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A caw-
ing of birds
with blunt
-ed beaks
and clip-
ped wings
that can’t fly
or sing
worth a lick
-ety split
ing and peck
-ing a-way
at the best
ing inside
a chest
-full of
ing Blue
felt art
songs in-
of sing
-ing along
ing they
know better
-   the rest?
This in response to the deletion of a great and true HP Poet’s account tonight as a result of constant harassment by at last count 13 dumbass, iealous, couldn’t write a decent poem if the male har-ass-ers tripped over their stupid pricks and the idiotic wagging female tongues who all took part in this. You know who you are. This harassment was reported to HP and to Eliot directly without the courtesy of a reaponse, and without action to curb it. The creation of monitors was a total waste of time. Many of you know her as Vicki. I’m sick of this kind of shit done by supposed adults, and sickened most of all by HP’s allowing this to continue even after multiple messages. As far as I’m concerned, the Guidelines and the so-called monitors aren’t worth a fucking dime. Which is exactly 10 cents more than I’ll ever again contribute to HP.  Go ahead and lock me ip, put me in the corner for awhile, or expel me. I don’t care. Maybe  we will see if the monitors are paying attention at all, or just another silly myth. If you’re a monitor and reading this, I would like to hear your thoughts after you wake the fuck up.
Most Sincerely,
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.
I don't know why I think about,
The dirtiest word I know,
My eyes start to swell up,
It starts to eat at my soul.

Why does it come across me
Why do I feel this way
Why was I born different
Why couldn't I just be the same

The dirtiest word I know
Is one that was almost met
With a bottle of pills
And a whole lot of weight on my life

A little girl back then
Not nearly the same
Wasn't able to admit
This would be a lifelong fear

Or a threat- I guess that's right
It taunts
and haunts
Sometimes wont leave me alone

This dirty, dirty word
Is really starting to take hold
It happens when I'm happy
It happens when I'm sad

I guess the words are manic,
anxious and depressed
It sounds much better simply said
Then the  real words they represent

I skipped my medication
I skipped my only step
I could blame it on some other thing
But I really know it's really me

I lose control of everything
Of the world that I try to control
Will there ever be a cure for the way that I feel
Or will suicide finally take hold

It gets worse the older I get
I fear it will only grow
I hate how this feels
I hate who this makes me
I just want to feel normal again
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.
Alysia Marie
I crave your arms
wrapped around me
so tight that they’ll
be one with my skin

Like vines
stretched across
a building
holding on
for eternity

Feeling your fingertips
burrow into my hair
like roots in the ground
for a quaking aspen

Planting the most
intricate garden
longing to flourish
through every part
of me

Alysia Marie 2018 ©
The rise and fall of your chest
Is a fluctuation that puts me to rest .
I’m at ease when you breathe .

Your body is a temple
And I’m tempted to yank at every angle
I want to birth sin in this home.
The art of constancy in change .
A persistent fluctuation.
fearing the dark abyss, i go to discover. i jump into the deep unknown, knowing very well i cannot swim.
i look around only to find myself growing in disappointment and failure. darkness clouds over my mind as i loose grip on my sanity.
drifting. far, far away.
Headless Starfish
"Sabiendo nada más que vivir es estar a solas con la muerte"
sabiendo que palpita en la sien la rabia
de la vida no descrita, tal vez pensada.
Sabiendo la amargura, de la muerte los colores
y la sangre.
¿Somos felices?


"Knowing that living is being alone with death nothing more"
knowing that in the temples pulses the rage
of life not described, maybe thought.
Knowing the bitterness, of death the colors
and the blood.
Are we happy?
Can't recall what poem this was in, but something in "One river, one love" by Cernuda
Kathryn Irene
I can't bear you being in pain

Weep on my shoulders
and let me hold you.
Let me comfort until
the pain fades away
until you can see that
you are safe and sound
beyond my arms and
in this vast world.
I hold you by no bounds
but safety until you
are free to fly away.
That you may soar free and happy,
for that is all I want for you in this
miserable life.
Be free,

- SkullsNBones
From my instagram
Nobody In Society
I love you for so many reasons.
Big and Small.
And all of them are Wonderful.

I love you for all the special qualities
That make the one of a kind...
The only one in the world for me.

I love you for the things you do
That bring such special meaning to my life
I love you for silent times
When your eyes and arms tell me all I want to know.

I love you
Just because I do

Because now
I’m the deepest part of my heart...
A place where there was nothing before
There is love.
For Asher
Paint me a picture
Of your skin
Does it bronze beneath the sun?
Or sizzle and blush
Like your cheeks
When you’re in love?
Is it soft to the touch
Like when your hand grazes
The smooth surface of water?
Or rough around the edges
Like your favorite book
And its lovingly worn corners?
Does it melt in the heat
Like sweet syrupy treats
Dripping through your fingers?
Or does it welcome the winter
With wide open arms
As if greeting a lover?
Paint me a picture
Of your skin
grumpy thumb
Dainty hours
spent with her petal soft smile
lush exchanges
how her mouth makes words warm
delicate  moments
when our eyes held each other
little desolate
when hands separated
and time disconnected us
as it blindly does
without so much as an apology
Harriet Shea
Divine power soars high above me, standing
for everything I do and believe in, cannot do it
by myself without God's divines spirit.

Dreams do not just happen, they have to be desired
having faith in our divine spirit, helping our dreams
goals, understanding, to become a reality..

The colors surrounding my heart were not always
as bright as they are, it took many years of
determination and struggle to make those
colors as bright as they are today.

Divine power gave me the strength to be a better
me, it did not happen overnight, now I lay in a
valley of Lillie's with fragrance lingering for
miles, a calm and peaceful feeling brought on
from years of belief, faith, and deep love.

Defeat should not exist in our world, not ever
fears of knowledge should not be setting our world
on fire, it should be the strength we grasp on
collecting only the light, spirit, and positive truth
that lives within our own souls.

With understand ourselves, we shall become wise to
comprehend truth, of spirit within our own complex

All answers are just before us to hear, if we only listen
to the spirit of our own subconscious, installed deeply
within, instead of darkness of misunderstanding, we
could all fine out own paradise within our own self,
learning the real reason of existence.

By Derena
© 2018 Derena (All rights reserved)
Orange Rose
I wrote a poem when I died...
Another at my birth.
A brand-new sonnet when I cried.
And again when there was mirth.

A song for my confession...
A story for my pain...
A painting for depression...
And nursery rhymes for rain.

My creations live inside my heart.
I keep them there in shame.
Yet you looked around and saw my art,
And smiled all the same.
I see you.
With your heart of stone
I see you
With your gilded mask
I see you
With your diamond tears
I see you
With your blazing tongue
I see you
With your glass smiles
I see you
With your empty eyes
I see you
With your fragile hands
I see you
With your broken lies
I see you
With your stooped shoulders
I see you.
Everything you are,
Everything you are not.
I see you
And I care.
I see you, because you are like me.
Melissa S
Dream of me
I am real...
I am where smiles are made
and tears fade away
Where hope springs forth
Away from the darkness
of the earth

I am the glow of the moon
and all the stars in the sky
those who seek the light
shall have me as their guide

I am the red bird or butterfly you see
Just keep your eyes open... to find me
I am where tomorrow is coming
and hope always holds on
My darling
I am never truly gone....❤
I have been dreaming of my mother lately and do not want to wake up because it feels so real and I miss her so. I wrote this from her perspective writing to me
You hate that I wear your shirts
Specifically the ones that you got from being in the marines
Its just I don't know you

I never really did
So I wear your shirts because you've worn them
And I was hoping that the fibers would tell me who you were

The woven strands would tell me about your personality
The dyes would tell me about your past
A history written in cloth

The folded crisped sleeves
Telling me about what happened in the past ten years of not talking to each other
You see I suck at talking about what I'm feeling

The only proper way I can is spilling it through the tip of a pen
Or pouring it into a keyboard
I'm slowly reminded that your shirts don't take on a condescending tone

Telling me that I'm just a kid
Part of me was hoping that
Some kind of weird information transfer would happen

Your shirt and I would swap information
So the next time you put it on
(If I hadn't taken it with me)

Everything I've been through would swap into your head and be processed
And you'd stop calling me a little kid and you'd realize that
I suck at showing emotions and that you aren't a brother to me

You're a stranger
And you left
When you did I had to grow up because you were the first to go

Ten years ago you left and I don't hold anything against you because I don't know you
And my earlier memories are always swirling eddies
A fogged shower mirror that I can never make out

You left and when you did you left a child behind
Someone who still had chimed belled laughter
Will o the wisps smiles

Someone who treaded on pearl ingrained feet
But those pearls began to sink in and cut
Only to become blood rubies

Unforgivingly beautiful
And seductively painful
I walked back into your life on those ruby kissed feet  

I stood a little taller
My shoulders a little broader
My face a bit more graced with age


I'm your slightly older younger sister
How have you faired these past ten years?
This life we're living, this place we're at, this thing we're feeling. Its amazingly surreal. Like a waking dream that is our reality. Almost too good to be true. And while every rose has gotta have its thorns, even our thorns are oh so sweet. Maybe they remind us of how frail we are. How quick a prick could draw blood. And even the blood is sweet. In a way. In a dark twisted beautifully morbid way.
                                   Our way.
Email is the most intimate form of communication. It is also the most frustrating. The proof is in the persistence.
landed somewhere in
your barren heart’s desert—
buried in sand
to the account named "some idiot:" Your critiques are useless and false.
Eric W
Transfixed in solitude
and consequently bound by
the deepest parts of my shadow,
I've found that the poison I've known
is the poison I seek
and to lay it down
is a sacrifice I have to make.

Days pass and the craving grows.

My choice is either to fall into stupor,
into my blackness inside,
and have my life end by my own hand,
nurse my spirit
with shadow fully conscious
without spirits.

In this, moderation will not do.

It's only in refusing the drink
that I have a chance,
a hope,
a sliver of possibility
of showing myself some respect
and saving my own wretched life.
you said
you were afraid
to lose me
and then you
faced your fears
and left
Can you tell me
which way now is home
I used to know, my dear
The way was clear
There was no fear

Tying my walking shoes
I knew I needed to get clear of here
thought I'd find
all that was dear

The road though, it is narrow
The cliff it is shear
My balance is

Can you tell me my dear

which way is home
which way do I go from here,
I think I oughta know
But the hills they are wavering
The ocean is in turmoil
The mountains are slick
far too dangerous

The desert has no mercy

I know something and with this knowledge
I think I must be cursed
I think I have it
Peace & Home
goes and comes
and comes and goes.
Hisham Alshaikh
Brave men fighting
Knights crawling
Strong men dying
Kings crying
Emperors imploring
Kingdoms falling
Empires collapsing
Poets writing
Musicians performing
Paintings begging
Statues Kneeling
For a glimpse of your eyes
Glimpse of Your Eyes. Je. Version 1.
Maybe 10 years from today,
Maybe only 1 year away,
Or even just 1 day,
I will be able to say...
Words that should be said
Depression shall not get the best of you
Between all of the colors, you chose blue
Tell me what makes you happy if I couldn’t do
All of the books and paper, i wish I could listen to you
You are cutting your wings and I am gluing  them on
With me or with out me, you are going to be strong
If my poems and I didn’t stand tall
We’ll fall with you but, surely later we will catch on
We will crush all of your sad feelings,
We will crush them all
Only sunshine baby, even if your sky was blue
And I am here for you!
Terry Collett
Hell I've seen it,
lived it, and those
there unaware
that that is it,
that maybe there
was some other place,
less crowded, less

The noise of the place,
the attitude of those there,
the total lack of concern
or care, no understanding
of love or the essence of love,
only lust, lust of body,
of wealth, of land, of all.

Hell I’ve seen it,
been there, known them there,
pushing stuff into the orifices
to escape from the place,
unaware they are,
on the treadmill
of the ever turning wheel,
always wanting
to feel feel feel.

The vanity of vanities,
how they look,
how they appear,
the tone of the body,
the length of nails or lashes,
the shape of the bodies,
the lustful appeal,
and the thump thump
of the beat, the dancing
of always moving feet,
and the gaze of long
everlasting despair
and the blankness
in their lostness
of their stare,
unaware they are there.
SC Kelley
Let's go skate,

Wear all black,

Smoke cigarettes,

And day dream,

In the dead of night.

~S.C. Kelley
For the young ones
I didn't choose it
I didn't wake up one day and tell myself
let's be anxious
let's be depressed
let's want to die
let's start self harming
I didn't choose to be like this

slowly my problems
my monsters
became visible
they started small
skipping lunch
making a cut or two on my hand
shaking for a while in school
but I fell

I didn't choose to be this person.
We just get handed who we are.
I didn't choose this.
I never wanted to be that

I didn't want to be riddled with anxiety and insecurities,
to wallow in self-pity and sleep for hours everyday
to stay up all night with anxiety
to steal razors
to eat one-hundred calories and then barf it back up
but that's what happened.

I didn't choose this
I didn't choose
I didn't choose to tear apart my life.
it just
I'm really good right now but in a reflective state currently oof
the media sold it to me
and i bought it
ate it up like i was starving
now there’s drive in my bloodstream
and soothing words just don’t exist
they say sleep is the cousin of death
Well this must be the cousin of meth
because my body needs it
and my vanity feeds it
this is my glitch
and i accept it
its how I find peace
set one
set two
set three
then i put it on repeat
until twitches greet my body
until sleep meets my nights
until my past is gone
yes two-folds to this addiction
a shallow heart
but an honest heart
hate myself for what I’m not
but love myself for who I am
and never have I lost my sense of self in the process
d w Stojek
Nature adorns her vacuums:

               Eden, in lieu of Gardener or Keep, overdrives the breach;

    garland wreaths, julep leaves, Clover carpets

          the well-dint of the fleeing heel,    

             just as Vitality, from Lushness, deserts to humbling Humus.      

                                     I bargain that We will        

                 be survived by teeming hosts of white Chrysanthemum.        

  Our grim miracle resembling, so, fish and loaves;    

                of Manna eked of Woe.

Staid amatory shall cater the craving of a brood;    

        from our tears rich elixir brewed,      

          our tender flanks yielding stew.    

         Scarcity is Her own aphrodisiac,    

      abused in company of more than two.      

    But sure as Man, worms lapse at their hour      

      and they, their own kind, must consume  

            giving back Space, where is room.      

        So, must we, our own Passion’s devour,

   that made manifest they replenish their expanse,      

            as when a hand replenishes a glove--      

     it first breathes upon the absence of Absence.    

           Let us, then, dine. Let us then, Love…
Is love more
than toys and pearls
played with by boys and girls?
Is charm possible without harm?

Fear, like love,
sets the heart racing
and so what is eros beyond
the chase and the terror?

Look for it and you won't find it,
close it in your hands
and it'll be gone,
like sand through your fingers.

And yet we know it's there,
it's just the rules of its game
don't seem fair at first,
and so we blame the other
who was once our lover.

I guess, in the end,
love is no more
than putting your heart out there,
right where it hurts,
right where you care.
Akira Chinen
She came to me in a dream
of bones
floating on top of the waters
of a riverbed of death
her cold lips
offered a warm smile
and the promise
of a place better than this
I heard my heartbeat slow
and fade
as I gave into the hope
of drowning
and dropped my bones
one by one
into the peaceful current
of her limbs
and now I can’t remember
my name or my sins
and I am no longer
here or there
but if this dream isn’t lying
I have finally found my home
she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.
10:02 PM 5/1/2018
Robin Lemmen
You are a stranger to me
With a body I know too well
Eyes I recognize so empty
And a laugh that once
Filled up my spaces
Dates become more significant
When you are not there to
Acknowledge them with me
You are like snow
But instead I am the one falling
And you were gone before
I ever even had a chance
To capture your beauty

You are winter to me.
Losing a lover to depression is a lonely  kind  of falling and there is no one to catch you.
Julia Ruth
It was this electric burn
This insatiable satisfaction
When your hot lips were wrapped around mine
a snake on its prey
The feeling of you kissing me-
a neglected  crave
I could never get enough
And when I had you-
It felt like you were gone
Because my mind wandered off to when I would see you next
When I could get more of you
The feeling of your hands caressing my every curve and handle
The way you tousled with my hair
As you warmed my neck with your hot touch
I could savor this sentiment for eternity
But I must forget it
For I will veer insanity
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
Lick my lips
Cradle my face
Gaze into my eyes
And tell me I'm safe
Dear trolls,
Just so you know, your comments don't mean much.
You think you know something to be true.
Well hate to break it to you, but you're wrong.
Everything you think you know is way off base.
I thought I should let you know.
We do this for entertainment sake.
So be confused but don't hate.


P.S. This is a poetry site not Facebook it should be about the art.

P.S.S I like tacos

P.S.S.S Hi!
Not a puppet account. Especially since I don't like puppets.
how do you know when (a human is too broken?)


human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save the child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed

so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
it's the greens and golds
that always kill me.
She Writes
There is too much regret
In unspoken words
The quiet thoughts
Whispered only to the moon

There is too much longing
In wishful thinking
Can quickly become a nightmare

There are too many tears
Spilled onto pillows
Over suffering and longing
From words unsaid
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