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The Dedpoet

A sorrow and my words,
I remain the same,

Together before like an opaque
Tear under impressions
Of time in my time,
Thoughts rein in the future
Of course without her,
    We spoke of love
While love was written
Under the quarter moon
And the night  peices
A masterful passing....
     I cannot stay here
In your company theoretical,
The memorial entombed
Into the fibers of every verse,
A past sudden,
And I remain there,
Such a melancholy being,
    Though u kept me
In the moments
I remain there in the future
Without you,
Passionate to the narrowed
Enormously grateful for sorrows
That weep today's passing,
    Oh I remain in the moment,
You reminded me to be there,
Little did I know
I would be left behind
And I don't love her anymore,
I linger perfectly imprisoned
And the words bleed,
Joyous for the mist in my eyes,
Alone with your memory
And her name is.....

But a few thoughts
Scribbled in seclusions.

Loveena RJ

Like a loaded gun,
there's a smile on his lips,
waiting to be released,
and when it bursts,
it's infectious.

Zoie Marie

“Wrong way on the freeway because I’m already going backwards “

Michael Ryan

Going to war
was a piece of cake
compared to coming back

In war I always knew
at least a few things
would always happen.

It became my home
because my family lived there
my comrades became
the stability to continuing on.

Each indifferent day
was a lasting piece of our humility to living
and our bond-ship to pride.  

I slept in trenches,
in the open air,
under the protection of some thin vail
that'd we all make it back together.

Here in the common wealth
I sleep in alleyways
and under bridges
with the aspirations
that someone will spare some change.

Bit by the snake
Return to good health
virtuous heart

Athena Keough

Why should you limit yourself to being just pretty?
Don't be just pretty.

Be a storm, beautiful, dark, intelligence flashing across your eyes like lightning and a voice as loud as thunder. Be a storm and never be silent.

Be a forest, rooted, wise, strong and unmovable in the force of opposition and yet a dancer in the wind. Be a forest, and loyal to your land.

Be the ocean, glittering, mysterious, captivating thousands of hearts and countless lives in your allure. Be the ocean, and be ruthless.

Be nature. I guarantee nothing will get you farther.


we are sentient,
we carve ourselves from gravel,
from volcanic rock and dying evergreen.

we crawl through clouds of dust,
limp on injured feet, tired hands.
we are arbitrary, we evolved to decay.

because we live in graveyards of our own
dead selves.
we bury grief, after every
collapse, every bitter break of these bones.

we keep our skin as treasure.
we dig out our eyes,
to replace them with hands,
as if what we see,
could somehow be grasped,
and what he hold,
could somehow become lost.

cotton we wove from webbed skin,
from burnt hair.

that were never meant to burst,
veins we thread needles through,
as if they were yarn,
as if they were something we could use to stitch ourselves back up again.

I feel no less than broken. It's 3 in the morning and I have been crying into my pillow, my hands, my clothes, for the past 2 hours. Something has broken, something, that for so long, I thought was unbreakable, but now it settles itself in front of me like smoke. And i am trying so hard to not inhale it.

Crazy is who I am.
I love with a passion & I fell for you.
So call me crazy for wanting to be there.
Call me crazy for loving you.
The truth is that I do.
I don't deny it anymore.
I don't want to hold back.
I love you & that's all there is to it.
I'm not a fighter but I fight for what I love.
You break my heart.
I give you space.
You run back to me.
I love you still.
I always will.


is there any such thing
as too much ink
too many pens
more paper
than the human heart can fill?

the heart does nothing
but pump the blood that is necessary
to fill my fingers
to move
to scrawl too much ink
with too many pens
on more paper
than such a treacherous organ deserves.

but the heart will get its ink
if it has to bleed dry in order to fill
the pens that it thinks it should have
to defile more paper
than any forest should have to give.

the heart will have what it wants
and veins
be damned

Any critique is welcome, however harsh.
Mrs Robota

I think about falling asleep
Beside you
But you don’t know me
And I don’t know you
So I guess I’ll fall asleep

Nobody could possibly remember
That awful horrible thing of the past
But I can recall last year's September
A new girl who dreadfully outcast
She stood way out far away from the crowd
No one around to even speak to her
She would never mutter a word aloud
So her years here went by as such a blurr
I can no longer speak on her behalf
It is her very own story to share
But here I can show you this photograph
Of her and her beautiful golden hair
But I am sure you will not forget
The time she gave you her blue barrette

Brent Kincaid

Once I disliked having birthdays
But I really don’t mind anymore.
The secret is to enjoy them
And never, ever to keep score.
Don’t bother counting them,
Just enjoy the cake and gifts.
It’s looking back at how old you are.
That is basically the ugly rift.

You’re not getting decrepit,
Not older than dirt, you see.
You have gained credit in life
For wisdom and longevity.
They who say you have aged
Like a fine wine are correct.
So, don’t harp about the years
Like you have a flaw to project.

Instead look forward in life
To what the future will say.
What will you do with it,
This new chance every day?
Will you be that aging statesperson
The world will be glad to know?
As long as you’re still breathing
Let's wait and see how it goes.

So, call all your friends up
And meet them each for a meal
And let them know fears of age
Are not something you find real.
Let them toast your birthday
And sing the traditional song.
Let this be another of many
Happy birthdays to come along.


how is it possible to be a person on the days that leave you feeling empty?

why doesn't that count as a good reason for a sick day at work
or a reason to take a break from life
until your soul feels better
or at least a little normal again

how can I be expected to be a mother, a friend, a coworker, anything
when my insides are bending and breaking and my brain is unable to connect the dots

when my hands won't work
and my legs don't feel strong enough to hold my weight
and my mouth forgot how to speak

how can I be a person
when I've forgotten that I'm even alive?

Robert J Howard

Ups and downs
Grins and frowns
Balloons and clowns
Floats and drowns.

Heals and cuts
Opens and shuts
Angels and sluts
Sane and nuts.

Make and break
Real and fake
Give and take
Birth and wake.

Warmth and chills
Sleep and pills
Health and ills
Grows and kills.

Sleepless Nights
Imani Tsunami

Black Girl
Although your thick hair doesn't flow
It blooms like a flower as it grows
Black Girl
You are an exquisite being
Handcrafted by the likes of God
You were created with honey, brown sugar, chocolate and gold
You have a radiant aura and a beautiful soul
Black Girl
You are a Queen
Love the skin you're in
You are beautiful outside
As well as within
Black Girl
You rock
You are amazing in every single way
And don't forget that you were fearfully and wonderfully made


"You're like the sunset" I said to her

"Why?" she answered.

I stared to the sunset while saying,

"Sunsets are beautiful. Everyone loves it even though they can only stare or look at it. But nobody owns them. Nobody can own them."

"Just like you" I said quietly as if she won't hear it.


As I stand barefoot on the grass I begin to feel it; coming in the air tonight. Have I been waiting for this moment all my life? Probably. Rooted to the spot now, I feel the white light of ancient wisdom. It seeps into my feet and they begin to grow into the ground.  Deeper and deeper they grow, splitting and separating into earthy tendrils that each in turn do the same. Slowly, the light rises inside of me like early-spring sap, up past my thighs and into my abdomen, filling every last blood vessel and suddenly I’m blooming from the inside. The light reaches my shoulders and pours into my arms causing them to outstretch and extend. My fingers grow and twist and contort and split and keep on growing.  Green buds of chlorophyll appear before blossoming into veiny leaves of intricate beauty.  I tilt my head back and wait; I feel my skin harden and thicken and crack as my body completes its earthly transformation. My clothes fall off in tatters, like Dr David Banner, as every part of me grows and fills with the wisdom of ages: the lies and outrages. Time passes and I watch from my now forever-fixed position. Full of wisdom and knowledge and power but unable to express it beyond whispering sweet-everythings to the sky and anyone who isn't listening.

Not sure if this is poetry or some other form of narrative - it's basically a description of a dream I had some time ago.

How do you kill
something in yourself
Without really dying?


"I'm actually kinda tired."
But I wasn't tired
I was hurting so bad
But I didn't want you to know
Just how bad you had wounded me
And just how much I couldn't let you go.
That I just lied to spare your feelings...
I actually couldn't sleep

the morrigan

it's embarrassing but it's true.
i just googled "how to fall in love".
and i googled "how to fall in love" because i am not in love right now and i really, really want to be.
my google searchings were inconclusive and i am just as unsatisfied
mind, body, and spirit
as i was when i started typing "h" into the search bar
there is nothing in my heart right now.
my mother knocked and no one was home.
it makes me anxious:
how did i go from someone so overwhelmed by the enormity and ever-presence of her emotions
to someone so void of them that i feel an echo in my chest when someone says my name?
i've also googled sociopathy,
but apparently i'm not one of those.
so here i am, somewhere on a sliding scale
between all or nothing.
and i report from the field that it is not, in fact, all or nothing.
i know i'm not alone out here,
but it sure does feel like it,
when i reach out and even shadows don't reach back.
it's not like i've already accepted dying alone but it's not looking likely that i'll be marrying my college sweetheart, either.
i just want my feelings back.
is there a link to that in the first page of google results?
i'll even pay for shipping, i guess.


i watch you
fall at the feet
of those
who will never
know your name

im here
im real
i love you
and you
are distracted

Kiss my eyes with tender lips
Caress me gently
Comfort my weary soul
Hold me tightly
Within thy warm embrace
Blanketed with love
Sing me a lullaby
Whisper to me tonight...

Insomnia my companion
He keeps me awake until dawn
My eyes are heavy
My body aches
Longing for peace
Kiss my eyes
Let me drift into slumber
Dreamless sleep
Infinite emptiness
Cosmic sea
Ocean of renewal
Let me rest in Thee...

After a night of one hour of sleep
7 months of insomnia
Only in deep sleep does one find rest
Who and where are you in deep sleep?
Is the king still a king
Is the beggar still begging
All equal..
mironi renzo

"gather the fragments"
rot let them.

love not
love still.

in the end,

"gather the fragments"
---Savio Siccuan, OSB
Charissa Ong Tse Ying-inspired, 2017

My digits tremble
as ink falls to paper

I know you’re listening

My eyes blur
as tears fall to smudge

I know you’re watching

My insides crumble
as these words are written

Because I know you’re reading


If anything awkwardness
Is an attractive attribute
A lot of people find enduring

And I am awkward,
A social pariah
I stutter and hardly make eye contact

I run my hands through my hair,
Bite the skin from my lip
Trip over what I mean when I speak
And over thin air

I am awkward
I am me

elsa angelica

And sometimes the person you
Save is the one
That destroys you


i dreamt about you last night,
i woke up feeling lost and empty;
why is it that after so long,
my subconscious still thinks about you?

what a coincidence it was,
when i saw a glimpse of you in the mall,
was it even you?
or simply a fragment of my imagination?
i turned around to dodge your line of sight;
i wanted to pretend i was never there.

seeing you again,
made me drown in emotions,
i thought i got rid of.
i remember the late nights,
the thoughts of you,
me trying to let you go,
and i really thought i already have.

i'm sorry,
it seems as though,
you're still engraved in my heart,
i can't seem to push away the thought of you,
or the loneliness your memory brings me.

but here i am,
hugging the stuffed toy you once gave me,
at 11:11,
hoping that someday and somehow,
my wish,
would come true.

i don't know what i should feel about you. i miss what used to be you.
Arabella Claasen

i feel exposed and
sweaty, knife of doubt and shame
twists cruelly


i still remember the way
your skin
felt against my lips
the night
I fell in love with you

the only thing that keeps my heart from dying is the little breath I take after crying

i need to rip myself open to pour you out
i can hear you in my head and you’re so damn loud

because you’re an undeniable part of a very breakable me
but this just wasn’t how it was supposed to be

so if you don’t want me, you can’t have me at all
the stockings are tight and the wine glasses tall

and i’ll rip out the seams so it all falls apart
breaking away from you and saving my heart

because good god, i don’t want to feel this way anymore
it’s foggy minds and teary eyes and bathroom floors

if you don’t want me, you can’t have me at all
so i’m sorry but
i have to take you down and watch you fall


His tongue

Slowly traces

The curve of her smooth lips

He savors her taste in his mouth

As his teeth gently graze on her silk flesh

She pulls his body into hers

With their soft lips still pressed

Into his mouth

She sighs

A Rictameter is composed of 9 lines broken into syllables 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2
AJ Bactol

I am a happy person. I’m full of love and happiness. I welcome mornings with a smile and will to be alive. But that time came, the time when it’s so hard to get up in the morning. The time when it’s so hard to eat; to talk; and even to breathe. The time when I thought giving up is the only solution to all of this. The time when sadness, anger, confusion, and hopelessness ate me alive.

I personally didn’t think I can make it, but you did.

For the friend who stood by me when I can’t even stand on my own; who stood by me through the disaster; who never left me; who never let go of my hand, telling me that everything will be okay and this disaster will fade and will turn into rainbows and ponies.

For the friend who never judged me because of who I am and what I am going through; who accepted my flaws; who helped me embrace my own; who endured the times when my heart and mind ached, grieved, and tortured, and believed in me, that I can be healed and recovered.

For the friend who, when everything was falling apart for me, gave me hope; who gave me a place to live and air to breathe; who gave me the strength and will to live; who gave me faith that this world wasn’t a source of vexation and pain and everything will begin to change.

For the friend who never stopped telling me that this will all end - that it will take a while but it will all be worth it; who never gets tired of picking up the broken pieces of myself; who never gets so sick of joining me to sit in the dark and go through my paranoid mind; who never gave up on me, pushing me to make it through the storm eating me alive.

You made me smile when I thought I couldn’t.
You embraced me with love and care.
You spitted out words that made me strong.
You made me believe that I can make it.
You waited for me to heal.
You saw me at my worst yet you never stopped.
You never left.

Thank you.

bring me a slice of the sky,
a bucket full of sea water,
a handful of the earth's soil,
and a breath full of hope,

for I would pray to unseen powers,
to fuse and mold,
humanity with nature again,
rinsing the sins of both,

and we shall learn to respect,
the age-old tryst,
which existed,
between the gods, we don't remember,
and the humans we once were.

When its over, Im going to scream out of happiness until I lose my voice
When its over, I will leave my room
When its over, I will read that book I bought months ago
When its over, I never want it to come back
When its over, I will brush my hair
When its over, I will finally open my windows
When its over, I will make plans and keep them
When it's over, I'll let people meet the real me
When its over, I can do what I want because I'm no longer in control

When depression is over, I will be free.

Julia Mae

i wrote poetry
he partied
i would overthink
he would oversleep
too lost within the oblivion
of trying to numb away
while i was here
thinking about "life" too much
writing about it too much
i enjoyed wine
on a quiet Tuesday evening
he enjoyed liquor
on a wild Friday night

love does attract
i loved him
and he loved me
but he didn't want to live
and i
wanted to write about it

we're sitting
in a dirty garage
blasting music
with lyrics
that i am so appalled by
this is his life
this is
it isn't mine

i am
the quiet
Tuesday afternoon girl
who writes her words
to figure out
while he is trying
to forget about his
on a Friday night

these lifestyles
we tried to clash
for far too long
so sadly
too long

i left
with love still
beating inside of my heart
because you could never
love me
the way you love
your Friday nights
like you couldn't love
my Tuesday evenings

love is so
and deceiving
it brought us to meet
we both understood
that life is sad
yet only i
could see its beauty

and our lifestyles
were too different
to sustain the life
for one another

I haven't written too much lately but this poured out tonight.

I would say
I love you with all my heart.
But that's not quite right.
For I love you with far much more
Than just that one part.

For instance,
I love you with my lips:
They pucker lovingly like filled balloons.

I love you also with my eyes.
They inspect your frame with careful affection
Like a fastidious clerk
Checking his books
Entranced in his task.

My ears, too, are full of love.
I can feel them during the night
Thumping with blood
As you rise and decline
Asleep in my nook.

There are many others.
My eyebrows, so enlivened,
Agitate my face
And my toes, so excited,
Tense in my shoes
As though afraid of getting wet.

Other parts aren’t so conspicuous.
My arms plot in the dark -
Their aim to chain around your chest
And link us back to breast.

And my fingers, naughty things,
Scheme to tease your dress
Above your pretty knees
And above your pretty chest.

Would you believe,
Even my butt is involved!
Though he’s more obvious
With his dopey, open, smile
And cheeky morning breath.

But chief of all my loving parts
Is my un-run soul
Unkenneled, at last,
Sprinting furiously
Next to yours.

# love #silly

Note -- this is very much a rewrite of Watsky's splendid and original "love poem" (worth checking out on YouTube).
Lu Lu

I've only ever read about
soul-crushing heartbreak in books,
but I forgot that fate's a fickle lady
and tales always hold a grain of truth.
My heart aches for you.

Written for a friend

In this life
you will meet those
who hold on to your pain
like it’s gold.
They will
treasure your failures
and silently smile
when you fall to the ground.
It is their nature
to be so heartless and cold
because they don’t see
the love
they hold in their own soul.
The suffering
they see in others
gives them the illusion
of an enlightened mind.
When really
all they have
is a heavy soul
weighed down
from an egotistical point of view.
These are the souls
that will flap their wings
without ever
lifting off the ground.
there are the old souls.
The ones
that give their all
to living a life
that’s pure as gold.
They come from
the roughest cut of stone
carrying the heaviest baggage
under brittle broken bones.
Yet still
they smile
as they pass by
the young souls
desperately flapping
to get off the ground
of what the old souls discovered long ago
they must
sacrifice their wings
and be willing
to take the stairs
with all their baggage
with eyes full of tears
because that’s the only way
they will ever
get out of here.


Grab a feather
                                            Open your soul.

Grab some paper
                                         Make it your own.

And a small feather
                                             Shall be a brush,

And a small paper
                                        Your poems' canvas.

Rick Stachemore

poems are not all
sunshine and

just sometimes
we have to piss
in the bathroom
sink of beauty
to find out how
repulsive it can be

I find the soap scum
of the shower drain
to be more enriched
with adorning features
than the palm trees
of florida

and all forms of it
are inexhaustible,
you could never
take that away,
including this

Art needs its balance

Stop it!
Just stop it all!
I don't want this anymore.
I don't want these tainted memories!

You're constantly there, even when you're not.
I can't seem to escape the madness in my mind.
Every time I close my eyes you're there. Grinning at me.
Why do you torture me so? What have I done to deserve this?!

I've done what you've asked and let you be yet here you are still plaguing me!
What more do you want?
I'm tired, drained and done with all of this.

I just want to lay in bed at night and sleep with no issue.
I just want to move on with my own life and be happy.
I just want to be me again.
But you're there... holding the half of me I need to be whole again.

Anxiety flare ups of my ex are happening again. Out of no where they hit me and it may have almost costed me my job the other day. I'm just so done with this pain. I've done everything I can but nothing seems to work anymore.
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