased reveries, flat dreams, insipid ends, and
having ruled all aims vain—
To them, I think,
I was, still, positively,
Xaela San
I'm not "smart" like them.

I'm not "bright" as them.

I'm not "confident" like them.

I'm not "beautiful" as them.

I'm not "someone" like them.

Can you just accept that?

I don't like crying myself anymore

-Said myself in the mirror.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
So what makes a great poem?
Tears? Joys?
Writing about nothing!
Struggling to make good of the last line?
Seeking empathy?
Tears joy. Reward?
I seek it all
I fall apart and just write
I write some times when I fall apart
Georgia Kereopa
Sorry I cant change
20 years old time to die
Mum moved the Mountain
I had coffee and a cigarette for breakfast
So yeah I'm doing fine
I've become good at taking weight off of other peoples shoulders
Searching for happiness in everything
my grip is slipping,
and falling scares me.
my world is fading away.

                          ­     p

writing was an escape but even now words slip off the paper like tear drops.
why does it have to be like this?
Blue Flask
It’s the legacy of I and me
In the faithful 23
A claw machine in a gas station
Random luck picks the stuffed prizes
I’m so full of wine and beer
That I couldn’t handle the claw
I write stories about to lesbians
Falling in love in a coffee shop
Like that song
And can only go
Till I need to stop
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
lying next to you
same bed
continents apart

where your mind travels
and where your heart
Everything is lying in me
Decays between twilight and being dead
All that can not be true
But it damages my head
With plausibility and anger
I don't let myself loose
Being free is insanity
Here, on this earth,
I lie alone at the moment and forever
Strengthen myself
To come clear
with myself
My consciousness lies
On a pillow nearby in the shadow
Without passion I shiver
and freeze
blows the wind in my eyes
and I look past
Well, a tear whispers
or do I only ask myself why not?
The most miserable contentment
Everything hangs near and is missed by me

Alles lügnet in mir
verfällt zwischen Zwielicht und Totsein
Das alles kann nicht wahr sein
Aber schädet mein Kopf
Mit Plausibilität und Ärger
ich lass mich selber nicht los
Freisein ist Wahnsinn
Hier, auf dieser Erde,
Liege ich plötzlich allein und für immer
Bekräftige mich
Um klar zu kommen
Mit mir
Liegt mir das Bewusstsein
Am Kissen nebenbei im Schatten
Ohne Wollust zittere ich
Und friere
blässt der Wind in meinen Augen
Und schau' ich vorbei
Na, flüstert eine Träne
Oder frage ich mir nur wieso sonst?
Erbärmlichsten Behagen
Alles hängt nah und fehlt mir
I like to jot down thoughts in my somewhat limited German vocabulary and see where they lead. It allows me to shut off that nagging doubt about clarity and just get my words out before i immediately start revising and covering my tracks.
I like free-association and building on the first word that comes to mind.
Usually translating them seems to approach the general idea I was going for and seeing the difference between english and german amuses me.
hopefully you enjoyed reading this and taking a tour into my creative process.
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
Remember that time I offered you a ride but you said
you already had one
with one of the

Which is funny because you once said to me,

"I love riding with you,"

Because I sang along to the radio
and danced in my seat.

Do you remember telling me
that I

made a purple sweater and a magenta cap
look beautiful.

Because I remember you taking the time to
message me that.

I remember driving a car illegally,
that is,

without a license
to pick you up at

I remember the way you looked at me.

And I remember the way
you treated me
after I became
dead weight.

I remember when you put your hand atop my hand
pretended like nothing had happened.

The worst strangers
are the ones
you used to know.
b for short
They tell my generation
to stay hydrated,
after leading us on
an eighteen year journey
to a dry well.
No wonder we’re
dying off by the thousands—
a learned, unquenchable thirst
for something that doesn’t exist.
Heavy Hearted
Im a poet and a painter
And a meandering musician

And I've hopes that somehow my
Art'll pay for my tuition.
I know it's not about the facts
Or my intuition
I wont believe all that I'm shown
For I know its superstition.
And you know Im not a doctor
Or even a practition
But heres some medicine myself perscribed
To help with this condition.
The dizzyness and neasuea
And the most dishonest vision..
May this writing reach my soul
In its keen perscision
And help me make every right move
Help make the right decision.

When there's so many unfathomable things we are
I choke on that recognition.
Elaine Everdeen
fate is but a mist
blaring fiercely with its breath
unto eyes of days
Its all smoke, fate.
Tyler Atherton
My Teenage years;
Teenage years with people saying 'sit down and shut up'
Teenage years with no one caring
Teenage years with physical abuse
Teenage years with razor blades
Teenage years with no mother
Teenage years with bottles of pills
Teenage years with ****** assualt
Teenage years with suicide attempts
Teenage years with no reason to live
Teenage years spent pining for what was lost.

© Copyright Tyler Atherton
all my life
i've been preparing faces
to meet the faces that
i've met

the man who delivers newspapers
at our doorstep each morning

i've laughed at their silly jokes
as they tossed their heads from side to side
in naive stupidity and their sheer ignorance
a pompous lot, the human race i tell you

i've acknowledged their staunch morals
and tried to make them my own
as they scorned at the girl in a skimpy dress
and chewed on mutton bones gluttonously

all my life, i've been trying hard
to blend in
with people who've shown me
that i don't belong with them

and tonight when i shed gallons of tears
i have only my bed and pillow to share
i've learnt that my sadness
is my very own
just a sad girl writing to survive
n oa
you keep me awake,
i feel you in my veins.
Justyn Huang
Finding your voice
means screaming into
All the wrong places
until One day--

You hear your echo
calling your name.
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