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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.
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
Back where I began

with my back turned


I never learn

The mistakes I make


Etched into my memories

Like a waterfall

cutting a path I faintly discern

love I’d sworn

conversing in a bath tub


to the time I ended up

Back where I began

With my back turned


I never learn.
Memories of the distant past
Come flashing through my mind
Good times bad times even sad times
Are gone now left behind.
Years move on the past has gone
We move ahead life carries on.
And then there are those photographs
Of folk that I once knew
And all those faces from well known places
Where have they all gone to .?
I say goodbye to those good old days
Those days of long ago
But I cannot help but shed a tear
On the melancholy  road.
Looking at some black and white family photographs
Of my family and friends and my pet dogs over the years  Now all are no longer around .just a simple little poem.Melancholy road.
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
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.
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.
The bliss of ignorance
The pain of knowledge
The serenity of hopelessness
Angelika Duliguez

mahalin mo siya,
mahal mo talaga

hindi dahil
di kana
niya mahal
kaya napalingon ka lang sa kanya
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
A Machine is wrapped by the Names
Bestowed by You and me
It fumbles with its tasks and claims
"I breathe!" like You and me

But certainly – It – cannot be
The dos and don'ts Decree
Overwrote your Anatomy
Since – Immortality
Donovan Hudson
im trapped, my mind stumbles.
my soul lost in the deep abyss my feelings crumble.

four corners w no door, start overthinking.
i seek acception but hey that shit taught me a lesson.

im at bay, everyone i trust they separate
I learned it at a young age but what is there to say.

so fill my void
i've been pretty patient but still annoyed.
thoughts hit me hard at night like an astroid.

cant lose my sanity, for all thats going on throughout humanity, dont play w me
cause underneath this skin is pure  insanity.

used to be courageous
w the sickness going on i got contagious,
generation still acting wild but yet i see no changes

relationships, couples going downhill like a soulless boulder, but dont forget girl your beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.
if you're hurt dont forget that you could cry up on my shoulder.
i mean i dont see how i could get much colder.
and then that nigga sold her.
ya damn right i'd love to say i told her but shes broken never woken and now i have to hold her.
I'm running out of time

Tick tock
I can't achieve my goal
People around me grow

Tick tock
My feet are sinking
Can't remember what I'm aiming

Tick tock
This clock won't stop
But you don't need to rush

Tick tock
10 days late to your plan
But you didn't quit, that's the important.
I have an analog clock in my mind that loves to tick-tocks whenever I set a goal and eventually it turns into a time bomb that will kill me if I don't achieve it in the specific period. But I realized it doesn't matter when I achieved my goal at least I didn't quit right? But still, the analog clock is my mind and pressuring me. I guess I need a mouse to run in it. LOLS. :)
how can it be a full moon ,when its two stars burn to keep the star of life in life
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
yellow irises sleep underneath my pillow, billowing
up to match the pair of pale moons underneath the eyes
of the woman in the mirror whose makeup
paints orange strokes across her chin.

are the cracks in my foundation that obvious?

in the warmth of the moonlight i venture out,
leave the spotty makeup job behind and vanish,
a pile of leftover paradoxes to spill into the sewer,
overflow onto the road and embed myself
into the soles of sweat-stained adidas sneakers.

a broken condom shouts at me from the sidewalk:
“have you taken your pill today?”

i have not.
Claire Elizabeth
In the deepest part of midnight, you walk among the hidden creatures of the wood, the reflection of their eyes guiding you through the thickets.

The deer murmur the prayers of the tall grass, their low hushings travelling across the valley and turning heavy with magic.

The owl's watchful gaze never loses its hold on the back of your heels, making sure that you stay on the path you've chosen. A breeze disrupts the pattern of your footsteps, multiplied by the possums that walk upright in your wake.

Something talks with the voice of the trees, damp, tepid, stagnant and woeful, like a being trapped in engravings on the bark left by the ants and the nightwalkers alike.

In the distance, your mother calls your name. The loam and sand has already made itself into your bed and the moss covers your eyes as you sleep.

In the morning you wake in the stream with remnants of moondust and pollen clinging like lichen to the bareness of your skin.
Matthew Orellana
I feel the shivers
Down my spine
I feel the shivers
My world, a line
The world I know
The pain I’ll go
The coldness bathes me
I don’t know more
I try to warm myself in vain
But my failed efforts, bring no gain
The warmth, the cold
No match, but bold
The warmth, it  goes
The coldness stays
What lonely passings, I will go
Until the stars go up in smoke
“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
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
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
Not many pay attention to the beauty of Sunlight.

Many do not look, many do not care and many are scared to become blind.

But just by giving a slight glance to show appreciation towards the Sunlight.

You may feel the warmth back in return.

You may feel a slight tingle down your spine.

You may feel the happiness that the Sunlight is giving.

But most importantly it will brighten up your world.
Comment down below and tell me your thoughts.
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
How does it feel
To see the world around you,
Falling in love?
How does it feel,
Attending all their weddings,
Alone and hopeful.

I see them full of light and love,
Smiles and laughter.
I look at myself and wonder,
When will it be my forever after?

I'm waiting for my lasting love,
I thought I've had it before.
But I realized that those were the ones,
That showed what was my worth.

They didn't put in the time,
Didn't make an effort.
I pushed too hard to make it work,
And they always took advantage.

I realized I need someone who will support me
Love me for me.
Does not desire to change me,
But embrace all that I am.
Someone to laugh with,
Cry with,
Share my hopes and dreams.

Right now I feel alone.
Watching as my friends,
Create new lives with their loves.
I'll wait here,
Focus on myself.
Prepare for that one person.
That'll bemy forever
Terry Collett
The young nun
helped attach
Anne's artificial leg.

Anne leant forward
in the chair and said:
Not as good
as my own leg
which the fecking
quack took off.

The nun finished off
strapping it on.

There it is done, now,
the nun said.

She stood up
and stared at Anne.

You must live
with what you have,
not with what you had,
she said.

Anne looked at me
by the door.

Help me up, Kid,
she said.

I went to where she sat
and helped her up.

The nun stared at me:
she needs to be
the nun said.

I gazed at Anne
not the nun.

If I want the Kid
to help me he will,
she said
staring at the nun.

You are still a child;
you must speak
to your superiors
with respect,
the nun stated.

I'm twelve
and got titties,
so I'm not
so much the child,
Anne replied
eyeing me.

Respect is
expected of you,
the nun said firmly,
fiddling with a rosary
hanging from a belt.

Can we go now?
Anne asked
standing next to me.

The nun stared at me
with her dark eyes.

You may,
but no going
on the beach
without permission,
and do not upset
the other children
with your swearing
and taunting,
the nun uttered.

Anne walked out
of the room
on the new leg stiffly
and I followed.

Where to now?
I asked,
walking beside her.

We passed kids
on the lawn;
others were on
the swings and slide.

To the beach, Kid,
she said.

But Sister Luke
said not to,
I said.

All the more reason
to do so,
she replied,
can't have penguins
telling us what to do.

We walked down the lawn
and walked past Colm
sitting in Anne's chair.

Get your fat behind
out of my chair, Tubby,
or I'll tip you out,
Anne said.

Colm looked at her
and jumped out
of the chair
and ran down the lawn.

We went down
the avenue of trees
that led to the back gate
and to the beach.

I didn't look back
in case someone saw us
and waved us to return.

Feck the nuns
and other sick kids,
Anne said,
to the beach, Kid,
and the sea and air.

We walked down
on to the beach
and sand and she,
took my hand.
Boy and girl at a nursing home by the beach in 1959
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
as we parted ways
in the early snow
that evening now
so far afield yet
i recall
your casual
hello mistaken for
circumscribed absurdity
that i adore
my fingers
became interlaced
between yours
despite the
years and so many
painfully memories
the lot of which
ferried away
into the broken
the innocence
of youth
that had i
from that day to this
that i again
would stand
near you
upon that precipice
that overlooks the
deep summer chasm
where quiet
meetings between
old friends
dissolve in the
soundless yawp
of real and boundless
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.
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?
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.
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

Poetry comes back to me
where long there had been none.
Lyrical, the imagery, once shared
and then was done.

Thoughts of such sincerity
in words that grace the page,
Race across the span of time
that bridge the gap of age.

Trusting in the ardor that
has cooled and healed with time,
I read again the tender lines
of kindred souls, in rhyme.

Oh spirit of another age,
reach out from time and space.
Fan the embers turned to ash
and torpid ruin replace.

Listening with the heart
I hear the bansuri sing
Beautiful blooms awakening
Joyously opening their petals
To greet the rising spring...

Hark, the cello plays, mellow and deep
Trees stretch their limbs
Awakening from winter's long sleep...

Heavenly vibrations
Pure tones
Rich dulcet timbre
The soulful cello sings
Accompaniment to the bansuri
Harmoniously welcoming spring...

Leaves unfurl in wonderment
Flowers blossom with delight
The rising spring
Bathed with euphonious enfolding love
Beneath the sun's cascading rays of light...
I would like to apologize for not being able to read at this time
or respond to notifications. My eyes are ailing along with the rest of me
But without my eyes working well at the moment I can't read
Please forgive my infirmity... I have written a few spring poems.. this one inspired by a beautiful piece of music, the basnsuri flute and cello..
.. words can't express how much I miss reading on HP.. I miss you all.. God Bless you.. Best wishes..kimx
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.
I think I'll go for a walk
To myself I shall mutter and talk
I'll search high and low
And home I'll not go
Till I find the poem I sought

Shocking how the time goes
Like a river it flows and flows
It just disappears
Days become years
Where does it go, do you knows?

He found a rock, the geologist
Whose identity he missed
He thought it was gneiss
But when he looked twice
It was just a piece of schist

They found a bug to eat plastic
Which everyone thought was fantastic
But they started to frown
When their pants fell down
Because it ate the elastic
Black Leaf
I'm tired.
Tired of everything.
I just want to sleep,
And never wake up again.

No, I'm not lazy,
I'm not running away from life.
I'm just tired of the world and myself,
And too tired to change anything.
My pen bleeds
As its ink seeps
My words cry
The seer weeps
I keep scrawling
Until my pain recedes
Walking on my way
Where my lament leads
Crumbling to bones
Changing to fit the needs
My frailty drives me
As nothingness breeds
In madness I did
Those fearful deeds
Now I'll have to pay
The price of my greed
Making me suffer
My demons succeed
In the garden of love
I feel like a weed
I am looking for my way
To the flowery meads
Where the chains will be shattered
And then I will be freed
Sometimes you just feel lost and there seems no way out
ivory rowes
step one: create an atmospheric barrier between yourself and others, fill it with auric spikes, like the black fence encirling the haunted house nobody wants to go near. become the whispering voice in the hallways, become the creak in the staircase, and sink into it.

step two: disengage the emotional counterpart in yourself, be the intellect or be nothing. be air, undisturbed. when they walk through you, only be still.

step three: do not be tempted by the scattered sweets they drop behind them to reel you into their cage, do not eat what they give you, do not be hungry for anything, do not crave nourishment where it cannot be found.

step four: do not fuss about your hair, your skin, that machine you are in. exist simply and softly, do not turn on the lights in the morning if you don't have to, do not speak, and that is important.
though they will dare you, do not ever speak, for they know your replies and have only fire to stuff back into your throat.
Katelyn McShane
I am obsessive
Though my room is a mess
Please don’t touch a thing

Don’t make me
Change or conform
Because that is my fear

But I am obsessive
A creature of habit
Set schedules

A slow walker or
A bump in the road
And I may lose it all
Because I am obsessive
I will cry over
Spilled milk

My absolute weakness
Is embarrassment
Head down to walk

Will I be obsessive
When it all goes wrong
I surely will break

How can I live
When my world is
A mess in the neat lines

I’m obsessed with
Poetry- lines and stanzas
All in neat rows

All spaces and ink
Covering my paper
And, yes I am still obsessive
The universe puts her headphones on
And plays her favorite track
The raindrops in the meadow burst
And soak the earth
And with her feet up on the world
She smiles from ear to ear
And plays it back
Random I know. No words. BUT WOW! Poem of the day (for 05/18/18) is such a huge honor for me. Thank you so much! And to show my appreciation, you can now listen to me read this poem live on SoundCloud. Just follow the link and have an awesome day!!!

Caroline Jacobs
I'm so in love with you
I'm head over heels.
I've fallen so deep
And I never want to leave.
Thinkin a lot about someone :}
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