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Tiger Striped
over the balcony,
just me and a snide breeze
mocking any pretense I
had held that
life was anything
but a self-checkout line.
So get on with it,
keep stealing
from the big men and
higher ups
now that I know
I'll always only end up
on top
like a wet towel over the railing
stiffening slowly,
Here on the thirteenth floor
my fate is
an ironic harbinger
of an ending we'll all share -
of an eternal love -
or an infinite numbness -
or ubiquitous unimportance
whatever it is we share
that they tried to leave
up here with me.
the irony is -
they left me,
but they carry my fate.
It doesn't matter where they are
or I -
we are all the same.
Amanda Kay Burke
I tried to save you many times before
Witnessed others try to save you too
Finally I realize that the only person
Able to save you from your demons is you
I don't want to save you, only show you the light you have within you so you can use it to save yourself
His mother sang to him a lullaby
When she put him down for bed
Her voice was soft and mellow
As he rest his weary head
His eyes were closed as he faded off
And her voice grew softer still
Until it turned into a whisper
With her goal, in turn, fulfilled
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
Prerna Singh
Your silence
My ears
You may not be
The moon or
A star or
The sun
Beaming vision to the world.

But to me
You are
The cute little
Casting hope in me.
Zoe Grace
I really dont know
How i feel at all, but i
Want to feel loved please.
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
There used to be a bottle on the wall.
It was very green.
I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle
that I had ever seen
It used to sit on the wall
all day and all night
And every day, when I looked out of the window,
it was always in my line of sight
Then one day, a cat came along.
Something was going to happen; I could tell
The cat then accidentally nudged it
and off the wall, it fell
When it had fallen off the wall
it had dropped with a very loud sound.
There were all these little pieces of the green bottle
all over the ground
Then the cat yelped
and I knew it had gotten hurt
I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in
blood and dirt
The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning
it did not look the slightest bit treacherous
but after a nudge in the wrong direction
it became very dangerous
Now I look back at you smiling
next to me on the big armchair
Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair.
You remind me a lot
of that green bottle.
In the beginning, you were harmless
you were all sorts of fun.
Now you hurt me.
Could you tell me why
as I don't quite know what I've done
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 think the sun has grown jealous
Of my friendship with the moon
I prefer dusk to dawn
And midnight instead of noon
My Dear Poet
You are a super star
with promise to always shine
You glow and glisten from afar
polished by the trials of time
When night deems in a little darker
drawing the dirt and the dust
you burn all the more brighter
your lustre always out lasts
You are stronger than the fire
within that spark in your eyes
The sun is your envious admirer
your light never dies
So you rise

You rise
cs wondering
This is not a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is not romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.

This is a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.
I think-

— c.s wondering
Hello friends!

It's been so many years since I last came on here to create poems. I guess something sparked inside of me tonight, and just like that- I'm back.

And I hope everyone has been well x
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you
if only i could chase you with pizza but shots don't work like that
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
Whit Howland
Not where we drew blood
but under the bridge

is where we found you two
in the dark in a storm
like no other

and Poppy

I'd do the muddy slide
down the embankment
over and over again

just to rescue you

because it never grows old
to close my eyes
and hear you purr

as I watch you paint
murals on the walls
of my mind

and Percy

your prologue
meaning whatever went on before
did nothing to stunt your boundless joy

As  you jump
from constellation
to constellation

and tweak the moon's nose
each and every
starry starry night
Some whimsy.
Press me against you
Like flowers in a book
They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love.
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
James Jarrett
Down in the fields where the old pines grow

The grass runs green and the young deer glow

Glow in the dark deer under the lines

Cutting the sky In the shadow of time

Old #8 bleeding like rain

Dust and smoke

Carpet the plain

Glow in the dark deer

Eyes amber and green

Glow in the night

Too faint to see
A heart that doesn't beat love
Is nothing
but a woeful hut.
I'd set fire to the air you breathe
so you can burn with every
How to become a poet:
Let someone rip your soul apart.
And in the need of mending ,
You will replace it with words.
"I'm not a poet. I don't feel like one.
I like writting. That's all."
Have a nice day
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim

No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
keep your eyes closed love.

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

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

When I was much younger, beaches were my second favorite places. I still love watching waves as they go by, crashing against each other and the whole process repeating all over again.
Chris Saitta
Even when
All is said and done,
And I have become
A guardian angel
Over my past self,
Even then,
I have failed.
Luis Cernuda
He venido para ver semblantes
Amables como viejas escobas,
He venido para ver las sombras
Que desde lejos me sonríen.
He venido para ver los muros
En el suelo o en pie indistintamente,
He venido para ver las cosas,
Las cosas soñolientas por aquí.
He venido para ver los mares
Dormidos en cestillo italiano,
He venido para ver las puertas,
El trabajo, los tejados, las virtudes
De color amarillo ya caduco.
He venido para ver la muerte
Y su graciosa red de cazar mariposas,
He venido para esperarte
Con los brazos un tanto en el aire,
He venido no sé por qué;
Un día abrí los ojos: he venido.
Por ello quiero saludar sin insistencia
A tantas cosas más que amables:
Los amigos de color celeste,
Los días de color variable,
La libertad del color de mis ojos;
Los niñitos de seda tan clara,
Los entierros aburridos como piedras,
La seguridad, ese insecto
Que anida en los volantes de la luz.
Adiós, dulces amantes invisibles,
Siento no haber dormido en vuestros brazos.
Vine por esos besos solamente;
Guardad los labios por si vuelvo.
Rupert Pip
Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.
Get to know me like I do you; inside and out.
He was smooth but not understanding
He was charming but not loyal
He was beautiful but a manipulator    
I knew this would come to and end
I knew I was a fool
He was secure but brought my insecurity
He was strong inside but not loving
He was my first but never mine
Star BG
Human life is like a book...
The middle being birth.
The end death.
And the middle
a souls adventure of expansion.

Human life is like a book.
A grand story
unwinding with feelings as words
and moments as footmarks.

Once concluded it’s bond
in spirits core memory
to take one then
to a new book-cover of spirit.
A new beginning of
chapters where a sequel begins
with a beginning, middle, and end.
First poem of the day.
I hear a voice speaking
from the high road and
Down on violet lane
His hands like vines
take to the bricks that
Guard my heart
Red clay crumbles
As I open like a
moonflower with the night
This world hasn’t been made for people like me to relax.
The music from the neighbors hurts my muscles and my neck.
My head and back.
I want to run.
There’s no escape.
Death is so happy but so scary.
I’m scary too think the people that are looking at me outside.
And I want to feel happy.
Running free.
Just like the storm that I was crying in last Wednesday.
I came out with dark lines around my eyes.
Slowly I crawled back up into your arms which are always ready.
Therefore I’m lucky.
I asked the checkout girl for a carrier bag
and she said
(or so I thought)
you speak nice.
and so do you
I replied,

where did you buy it
she then said

and I said,
buy what?

the cologne
she replied
it's very feminine

you said
I smell nice

I left
feeling rather deflated.
a bit deaf.
Sam Tate
Sometimes, the words don’t come.

The consistent stream of consciousness, ceases.

I am left with nothing to say.

There is a beauty in the broken mind.

Like an abandoned building taken by nature.

It is not that my mind does not work.

It is that it works too fast,

And I am left behind,

Scrabbling in the dust,

Desperately seeking a connection,

In the discarded fragments of thought.

I am fighting a losing battle.

I fear the white flag will soon arise.

And signal the end.
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