A secret The one thing that has always been mine To hold, ponder, inspect Once given changed entirely Tainted As others finger it Smearing on alternative realities And so selfishly I repress The temptation to let go My last secret
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)
I cannot draw faces but if I could, I would add every detail be they proper and good. I would trace all the lines, and the dimples to boot. Not forgetting the eye's with an aim when they shoot. The nose and the ears put down in good style, the chin and the mouth with a beautiful smile. The neck would be long and pretty to kiss, when you called her name you would first call her Miss. You would be amazed when you saw her take form, the gleam in her eye's will make you happy and warm. This would be a face created in spring, her long black hair would entice you to sing. When the picture was done and finally through, I might get the notion to draw a picture of you.
I'm not your canvas; you can't paint over me. My mistakes, my life, it's whom I want to be. So go _________ take your _________ paintbrush and your paint, too, because I love my every stain, and I'll keep every color; red, green, or blue.
By my every stain I mean my every mistake or misfortune, because I learn from each one of them.
I hope it looks somewhat like a paintbrush. I messed around with it, and the result is before your eyes.
The papers are wet with ink. Russia is losing it's war. North Korea is swamped with the Covid. Tucker is backpedaling his replacement theory. Finland and Sweden are enrolling. Armament shipments are making a difference. The Pope is apologizing. That needs repeating: The Pope is apologizing. (But why stop with the Aboriginals. Consider the Jews and Irish). Fossil fuels are on the decline. (plastic microchips are in our fat) I can still buy Roundup. Tobacco is banned in most public places here. *** is not. There are more drunks, and more behind bars, and in front. We have safe injection sites. I have robots asking me if I'm a robot. There are more tv stations selections. TV is not worth watching. LPs are making a comeback. Right to Life is Wrong for Many. ... and on... and on
In you, I've found an appreciation for the ones I've hurt I've found a new reason to scorn the stars For all their bright, unwavering light For all their fragile grace they scatter upon us I've found no way to leave my winter bones behind To make peace with the new, and growing I've found no reason to move on And too many to stop
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.
their utility is inutile, their usefulness is, will. always be, in the
reinterpretation, a million and still counting, as long as you must guess at its labyrinth inner wired construct, be pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue, two lives (yours, mine), a paired wine tasting, we together, believing in the greatness of joyous frustration
some say, as I do, the world is better for the utility of thine own struggled understanding, the truest combination of two way communication, surpassed only by our at last armed embrace, when at last we understand our mutuality of need and salve...
I don’t know how to love you. He broke me down like the longest math equation. But, in the process of solving he found no solution. Only lost numbers memories stuck on the chalkboard.
You say you’re too broken too. But now you’re here. Confused and softened possibly afraid. Definitely afraid.
And in this moment my mind flushed with all of the feelings I kept in my little locked box. The cherishment I have for you and the care and want that come along with you. I wanted you. I want you. But my brain tells me I don’t.
So my words are broken but my mind is made up.
I want to be with you but you don’t want to be with a f—- up.
I liked this boy for a long time. We dated for a bit but he didint like me so we ended things, we are still vERY close friends. I still like him to this day and I have since our relationship. He’s been really intimate lately and I set some boundaries because “he doesn’t like me.” I also don’t know how to have any sort of contact with anyone because my ex boyfriend was so possessive of me so now any physical contact makes me think that people are being romantic—which is obviously not the case. The guy I like is really touchy that’s why I put those boundaries. And today, he texted me and told me he now wants to go out, he didint ant to the first time because he had just gotten out of a breakup. But the way he said it was very vague. So, I didint want to asume anything, so I said “okay?” And he got very upset. Now I’m hoping things work out because I’m lonely and really like him. Let’s jsut hope my awkwardness doesn’t **** me.
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.
I'm a white rose, with a black shadow. I'm the moon, with a black mark. I'm the poetry, with all painful words. I'm the sky full of scars, My heart is filled with love, While my mind is haunting me, My soul is Galaxy which feels empty in space.
This poem has published in a book, "Bloom" On Nov.5th,2018 ❤️
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 .
Hay No matter who you are You have my deepest respect!
Vanity 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
Don’t take it personal Versed in rejection It’s like they expect A Prince Charming Perfection A text or two Too much to ask I guess, right? You’re too busy I get it, Forget it, Goodnight It was so nice to meet Alter ego you Screening Each struggle for power Has some deeper meaning We know what we want Of course Only one thing A committed, Submitted, Indefinite fling
I’m just tired. Tired of being broken. Tired of being forgotten. Tired of being used. Tired of feeling lost. TIred of being nothing. Tired of fighting myself to eat. Tired of feeling empty. Tired of feeling alone. Tired of Tired of doing everything for everyone; But getting nothing in return. Tired of being pulled back into this dark place. I’m just tired. Tired of crying.. Tired of breathing.. I’m just so tired..