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Before you say this is rubbish
Read the first line again
Before you say this is rubbish
Read the third line again
Before you say this is rubbish
Read the fifth line again
Before you say this is rubbish
Read the first line from the third word
This is rubbish, Isn't it?
Poet poetry depression write read rubbish
Sharkey Poems

I'm not mad anymore.

What was I thinking
As if love actually
Keeps score.

The fever passed.
It felt so intense
at the time.
Now. it doesn't make sense.

I remember when:
                     My emotions blistered
                                .......whatever that was,
.                                     .......that thing that you did.
                                            ..........or was it something you said.

                                     Well, whatever you or I did
                                     To me, it is buried
                                    And dead.

So, now is now and then was then.
What do you think?
Can we be together again?

I'm not mad anymore.
Don't let your eyes fall on my legs as if hey are a canvas on which you can paint your imaginations
You are not an artist that can dictate my position in the painting you thought up when disregarding my humanity
I breath and move and affect the ground  underneath me
And even more amazingly, I think thoughts that shake the pages they touch
Don't hollow me out because I resemble the manicanes that stare through thick glass windows and mirror something that towers far above what they are there to resemble
I can't be dressed up and down as my eyes glaze over
I have the absolute and final opinion in the moving and shaking of my independently owned body
Only lifeless diamonds screams look at me
But a moving breathing woman doesn't need to be stared and holla'd at to understand what she is
Why should I be told what is expected of me or be given a manual to how tightly my possessions should be squeezed together?
I am the deciding force behind the direction my hips sway
And you should beg to even be considered by the mind that thought up these thoughts
This is an American Poem.
Do you like it?
Do you think it's too long
Or too short?
Is it sexy enough?
Should it show more cleavage
Or should it become more conservative....
Accept the Gospel of Jesus Christ?
Is the language appropriate or inappropriate?
Would it be unacceptable
If I added a profane word?
Which direction should this poem go?
North, South, East or West?
Or should it go Up into Space
Or down into the Ground?
Which words are missing from this poem?
Which words in this poem don't you like?
Can you please fill out my survey?
I want to know if I should pursue a career as a poet
Or if I should commit suicide
With Heroin or Crack?
This poem was made possible by Wakacon, distributors of Fine Fijian Kava, based in Salt Lake City, Utah....the only way to make sense out of the United States.
People are like clay.
We can mold to adapt.
We can change how we look,
But not what we are made of;
And if we are left uncared for
We become as hard as rocks,
And that's the tragedy of living.
Vale Luna
When I see you
I get caterpillars in my stomach
Not grown enough to be butterflies
But alive enough
    To make me feel sick

The constant crawling
A thousand tiny legs
Scurrying up my esophagus
Ready to throw up
A feeling too real to ignore
And too nauseating to admit

So when I see you again
I’ll just keep my mouth shut
Live with the taste of dirt on my tongue
And swallow the caterpillars
   That live in my stomach.
Kate G
i was the roses he stopped to smell
red with potential
pure and young
his fingers caressed their virgin petals

i was the ocean he walked along
feeling the cool surf
i washed away his footsteps
beautiful and blue he said

i was his princess
regal and soft
i slept in his arms
dreaming of him

i was his morning
beginning his day
sweet brown coffee
only for him

his love for roses wilted
blue turned grey
my crown taken
sweetness lost

abandoned me

now im someone else's garden
and my beaches treasured
no-longer a princess but queen
mornings lovely and sweet
Debanjana Saha
A nice line I came across-
We all need to belong
To somewhere
To someone
To whom?

Can't figure out yet
But if we belong to
Our passion
Our love
belongingness is
More than enough
To survive each day :)
Not been around here for a long time. Didn't find muse, neither found a word to write for myself. It's been hard days. Yet, I love this place- Hp brings me back to home full of love. Hope you all are doing fine. Surviving each day with a smile is hard yet need to keep living, loving and finding our one place where we can be ourselves
Alex Zhang
I eat my corn dog
ketchup on my chin,
and the frogs croak,
while the crickets chirp,
warm air pressing gently on my skin.

A cool breeze tugs my shirt,
carrying a faint smell of cinnamon.

The cries and laughs of children
heard vaguely in the distance.

The birds' singing dies down
as the sun begins to set,
resting for another round,
as it hides its gilded coronet.

Yet the lights of the carnival
reflect like little stars
on the pond's surface,
dainty and novel,
shining without a purpose.

Just for that moment
I am unable to move,
for the night air takes my breath
and my body the darkness soothes,
so that all my pain melts away
as does this passing day,
and I let go of my regret.

I stop pondering whether I'm still sane,
for this moment I wish to remain
petrified like a Vesuvian
and all my worries, I soon forget.

And in those delicate seconds of clarity,
I feel like I truly understand
the meaning of my humanity,
of this abstraction that I perceive as actuality
what it is I really demand.

Everything in harmony
brimming with lucidity;
in utter awe of life,
constant serendipity.
Dillon Lynch
Downcast into the gutter of honesty
She proclaimed her affection
But I was unmoved
The debt collector came by
He took my urn
Still, I was unmoved
They inquire if I am cold
"Aren't you?" I would say
No frigid wind would move me
Age has no place in the gutter
Nor a place for backbiting men
I am moved, but only spiritually
Opportunity presents itself
New information to take in
All in the form of stimulating pain
The Stoic and the Cynic in the gutter of honesty
Trying to decide who is correct
Rachel Dyer
Everything here is yellow.
Lemons play hide and seek in the twisted winding streets.
And the mind becomes slow, like liquid mellow.
My feet on ancient cobblestone tapping out new beats.
While my tongue swims through the limoncello.

Everything here is old.
The sand is black a small reminder of an ancient doom.
My dear friend yesterday reminding me to be bold.
To seek out answers from those who lie quiet in an volcanic tomb.

Everything here is sweet.
My lips a constant rosy red from the blood of wine.
One cannot help but be drawn into the mother natures teat.
Drinking in a new sensuality, delicious in every curve and line.

Italy gives the world warmth and time.
A lovely old woman bearing the lines of love.
To never visit her dusky shores must surely be a cosmic crime.
For this land has been given all things good from above.
Emeka Mokeme
I know the one who
made my heart raced,
to palpitate uncontrollably,
to make me shake
as if I have a fever.
I know the feeling experienced.
Out of the world I roamed
the whole galaxy.
Time stood still,
wishing for it not to end.
For that touch
I will give anything.
Her warm embrace
is like heaven.
Her breathe as fresh as
the morning breeze of
a cool windy beach,
her skin so soft
with a fragrance like that
of a rose petal.
The soul that never
loved is lost,
it is only that kind
that lives in hell.
Sometimes life is
about risking everything
for a dream no one
can see but you.
You will never know
the real value of a moment until
it becomes a memory.
Right now I have some big,
happy, jump-in-the-air news for you,
my friendly lover and my most loveliest
friend is here.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
hope was telling me
in all of its almost colors
to settle and just be
for even the reckless stars
along with its little daredevilness gut
are committing its mightest fall
and asked to just stay
a little bit more

Eleanor Sinclair
I met a friend today
His name was Death
He smiled big with pure white teeth
And minty fresh breath
I asked him what he did for a living
Staring blankly at me, batting his eyelashes
He did the opposite of giving
What did that mean?
But the closer I got to Death
The better I understood his scheme
In his sharp black suit he won me over
I felt an irresistible draw
Like to a diamond in the rough, or a four leaf clover
He convinced me of the beauty in the night
That when the moon was hidden from view
There was nothing better than the lack of light
He led me from my lust for life
Sang to me in my sleep
Whispered sweet nothings and handed me the knife
I tried to pull away from my newly found friend
But his choke hold was so tight
On him I started to depend
The world could see me deteriorate into nothing
He held me harder and closer
With shortness of breath I stood huffing and puffing
Enclosed in the lackluster of our friendship I became numb
The emotions drifted with my vitality
I tried to retrieve them but could only attain 1/5th of my former sum
The more time you spend with a person
The more you become like them
I suppose I couldn't see the situation worsen
Collar around my neck he leashed me like a dog
I cared so deeply for him
My haze filled mind ignored the dense fog
I came to terms with my life long trap
Death circled like a satellite around my position
No matter where I went he found my place on the map
Eventually I succame to this fate
Despite his control
Death, I could not hate
I loved him too dearly to notice the signs
I couldn't think clearly
His presence was odious and it wasn't benign
i looked at you
in every light,
in every angle,
in every mistake,
in every perfection.
i had to convince myself that we aren't for each other.
scared of loving is in my nature lmao
Kelsey Rhoads
If you are a suicide survivor
Inbox me your name
And I’ll add it to my tattoos of others

You guys mean the world to me
And I have my own name on my arm
Because I too, am a suicide survivor.
Inbox me your name. Make this go viral so I get names. Hopefully it inspires someone to fight a little harder. Anyone wanna join me?

If you understand I’m sorry. Stay strong friend.
i don't think, necessarily, that i wanted to be
the way that i am.
i find it hard to leave my room most days,
spending my time speaking to a keyboard
rather than a professional.
and i'm sure the big wide world (is)n't all that
scary, (especially) nor the people in it,
but i cannot seem to find the
to leave my room
and i think people do want to know me (but not the real me),
i think my family isn't as bad as they seem
(when they aren't yelling anyway)
but i can't seem to let them (do i want to let them?) in.

and i know it's my fault
if i could just open my bedroom door,
open my mouth,
open myself up to others,
    ( i
wouldn't be so
     alone. )
It was heavy.
The weight of the world
fell on me, and it was heavy.
All the moments of my life
I have carried this weight.
My body was tired
from it.
I could no longer do this,
I could no longer support this.
Crash. My knees hitting the dirt.
Crack. My body failing me.
Screams from my friends
Ringing in my ears.
“Help her!”
“Save her!”
They knew
the weight I carried
was hard for me
but they did it anyways.
Forcing nutrients into me.
Giving me more weight.
Weight I had to carry
not them.
Weight I could not
live with,
weight I hated.
For I was too heavy.
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
I left
I gave you up
I learned it hard
Had to be tough
But go untouched
To grow unloved
To blow too hard
I needed to understand
Why this is truth
Why you weren't there
And why I was too
when a poet falls in love with you
you can never die
they will notice the way
you rub your palms and look down
when someone is angry at you
and the way you smirk
as you pull away from a kiss

they will notice how you can't sleep
without your body touching someone else's
how you never crease any pages of books
and how you close your eyes when you dance in your kitchen
with your record player on

they will find all of the words
that they see you as
and turn them into something beautiful

people say you die twice
once when you stop breathing
and when someone says your name
for the last time

if you fall in love a poet
they will never stop
mentioning your name
you will be alive
for eternity
Sean Achilleos
Walking home from a local pub
The evening so quiet
With the distinct smell of magnolia
Lingering in the midnight air
I look up at the stars
Suddenly my thoughts are taken back in time
It seems like yesterday I think
Where did the time go
Those endless nights of excitement
We’d throw stones on a stranger’s roof
Dare to ring someone’s doorbell
Then run away as fast as lightning
We laughed so much our stomachs hurt
Now our muscles contract from stress
The needle had reached the end of the record
Lifted and returned to its holding place
The stereo light still burning when returning home
From an intoxicated night of pleasure and dance
Oh the bliss of ignorance and youth
Sometimes it’s better not to know
I continue to walk on
Suddenly I see a FOR SALE sign
Someone else’s dream has come to an end
Or perhaps it’s just begun
You never know how special the moment is until it’s past
The biggest regret is regret  

Written by Sean Achilleos 25 May 2018©
Amazon: Sean Achilleos 'An Affair with Life' The Philosophical Poems of Sean Achilleos
YouTube: Sean Achilleos

Sean Achilleos' Music is also available on the following platforms:
Amazon, Apple Music, iTunes, Deezer, Google Play, Pandora, Saavn, SoundCloud, Spotify, Tidal, YouTube Content ID, YouTube Art Tracks and Jango Radio

Sean Achilleos' Book 'An Affair with Life' is also obtainable from the following platforms:
Smashwords, Amazon, Wordery, Kobo, Exclusive Books, Takealot, Loot, Overdrive, Bokus, Barnes and Noble
Written by Sean Achilleos 25 May 2018©
Amazon: Sean Achilleos 'An Affair with Life' The Philosophical Poems of Sean Achilleos
YouTube: Sean Achilleos

Sean Achilleos' Music is also available on the following platforms:
Amazon, Apple Music, iTunes, Deezer, Google Play, Pandora, Saavn, SoundCloud, Spotify, Tidal, YouTube Content ID, YouTube Art Tracks and Jango Radio

Sean Achilleos' Book 'An Affair with Life' is also obtainable from the following platforms:
Smashwords, Amazon, Wordery, Kobo, Exclusive Books, Takealot, Loot, Overdrive, Bokus, Barnes and Noble
I was once just a kid, caring and kind.
Nurturing a fragile state of mind.
Growing wicked thoughts and a crooked spine.
Both things god, himself couldn’t align.

So maybe just maybe it’s all my fault.
Or self hating is just my default.
I am missing something terribly strong.
And i’m afraid to admit what’s wrong.

I planted shitty habits years ago
Had I known I wouldn’t let them grow.
I learned what heartbreak can do to a boy
And how love can be used to destroy.

Her words pierced my heart ‘til it stopped beating.
I knew my emotions were fleeting
I let them go scattered about the wind.
Nothing that I soon planned to rescind.

The pain was stronger than the liquor in my cup
The broken pieces of failed relationships piled up
I used those pieces to avoid the pitfalls of pretty faces.
I’ve done my best to be safe with short embraces.

Scared of feelings more than a one night stand.
Showing emotion is something grand
I was once just a kid, caring and kind.
Now a callous king, empty and blind.
The warm, blue waves
lapping at the fine sand
eating it away
The bright, yellow sun
gazing down at everyone
radiating heat
and warmth
people laughing
and smiling
a gentle breeze
to cool everything down
I close my eyes
and listen to the rolling waves
and for a second
is perfect
"blond hair, black lungs."

Cigarettes kissed her lips
Like someone who didn't deserve her.
Both promised her dreams of happiness
Both delivered internal hurting.
Soft lips led to a damaged heart,
Like the kiss of smoke filled lungs.

Sometimes we just don’t care though.
We hold that cigarette in between our lips,
We breathe in that someone who will surely hurt us.
All for the hope that
these moments that they are on our lips
Might somehow last forever.

"blonde hair, black lungs."
Well, I'm addicted to cigs I guess
“please be naked”

she stands in her doorway wearing just a gown,
I walk in the house, dumbstruck by beauty,
up in her room undoing the bow, the shield simply slides down
caressing her curves, stroking down to the floor,
intertwined bodies craving the touch of the other,
joined as one in the gentle acts of love and lust,
romanticised ideals of perfection and soft rhythm,
delicate groans as two become one,
the broken poet, for the moment, is gone,
my drug addiction of you, just wanting more,
As my heart bleeds, love begins to pour.

“please be naked”.
this poem is influenced by The 1975 instrumental song "please be naked". i regularly think of this song as romanticising the act of sex and the trust required with it rather than what most songs make it today. despite having no lyrics the song speaks volumes to me and id definitely recommend it to anyone. stay safe and live well. JY x
You are the centre of your own universe
But can you
dark and light
patty m
Each day the garden dies a little more
and  I let it.
Whitewashed jasmine
smoking in the sun

A lifeless haze locks me in
concrete; a stone puzzle,
parodied and now mistook
where pieces lie,
how little one gleans beneath concrete.

Blurred lines
I cannot thread this maze
beneath hapless verse.
dwarfed by woe

Tall grass of the floodplain,
the flat meandering river,
a flight of cranes, startled,
rises from the opposite shore.
too silent this
white shadow
intervening time
Sorrow is a constant wind blowing,
today is the 3rd anniversary of my precious husband's death
I'm where I want to be
The happy place
I've returned after two years
Much has changed
Many things have not

The sights of skyscrapers
The scent of green tea and fumes
All seems like home to me as I walk through the city

Yet I cry
Smiling comes from time to time
Fake it until you make it comes into play as I'm asked how I am
Silent screams of loneliness
Tears of yearning
For things just beyond my reach

I'm falling into the darkness while in my happy place
When I return 'home' it will be worse


All this fills my mind as I wave goodbye to Tokyo
Kyoto is to come
A spark of joy and excitement

Yet why am I dying when I'm in my happy place

Tokyo & Kyoto
Thoughts while on the Shikansen from Tokyo to Kyoto
heather mckenzie
i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.

i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.

let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.

because my moods change like the goddamn seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
                                         you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could kill themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
                                          i tell you that i have been to four.
                                          names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.

let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
                       tragic, isn’t it.

you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
                                             i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
                                                                ­                 let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.

let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
                                             and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.

                                              tragic, isn’t it.
We are the ones who are hard to understand
We'll be the last ones in the movie theatre
because the ending scene made us cry
We'll stop to smell the roses
because they deserve to be appreciated
We are the ones who will take the time
to get to know what keeps you up at night
We are the ones who will imagine
an entire future of adventures
with the people who show us love

We are the ones who will love you more
than we love ourselves sometimes
We will give you our strongest parts
in hopes that we can make things better
We desire to see you become the best you
to make sure that you always feel our love
We crave affection and appreciation
We give a piece of ourselves away every day
sometimes to people who don't deserve it
Our love is easy to take advantage of
and sometimes we don't get back
the love that we give away

When we hurt, we crumble and fall apart
We constantly have to put ourselves back together
We are more fragile than we like to give off
We carry our emotions on our sleeves
Our flaws have the ability to consume us
We aren't afraid to give you the world
but we are afraid to feel unloved
We want you to see what we see
We want you to understand where we're coming from

We are good people with good intentions
We are stronger than we look like
Not everyone can feel the way we feel
We feel too much, too often
We are not hard to love
We are something not everyone knows how to love
But you need to remember that
your worth does not change just because
no one is there to appreciate you, to remind you

You are not any less lovable
You are the most lovable person in the world
You are a light that the world needs
Your kindness is not your weakness
You do not need to change for anyone's acceptance
You do not need to stop giving love
just because you don't get any back
Your heart is the best thing about you

And one day when you least expect it
someone will notice you from across the room
and know exactly how to love you
They will think all of these things are beautiful
They will deserve the love you can give
They will fill the empty space in your heart
But for now, don't stop feeling
We are the ones who feel everything so deeply
We are the ones who can't give up because
We are the ones who will teach the world
how to love
We are exactly who we are supposed to be
Edmund black
Love is too amazing
      For anyone
  To be sorta loved

        If you’re
Going to reach for
The heart , I would
Hope  that you use
       Both hands
The heart is never a thing
      To be taken lightly

          Don’t try
Grabbing it with one hand
       Holding on
 To someone else’s

Never to embrace
          The new
 While holding on To
          The old

   Love isn’t love
   It moves beyond
  Action is everything
  If you truly want
           To be
  In someone’s
You will create the best
Way to get  there

 We all  deserve a
Consistent kind
in many ways than one
i try to see the figures
resting on my shoulders
heavy; helium homicide
bringing nothing to the table
mixed with ounces of
awful regret
o how we'd twist and turn
in a rollercoaster
give me bags of that
cotton of a heart
undo any contracts
barring my submission
to your just looks
i only wanted to make you smile
piecemeal enchanted
it hurts when you say goodbye
you often say nothing at all
I want to ruin you
the way you ruined me
and you know I can
and you know I could
and you know I won't
and you know I didn't

I want to ruin you
because you ruined me
you took away my happiness
my reason to smile
you took away my soul
like the angel of death

you ruined my love
because I gave it all to you
and now I hate love
as much as I hate you
I don't trust love
just like I don't trust you

you ruined my heart
you broke it into pieces
and stepped on every piece
crushing every hope
I ever had
to be whole again

you ruined my life
by stepping into it
and then leaving
and then running back
only to walk away

you ruined me
conquering my mind, body & soul
so much that
your happiness and sadness
became mine
but my inside went numb

you ruined me
worse than
he ruined you

I want to ruin you
but I don't have it
in me
to be as selfish
as heartless
as you
Another Bad Poem
it's official
it has been
a month

a whole,
wild month
but still a month

a month of
countless words
hundreds of views

though the question is
what is the point of this?
i've been here a month
and i'm still not sure

do i write here
just so
i have an outlet?
to get these feelings out?

am i here
to seek acceptance
to find people who feel like me
or who appreciate my thoughts?

am i just here
to feel wanted and understood
to hear praise and
watch my views climb?

is this a way for me
to say things to people
that i don't have the courage to say
in real life?

or am i here to help
diffuse my anger
and dull the pointed edges
of my soul
and try to put together
the shattered parts of me
by accepting them myself?
Hannah Sutter
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
Denny Crow
If you can't hold someone's attention
what makes you think you can hold their heart?
lost love
Friday night immodesty

theater on East 4th street @ eight,
so the girlie stuff commences on schedule 90 minuets a-priori and the medley music (adele+amy+alicia+ pink for some zing)
a harbinger, a pioneer greek herald of Friday night immodesty

the clothes laid out upon the bed, the shoes,
pumps selected and already on worn, (always a puzzler to me,)
the subdued lower east side jewelry possibilities,
on the dresser drawer, indifferently hoping for selection, but
casually beaming quietly,
like those kids waiting for interviews in the waiting room
of the college admissions dean’s office,
all with serious smiles
and tiny tearing eyes

hellooo, I am in a poetry polo with my best jeans ready to go
2 hours before the curtain calls out, hellooooooo

she sits at the makeup desk,
clad in only her underneath  garments of varying utility,
when I sweep in imperially
and with one hand twist gentle her hair upwards,
her neck nape which is again
the sujet of a poem aborning

like a greek lyre strings, pluck, the tiny hid hairs never seen,
her instant moans at the never fully expected motion poem,
beg more mercy but no quarter given despite repeated cries
of you’ll mess my makeup,
the best defense known to a lady!

god gave men two thumbs to lift up, simultaneously stimulating, slide down each thin black brasserie strap invitations,
each a writ
upon her colored shoulders,
each code named,
“what was she thinking!”

my lips,
now polar explorers, those power (filled) poles side by side,
(east/west for the designer was a smart bipolar guy-person);
the lips play silent night progressive jazz,
tinkling with higher noted keys,
nape to shoulders moving down to the back’s prefrontal lobe,
the small of her back, the body’s quivering,
a con-federate flag of surrender

her last defense swept aside, we drink honey and milk,
celebrate the week’s mellifluous finish with immodest touching,
the lower east side will belong tonite
to only the hipsters, the millennials,
as our hips are otherwise pre-theater and post,

some hours later, watching TV and eating Chinese~delivered,
she laterally and literally arm punches my arm
intensely to mark her discontent,
still annoyed,
for I
1) messed up her makeup,
2)best blouse to the dry cleaner and
3) the tickets wasted, and worse,
hits me again!
when I laugh and giggle  upon proffering
most modestly, most assuredly,
seconds of

9.21am Saturday
thank you all who liked this tale of
the poetry in the details
of our lives.
I could never tell you
exactly what's going on inside my head,
so I'll write instead.
Drown my thoughts in paper & lead.
Keep my hands alive,
and my expression dead.
Jorge Echevarria
Overlooked as if too good
Too sweet causing cavities
Borrowing glances never getting them back
holding hands, loose, and even lonelier
All you wanted to do was be happy
Chances don't exist for opportunity is everything
Mike Hauser
i lost yesterday

and there's no way to get it back

i let it slip out of my hands

before i even had a chance

to learn from my past mistakes

that i could have corrected yesterday

now it's to late to have my say


i lost yesterday
Praggya Joshi
Remember that old uphill trail
We used to meander along
With matching footsteps
Under the sunlit canopy of leaves
Carving words for each other
On the bark of aged trees
Who may have known
what would become of us
But nevertheless smiled
acted as a blank canvas instead
And watched the moments
Filled with playful laughter
Peachy smiles
Lingering gaze
Warm caress
Unfold lazily between us
The winds of time
May have blown us miles apart
Our footprints may have long eroded
That sunlit canopy may have withered
And we may walk that trail
Only in our dreams
But those words are yet to fade
they were the voice of our soul
Etched into the lap of nature
And as I run my fingers along its rugged edges
I reminisce about you
And hope that wherever you are
You are thinking about me too
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