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 929° 
Ciel Noir
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
I did not hear your cries as I wrenched a thousand words from my breast, nor your protestations as my eyes recalled yet another deep magenta sky.
I did not see your tears of frustration as I marvelled at the world, singing at snow angels and harbouring the winter chill.
I did not feel your heartbeat leave mine as the russets fell
nor did I  hear you call my name over my frustrated sighs, and tempered ego.
I did not notice your silence
Until I saw you drowning as I described the water.
I can get a little distracted.
 340° 
Ben Fieldhouse
Your love is like the purest dove, your hand fits mine like a glove, My falling for you was unplanned But it is ever evolving, you are the possessor of my heart, although this is the start I will never let you go, i will never throw you... are my one and only
Wrote this thinking of my girlfriend
 330° 
oliver
Who owns the world?
The Man who walks?
The Man who talks?
The Man who shocks
Everyone by feeding the world
Obscene lies
That might just be true.

Who owns the world?
The Man who fights?
The Man who writes?
The Man who lights
The way through the darkness
That we all live in.

Who owns the world?
The Man who knows?
The Man who shows?
The Man who chose
To teach others
To become something better than him.

Who owns the world?
The Man who frees?
The Man who… please.
It's the Man who sees
That he's not the only one
That owns the world.
 327° 
Adele heyes
Have you ever felt the feeling of love?
The one you can't describe.
The feeling that you would do anything for them.
The feeling of upsetting them kills you inside.
The feeling of being away from them for minute is like a life time.
The feeling of caring so much for them you don't care for your self anymore.

The moment your not around them you crave,
There love
There affection
There attention
There sense
There heart beat.

When all you physically & emotionally want is them?

I Have
 272° 
meliza
hey mom, lately I haven't been okay
don't you see as you look me in the eye everyday?
the circles under my eyes are a little too deep
although nowadays all that I do is sleep

mom, last month, someone at school tried suicide
downing a bottle of paracetamol as he cried
I wanted to tell you about him, 'cause now he's dead,
but I remembered some of the things that you said

when the other day you were at the drug store
you heard someone overdosed on paracetamol
you laughed then you said, "why hold back at all?
why not drink poison? that'll work for sure!"

mom, I looked it up, it only takes fifteen tablets
fifteen of paracetamol and it'll send me straight to a casket
mom, what if I were that overdosing teen?
if I take only fourteen, would you tell me the same thing?

mom, I've been starving myself - I hardly eat
I don't know how I'm still managing on my feet
that's fine anyway, you told me I should go on a diet
so go on and tell me that I'm fat, I'll just keep quiet

hey mom, my arms are lined up with slits
but you're worried about if my clothes still fit
so I'll keep my mouth shut, I won't make things bigger
maybe if I tell my friends I'll feel a little better

mom, everyone keeps telling me I'm depressed
that I've got all these emotions inside me supressed
I only listen to you, mom, and I ignore the rest
after all, doesn't the saying go "mother knows best"?

mom, if I wanted to die, what would you do?
'cause if I tell you, I feel like you'd just say, "me, too!"
don't worry, mom, if I'm suddenly gone one day
I've learned to hate myself because of you anyway

mom, everyday is becoming a little too tough
I'm just holding on 'til I can cut deep enough
maybe it would be a nice surprise for me and you
if killing myself is something I finally do.
 250° 
Steve Page
How many anarchists does it take to change a light bulb?
You don't change it! You smash it!

How many therapists does it take to change a light bulb?
Only one, but it must want to change.

How many poets does it take to change a light bulb?
Two.
One to hold the ladder.
And one to tearfully consider the transitive nature of existence compounded by the tragedy of the assumption of replacement without true celebration of the individuality found at the heart of the mass produced and the beauty that can be found in a frail light fighting against the darkness inherent in an unfair world.
[To be read aloud in a tearful voice.]
 223° 
Undeveloped minds
i hate that i can't get a grip on my emotions and that i constantly seek for help and attention from others to make me feel like I am fulfilling the emptiness
even though i clearly know it is all an illusion.
bipolar
 180° 
Cyndi Marie
When I was a little girl
poems had to rhyme
they had to follow a certain pace
like a song follows time

But now, as I grow older
I'm finding that poetry tells a story
My story, yours, hers, his
Poetry... tells. someone's. story.

When I was a little girl
a good poem
meant it moved you
.
but
.
I struggled to find the words
that made me sound fancy
and smart

When I was a little girl
poetry was a form of art
but I didn't understand it,
I just wanted to write

Now I hope to encourage little girls
to just write what they feel
because somewhere out there
someone feels the same way
and they'll be happy you put it down
they'll be glad to know they aren't alone

and you'll know you aren't alone either
I'm starting to doubt free-writing my poems. Are they really poems? Guess I'm still trapped by the beliefs I had when I was a little girl.
I also hope people read this in the voice I wrote it in. I struggle with that, still.
Society continually asks about relationships;
How many you've had, how many you've faked.
Society constantly asks about affection;
Whether you've expressed affection or not.

Society never asks how many times love lead to heartbreak;
What you undeservedly deserved.
Society never asks if you're okay;
Whether you're living positively or whether you feel like just another brick in the wall, waiting to be vandalised and demolished.
 111° 
Pétra
He tasted like cigarettes and baser intentions
The slightest hint of whiskey on his thunderstorm tongue
The kind of toxicity that young girls vie for
With soft swollen lips and nowhere to run

City of rust, punctured by stone
Where the rain only stops for the snow
Painting with a palette of opiates and pocket change
She'll christen her night with a smoke
 109° 
Elora Rose
i can only take
so much.

oh, how it makes me ache,
your touch.
this is the shortest poem i have probably ever written, and one that can be interpreted in so many different ways. i'll leave this here, so perceive it as you will.
 104° 
Mane Omsy
Took the bus to my class
On the window seat listening to the music
The air blew the heat on my face
While I sat there and watched outside

Out of nowhere, a sunshine entered
Distracting every passenger and passerby
My music blurred and my eyes took charge
To see that wonderful girl ahead

She got on with a smile so bright
And sat next to my seat
Her hair spread the coconut scent through my head
And it grabbed me by my heart and stayed

Sweet and beautiful she turned her head
Towards my shocking face and frozen eyes
Somewhere deep inside was the conscious me
And she took me by surprise with her sweet gentle smile
She stands where the river blows her hair wild

no youth and no favor for her
no hands to clean the salt licks on her skin
her palms are dreams wrinkled dry
yet craving an offer.

You come from a distant land, she says,
heavens bless you.

I got no small change, I respond,
my mind drifts to ponder,

a small change, I need that too,
always hungered for
and faltered through
like I missed the vessel narrowly
to be on the river's other side.

Maybe when I come back,
I turn toward her.

She was gone.
Harwood Point, Dec 5, 2017
An abortive river trip, a chance encounter
 96° 
Tommy Le
Listen to the creak.
I heard the wind calling me.
What is it I seek?
 93° 
Silvain
Who knows me knows that's I love violence.
But is it really considered violence when its only violent towards oneself?
I always go on about war, fights, blood and knives.
I have always considered myself the ugliest of Monsters.

But today as I walk in the park thinking of what to write,
I came across a group of children running wild.
Took me awhile to really look and notice,
that they are actually running after an injured bird.

It flapped its Wings and gave such agonized cries.
It desperately crawled using all the tools god give it,
But still the children caught and kicked it time and time again.

I usually mind my own business especially when it comes to children.
But that was not a scene I can let go by.
I just did not expect to have such fury at these horrible children.

Here was a bird that barely had the strength to move,
That just wanted to find a place to peacefully lie till the end of time,
Being chased by a group of small abusive humans.

The monster in me emerged and I chased down everyone of those children,
Now if this was the dream world I would have probably just killed them and be done with it.

But apparently I cannot do that so I just had a good speaking with each one.
I tried to show them the misery this little creature must be going through,
But no one listened no one even bothered stop to take in the words.

There was nothing I can do but walk away but still I heard the cries of that injured bird.
So I turned back and through my disgust at its state
I picked it up.

And so now here I sit,
Writing these words,
Next to a dying bird.

So tell me I'm I still considered a monster?
 85° 
Gunta
When you feel your legs numb at the edge
It feels like you’re going to fall any moment now
You can’t just believe yourself that you’ll stay there
But it’s the same as life
If we continue we stay, if we let ourselves we fall
It’s just our feelings making us believe that we must fall
But actually there’s still a chance to take a step back from the edge
You will start to see your feelings becoming weaker
You can open up your mind more
And finally you can see the true meaning of falling
 81° 
Stu Shapiro
I take back my heart and let go of hope
I take it back as easily as you lied,
Those deceitful words dripped out your mouth
Wrapped in the rotten wings of a black raven.

And now my blue eyed love,
You will never have a chance to hold me or lie to. Never .

Forget me and the memories of my touch. Because I love myself enough to say
Goodbye,
Forever.
 77° 
ConcretePoet
my
childhood
memories
are like
sands
through
an hourglass.

in
the weeds...
gone.

'friends'
like a
pat of butter
dissolving
in a
cast iron skillet.

fleeting
they are
as the
minutes
i am
writing
this in,

minutes that i
physically
can
no longer
live in again!

gone,
just like
'dust
in the wind'.

forgotten,
just like
an
ex wife's love.

un-needed
like
a lap dance
at the
gentlemen's club.

i
won't forget
the waves
that
knocked me down.

or
the roses
that
kissed me
and left
a garden
of
petals
surrounding me.

the faces
that
multiplied
are already
long forgotten...

they are
'dust in
my wind'.

because,

if
you're
going to die,

'die
with your
boots on'
being you.




'concrete-poet'
2/18 ¡
 69° 
Karol
You and I
we have always knew
this is not gonna end well
if i speak my mind this dies
if i stay silent i die
6 months
and we died

I’m begging right know
Tell me what to do?

should I walk away
or try harder ?
Will you ever be able to love me?
Will I be able to tell you I love you?

The clock won’t stop for us
Not even you stop for us
Tik tok
 61° 
Her
the moment a poet
falls in love with you

is the moment
you live

f o r e v e r
 46° 
Temporal Fugue
You really won't see me, exactly as I am
blinded by my cloak, no one gives a damn

Talking to myself in corners, a shadow in the dark
walking the corridors of shame, a stroll within my park

It might be, you catch a glimpse, of an edge or curve
but seeing me clearly, forever held in my reserve

I bind myself to pillars, built within my mind
no delusions, or misconceptions, however misaligned

When seeing my shell, the exterior that I display
remember it's not me, just a false, communique
Fixed some wording in this one, brought back from the archives.
Wandering hell, has it's rewards. :D
 44° 
maria
Stop playing with my feelings
And getting my hopes oh so high
That I'll think you're still liking
And I'll just be too shy.

I question the universe's decision,
I have made fantasies and renditions,
But nothing compares to those small sparks
Whenever I talk with you during the day's dark.

And whenever we hear teases
Of all the jokes and praises
To the times you actually cared
Also, to when you were unfair.

I wouldn't admit I still wish
Granting me the want I crave.
And with one swish,
He is all I have....

To take.

But you wouldn't know why
Mr. He of all high
And I just want you to know
That even if we're not alone
I'd still know whenever you're not okay
And I'll always be there anyway.

Thanks for being a friend for more than a year
Even if I wish we could be more than just cheers.
belated.
Poetry is the rhythm of her soul
flows through her veins
dances in her mind
swirls throughout her days

She speaks stories of solitude
with her shining dark brown eyes
She meets life at the edge of wonders
Unravelling stories yet to ponder

She looks upon to the stars
forgetting darkness behind it
She seeks solace in rapt of silence
Poetry becomes her
bluebird days in Moonstruck
 43° 
alexa
you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.
 42° 
Jude
I despise myself for not being someone you could love.
 41° 
Vanilla
You never listen
Thru one ear
out the other

You did nothing wrong
You're nothing but perfect
He did you wrong
Blatant disrespect

You never learn
Fool you once
It's not on you
Fooled twice
That's askew
 41° 
Nuna
I might misplace my keys from time to time,
I'll forget to buy milk and do the laundry,
my mother calls me irresponsible
cannot blame her, she doesn't understand;
my mind is busy
analyzing peoples lips when they talk, the way they smile
or when they walk
observe their fingers as they hold on to something
do they hold it tightly? does the way they hold it influence their need for it?
I like to study peoples eyes the most
when they laugh
when they cry
when they talk or just listen
the glory is each individual eye and the way the color changes in sunlight
I'm sorry I forgot your birthday
the names of the movies we watched
I didn't mean to ignore your calls, i promised I'd call back
I will
 40° 
The Willow
(There are two characters in this particular story:
Him and You.)

He never thought of me as a poet, though I have written more poetry about Him than anyone else before.
I wrote a poem about him, spent hours on it, hummed it on a stage,
I got so close to the mic for comfort
I felt I was supporting myself on His secondhand drunken breath.
I once read it out loud to him, and it got lost in His head,
and I am unsure if He was ever aware of poetry He dismissed.

But You. You considered me a poet almost from the start,
I could see it in the way Your eyes were trying to tell Your mouth the words it needed to adore me, but Your mouth fell blank,
and so chose into kissing instead.
At least, that's how it went in my head.
You were upset with me at how little poetry I had written about You,
and even to this day, though we are apart for three years,
You still read my words.

Why?
Why do you still read?
Is it to make up for the words You skipped over in my eyes when You were close enough to read my irises?
 40° 
Vale Luna
(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.
Forward: from the victims perspective.
Backward: from the murderers perspective.

This TOOK ME FOREVER TO WRITE
 40° 
Coraline Hatter
when I die

turn my body into ashes

and

spread it over the ocean

so I can go home

after a lifetime of feeling

homesick
Inspired by Amanda Lovelace's book "the princess saves herself in this one"
- a mermaid escapist
 39° 
Eric the Red
The truth about poets
Is
They’re not all alike
Some are derelicts
Scalawags
Lovers
Sisters
Some say they’re writers
Instead of Poet
For they know what that puts
Into the minds of others
Romantic
Lethargic
Gypsy
Some will never write novels
Poems are their Ulysses
Their ‘Love in the Time Of Cholera
Some are sad
Withdrawn
Choose to live there
While some poets
Use their words
To claw their way out
Some have fallen out of love
&
Want someone
ANYONE
to listen
While some have fallen in
the deepest ocean
&
Want to tell the world
What this man
This woman
Means to them

Most write their verses
Alone
Some at midnight
Some at sunrise
Some with coffee
Most with bottles

Most will never see the reaction
Of many
Will never hear
‘I like that...’

And most don’t want to be famous
Or sometimes heard
We
Just want to be
Ourselves
 39° 
Sunny
We have families.
People that care for us
They love you and support you through tough times
Some people don’t have these kinds of families.
They’re…different. Dysfunctional, even.
They can hurt you and abuse you in so many different ways…
If you have one of these families.
There are ways to break free.
Even though it may not look like it.
You will find a way to get out.
And people are willing to help you.
 39° 
exst
You transformed my darkness
Into light

You taught me
The meaning of life

You accepted me
When I could not

You listened
When I forgot
 38° 
mollie
sitting underneath the stairs, i realized suddenly:
i could die here.

i could die here,
and would anyone know?
i could die here, under the dirty staircase,
and nothing would change.

a friend of mine came for me eventually;

someone i don't know too well,
but well enough.

and she squeezed my hand and told me,
"you're not alone."

as my breathing grew ragged and my chest constricted and my eyes ached, i belatedly realized that was the most terrifying prospect of all.
only thing worse than feeling alone is knowing that so many others feel alone... hope everyone out there is feeling loved
 38° 
Kimber
I keep throwing gasoline on my already burning problems.

I'm addicted to the pain.
 37° 
Katherine Storm
There's a lone, dark place
Deep inside my heart.
A place where none has been
Not you, Not him.
Just me.
When the world turns away,
I dwell far into that place.
It gives me the chills
More than the cold places I've been.
I tried to open the doors to you
But you said it's too dark and scary.
For you, who have stood in the light
This place is damp and rotten.
For me, who has lived within the darkness
It is like coming back home.
 35° 
Y Rada
​I was young and full of dreams
Wanting to be with you always
So I let my black hair grow long
'Til it would reach your heart​

You glanced at me many times
And I was too shy to confess
I looked at the skies everyday
As I brushed my cascading mane

I imagined your hands on me
Your fingers were so soft
Telling me that you adore me
As you tied up my long hair

The sun gave way to the moon
Silky black turned to gray
But still my hair is flowing
Past my untamed bitter heart

I look sadly at the starlit skies
When I alone brush my long tresses
Remembering regrets of the past
And knowing you bind up her hair.
This is my first poem in 2018. I got inspired with the Beautiful Chinese Music - Binding Up My Hair. The melody is so beautiful and melancholic.
 34° 
Allie Sherman
I used to fear the fire,
Now I’ve become it.
 33° 
floriculturist
i often think,
of empty grocery store aisles,
dusk in summer,
the home i grew up in,
tea leaves,
and sugar,
and cigarettes,
and you –
forever an anomaly,
a notion at best.

l.a.c
 32° 
mydarkfairytale
If a girl is hopelessly crying in a forest and no one is around to hear her, did she actually cry?

All that you’ve heard about Rapunzel is pure lies.
She had jet black hair, that was darker than the midnight sky.
Entirely broken inside, waiting to end her life.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you what really happened tonight
Grab a delicious treat and something sweet to drink.
Before I wish you a goodnight’s sleep.

Once upon a time there was a young girl named Rapunzel
Since the age of ten she had been locked away in a monstrous tower.
Kept in chains by her demons all day.
They liked to play games with her mental state.

One of the games included, Simon Says.
Simon Says, cut a blade through your wrist.
Simon Says, bang your head against the brick wall,
Until you begin bleeding and start to fall.
She hated Simon Says,
But she always obeyed what they said.

Mother Gothel was an antagonist; a myth.
Rapunzel made her up in her mind to have someone to blame,
For all the wretched pain which she endured everyday.

Loneliness became her closest friend
As she sat alone in a cobwebbed den.
Listening to the clock ‘tick tock’ in her head
Over again like a broken record.
Making her want to rip her hair out to shreds.

The voices screaming in her head made her psychotic.
No one cared about this depressive girl,
More than they did about summer rain.
They all couldn’t see her suffering, so it didn’t matter.
Instead they threw her in a tower, an architect built.
So her mind could rot in tiny pieces, lying still.

One day a boy named Flynn came into the mix.
He loved her with all his heart; they could never be apart.
When he was around, her eyes light up.
Forgetting the misery that came after dark

Tomorrow came along.

Rapunzel was found sobbing in her fragile pale hands.
“Leave me alone!”, she screamed in terror with her eyes closed shut.
Shaking uncontrollably, while the rain and tears flowed as one.
Just like the river she wanted to drown herself in.

Flynn gently helped her to her feet in panic.
The electricity still flowing through her entire body.
“I love you.” he softly whispered into her ear.
“I love you!” he says with passion and honesty.
Her breathing slowly came to a halt, after hearing him speak.
He made her believe that life had some meaning.

Her soul now feels at peace
She looks at him with pure sincerity  
He whips her tears away, “I’ll never leave you”.
A promise he can never keep.
“I love you too”, she says with ease.
Their eyes meet together, as they laugh in unison.
Lips softly meet as one; the night has just began.
This is the happiest Rapunzel has ever been in years,
Too bad it will all suddenly disappear.



It was all an illusion.
Rapunzel suffered from Schizophrenia.
Flynn was a figment of her imagination.
An escape from her cruel reality she faced.
The townspeople didn’t want to deal with her mental illness.
So they washed her away, to be left astray.

People hate what they don’t understand,
So everyday for eight years she sat freezing in sorrow.
While her demons devoured her spirit.
Incapable of love and affection.
With a hollow chest where her heart should be.

In order to cope with the ‘life’ she was living,
Her mind made up Flynn.
Though they were madly in love; he was a fairytale.
As years went by depression ate her whole.
She died alone, in a pitch black room.
No light seeping in, with nobody to love and hold her.
To tell her everything will be okay,
And keep her heart beating in place.

If a girl dies alone in a tower, where everyone hates her, and no one is around to witness her death: did she actually exist?
The End.
I dedicate this poem to my childhood self. You deserved and deserve better. For all the sunny days people shattered with grey clouds.

I hope this poem means as much to you as it does to me. Don't stop until your reach "The End". I promise you won't regret it. I swear.
 31° 
Sam
The tolls of my unrequited affections
Wear heavy on the armor of my heart
Eroding the enamel I've so carefully crafted
Breaking my ability to be detached
To be utterly numb and empty as I please
A hole's been chiseled in my soul
Illustrious sorrows I must now behold
They capsize me in their wake
Again, my heart has come to resemble me
Again, I am... Broken
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