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F A Pacelli
everything you do 
(and don't do) 
will be interpreted 
by your peers 
for better or worse 
whether true or false
Monika Layke
My papa’s a bird
Weirdly wonderful and flighty
In odd flight patterns
He makes me laugh
mercy party
leaving here with nothing
but an empty notebook of ideas
i finally stopped thinking
about how it was

you could never get the news on me
because i'm just too northerly
forever staying off your grid
maybe it's your turn
to wonder what i did

understanding my anonymity
instinctually like a sparrow
that never dare enter the open window

because it just knows
I try to creep from the bed
but instead you grab my head
and pull me back to you.
Back so you may pet my hair.
Deep asleep you still care
and melt I promptly do
M e l l o
there are nights
like this
when i kept on
staring the cracks
at the ceiling
and wonder how
on earth
we keep
all the bullets
fired at us
just because
we love the
the trigger
I dont know why. I guess I'm not that bulletproofed. Potd. Sept. 23
Somebody's Me
What if I'm beautiful?
Like really, really beautiful?
Like drop-dead gorgeous kind of beautiful?

Will I be different? I mean the inner me?
Will I like the inner me?
When day will be in dark

And sun will go to sleep

When moon will have its shine

I will meet you in the stars...

If you are made for me

Dont care where you are

It's the ending that matters

I will meet you in the stars

Dont need to check you love

Its endless till my soul

When I know all of this

Than I know will meet you in the stars...
A M Ryder
We are all alone
In ways no one understands
We drown under
The waves of words
We aren't saying
Sometimes I can feel my bones
Straining under the weight
Of all the lives
Im not living
And I wanted to save you
But I needed saving too

All we've got is
The precious knowledge
Of our own
Self destruction
Randell Quitain
isang taon,
isang tao;
ang nag-isa,
'di mag-iisa.
I live in the prison of my fears
waiting for you to release
when  you arrive
there´ll be nothing of me
to give
Natalie Pugmire
living is such a painful way to die.
You strengthen me
Stretch me tall in fond pursuit
And call my waking trees to move with subtle hints

Familiar as the folding sound
Between quiet rustling parchment leaves
Becoming new our newest sounds as an inkwell drawn

Like a sunlit jewel your dulcet glow
Is stumbling down a sketched path of painted memory
Colored by every season anew with the hues of you

Don’t cry when I am no more seen, my felicity
It was always and with you in mind
That you made me want to try
Painted Words Between Distant Mailboxes is built around a song, a sketch, a classic story. Separated by time and space no more. These lovers turn now, to face a new fate, having not been left alone in an empty word. "Through the long and lonely night." We persevere until the dawning bright. Shines back at us with joy.

Crystal vines creep
Along our bodies

These vines seem to know
Everything about you
And I must say I dream
Of knowing the same

If we end up pulling apart
I know their shards
Will pierce our minds
In unison

Uncertainty fills your mind
Mine too
But we both planted these seeds

Let's become new
Her smile sits
on the curb of a road
between Summer
and Fall.
Not by your GPA
Or what others say
For you are far more
Than what some people see

Measure your worth
In the number of smiles you’ve caused
The way that you light up the world
Luminating the darkness
Turning sad nights
Into the most beautiful day

And I know it may mean nothing
To read this from your screen
I just wanted you to know
That you are
more important
Than you yourself believe
last rainy night
why is it that you are my calm and my storm at the same time?
I smile
I laugh often
slowly letting go of the hurt
and pain
you have caused
I have forgiven you
but my poetry...  still
needs me to hurt

just a little longer
Rivers speak in short bursts of water,
hustle preciousness, scurrying
it fast lest its stolen.

Rivers speak in falling, tumbling,
ferocious roars, the real kings of the
jungle that lions and wild elephants,
panthers and serpents
bow to, as they serve themselves
a moutha.

Rivers are open books,
they don't gossip in hushed voices.
You can hear from far the
husky voice and gruff tones
that inspired the Godfather
and Scarface baritones.
Dons of the jungle inspiring
dons off it.

Rivers 'gush and splash',
not aware they are a music bash,
they have been rock consorts from aeons,
they were the first concertos and conductors,
they are nature's maestros playing
an earthly orchestra performed
through mountains and valleys
sans speakers or amplifiers,
reverberating and blending
through miles of quiet.
Like CDs and trees,
we can't cut rivers, thankfully.

Rivers have pride.
They don't weep at all
but flow on even as they fall
down thousands of feet.

We marvel at the majesty
but do they roar because they hurt,
tears hidden in gazillions of water
we consume ultimately?
Ain't a flowing and moving
being not one living?
I have proof because they gently
caress and whisper when I dip
my hand as they drift along.

Thats not all.
Rivers moan when they lose their way
and enter towns against their will and say,
at the *** end of their patience,
the beginnings of destruction.

We cut nature to size, they cut
us open out of turn,
the bloodletting vanishing into
a life force otherwise
rasping and roaring,
splashing and rocking,
now moaning and drowning
people as a last resort
when all hope is lost.

Rivers speak.
If only we listened.
The Awkward Bard
A secret buried
Blooms lies, and in time, they turn
Themselves, to secrets.
I still remember the last time I saw you
and I remember the day I realized
it was really over

but life goes on, as things do
however, I still find myself
thinking about you

I’ve seen other people,
I’m sure you have too
but still, I really, truly do
myss you
Rizna M Rameez
It's your decision
whether to make your mind
A prison
A stepping stone
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.
My wings were clipped the day I was born
I was put under the pressure of a billion eyes
My dreams ripped my skies torn
My life was built on a faithful lie

The shadows of my imagination
feared the glare of their expectations
My broken bones, My shattered heart
Sang the stories of me being torn apart
jeffrey conyers
Hey, you.
Let her know.
This love is reserved for her.

Hey, you.
Let her know.
This man in love with her.

She seems to think I'm playing games.
As if she just someone I don't love.
But my friends can show her I am for real.

So, hey you.
Please, let her know.
This love of mine is reserved for her.

By now she has seen me everywhere.
She can call me her shadow.

If I didn't care?
I wouldn't chase.
Except, she strictly is my kind.
A strong woman in spirit and mind.
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.
Missing everything
Yes I am nothing
Hate this living
No hope for smiling
But still smiling
To make other's smiling
Missing my everything
I've rarely wished
For a weekend
To be over more.
A "poem" every day.
19 and still
hating myself
over the actions
of other people

feeling stupid
for failing
the person
i love the most
my hate for you
turns into hate for me
so when u ask me if I love myself
I want to scream no
but I smile, instead.
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.
plunged head over heels
down your gently sloped nature
for you i did fall
I wanted to learn

so last night my fourth grade teacher
tore my eyelids off

and sat me near a television screen
that showed my mother dying
over and over
and over again.

I left as a cavity
of a boy,

collapsing at the sound of passing cars

as I searched for a payphone where
I could speak to the static about Gabriel.

(where is he?)

When I look at my brother and father

I beg for my eyes to be caressed until they’re scarred

with every daytime matinee
and curtsy on the train platform

that built me into this mosaic
of a “man”.
deeply personal. would appreciate kind words and condolences. my mother is alive but a part of me has died.
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
e reed
We count the same stars

We whisper to the same moon
    each night.

That is enough,
just knowing we’re in the same universe.
the scent of incense
hangs heavy in the air
the constant murmer of voices
comes crashing like waves
but your eyes meet mine
and the faces disappear
the voices die,
all that remains
is an unspoken invitation
from my lips
willing yours to kiss them
and yours happily
meet their request
leaving our love tasting
like oranges
tenderly plucked
from moonlight lips.
After a storm comes a rainbow they say
But the storm ripped the roof off my house
The storm drowned my entire family
The storm left me with nothing
And so now
The rainbow dosent mean that much
I deleted all my poems. So if you're wondering where they went, you know now. I deleted them. Wanted a fresh start.
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