Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Quinn Adaire
A mix
Of joy and pain,
Plain as day
On the lines of pages.

Like a roller coaster,
Poems rise high
As the sunset
But soon sink low
Almost touching the ground.

But the thing about poems,
Is that they take any shape.

It doesn’t matter
If you just wrote a mourning story,
You can still tell a tale of joy.

I have said that rhymes are liquid.
I wasn’t kidding.
Liquids take any shape and fit the container they are poured in.
And when they aren’t contained
They spill and spread everywhere.
Poetry does too.
He lives in a two world.
One, The place where he lives with his near and dear ones.
And the other where no one knows.
A place where only his brush and paper knows.
Where its filled with colours and paints.
And a place where he express himself.
He live in two world.
Thomas Bron Mukama
π™ΌπšŠπš—πš’ πš πšŽπš›πšŽ πš’πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš”πš›πšŠπšŠπš•
πšƒπš‘πš’πšœ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πšŽπš‘πšŒπšŽπš™πšπš’πš˜πš—πšŠπš•
πš†πš’πšπš‘ πš‘πšŽπš› πš•πš˜πš—πš πš‘πš˜πš›πš—πšœ πšŠπš—πš πš πš’πšπšŽ πš‘πš’πš—πš πš‹πšžπš–πš™πšœ πšœπš‘πšŽ πšœπš πšŠπš›πšŸπšŽπš
𝙰 πš‘πš˜πš›πš— πšπš˜πš› πš‘πšŽπš› πšŒπš˜πš–πš™πšŽπšπš’πšπš˜πš›πšœ
πšπš‘πšŽπš’ πšŠπš•πš• πš•πš’πšŸπšŽπš 𝚊𝚜 πš‘πšŽπš› πšœπš‘πšŠπšπš˜πš .
πš‚πš‘πšŽ πš‹πš›πšŽπšŠπšπš‘πšŽπš πšŠπš—πš πš”πš—πšŽπš’πšπš‘πšŽπš πš•πš’πš”πšŽ  πšŠ πš‘πš˜πš›πšœπšŽ πš˜πšŸπšŽπš› πš‘πšŽπš› πšπš˜πš–πš’πš—πšŠπšŒπšŽ

πšƒπš˜ πš‘πšŽπš› πšπš’πšœπšŒπš•πš’πš™πš•πš’πš—πšŽ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πš™πšŠπš›πšŠπš–πš˜πšžπš—πš
π™·πšŽπš› πšπšŠπš’πš• πšœπšŽπš›πšŸπšŽπš πšπš‘πšŽ πšŒπšŠπš’πš— πš™πšžπš›πš™πš˜πšœπšŽ

π™Έπš πšπšŠπš”πšŽπšœ πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšŽπšœπš πš‹πšŽπšœπš 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšžπš•πš•πšœ πšŒπš˜πšžπš›πšŠπšπšŽ 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚝 πšŒπš•πš˜πšœπšŽ 𝚝𝚘 πš‘πšŽπš› πš˜πšŸπšŽπš› πšπš‘πšŽ πšœπšπšžπš—πš—πš’πš—πš πš•πš˜πš˜πš”πšœ πšŠπš—πš πš πš˜πš πš’πš—πš πšŒπš‘πšŽπš πšœ
πš‚πš‘πšŽ πš–πš˜πšŸπšŽπšœ πš’πš— πš’πš— 𝚌𝚘𝚠 πš πšŠπš•πš” πšœπšπš’πš•πšŽ
πšœπšπšŽπš™ πšŠπšπšπšŽπš› πšŠπš—πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš› πš•πš’πš”πšŽ 𝚊 πš–πšŠπšπšŒπš‘πš’πš—πš πš‘πš˜πš›πšœπšŽ
πš‚πš‘πšŽ πš’πšœ 𝚊 πš™πš›πš’πšπšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πš•πšŠπš—πš
πš†πš’πšπš‘ πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšŽπšœπš πš–πš’πš•πš” πš™πš˜πšžπš› πšŠπš—πš πšπš’πš—πšŽ πšœπš”πš’πš—
π™²πš•πš˜πšœπšŽ πšœπš‘πšŽ πš’πšœ 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πš˜πš πš—πšŽπš›, πš”πš—πš˜πš πš— πš‹πš’ πšœπšŒπšŽπš—πš πš πš’πšπš‘ πšŒπš‘πšŠπšπšπš’πš—πš πš•πšŠπšžπšπš‘πšπšŽπš›πšœ
You once asked why I didn’t have another person to share my bed with
You once asked why I didn’t have another person to share my heart with
You once asked why I was still alone
You once made it seem like you wanted to be that person
For she was black
Yet she never lacked
A special treatment she received
And never deceived
She wanted it all
When already she has the mall
And felt cheated
Even when it was never created
She was pained
And wanted more
Roars like lion began to go viral
And like the barking dog
She won't stop being mannish
Swiftly like the burning flames looking for a place in the sky to shelter
She gathered the superfluous in her load of responsibility
And chained herself to it
Forgetting she is tied
She is bargaining for freedom
By not even walking on the bare floor
She is wanting to sky.
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β - Oyeniyi Joshua
we all live inside mirrors
as mere reflections

with every touch it blurs
the image of our projection

just our outside figures
define most rejections

but its the weight of our fears
that fill us to perfection
Nick Burns
cut man
disrupts depression
a hero
in bits
thank you
for the
that no
are they**
than my voice.
**anything/anyone trying to tear me down, whether mentally or situational

!!Don't forget to get out to those polls!!
Change is coming.
Donall Dempsey

I like to say
your name

when you're
not here

turn you
into sound

conjure you out of
thin air

so that you appear
before me

dressed in sound

memory sketching in
the rest of you

as if sound
was just an outline

and love
colours you in

adding the voice last
so I can hear you say.

"Hello you..!"
and there you are

as present
as present

can be.

I like to say
your name

when you're
not there.
ok okay
So many people focus on finding love
I'm too busy finding myself
Poetic T
She was neve going to be in white,
              neutrality was never

going to be her hue.

She was telling the world a message..

Her gown, was onyx silk woven
                 like Cinderella had told the
arachnids  to create beauty in the night
            it fell entrapping on any who gazed

upon its woven radiance.

She walked down the isle and with each step,
                                at least five were captivated

in the webbing of her beauty,
                       walking beyond there view.

All entombed within the elegance
             that captured them.

She was the spider weaving a web of beauty
           that captured every eye.

And the man was her prey, he smiled
          lost in the moment of her captivation.

I do, I do,  and both were entangled
within the
                             eyes of each.

This moment was silk ropes tied to each others
         and now they'll weave them every step

                          they collect together.
moon child
"I'm an open book"
She says

Written in
what if i was meant for you?
what if you were meant for me?
what if this is it..
what if we're meant to be?

don't be scared
please take my hand
This journey will hurt
but please try to understand

I will always be here for you
I'll give you everything one day
so I'll kiss your head, and promise
That i will love all these what if's away!
Giovanni Pascoli
Nelle case, dove ancora
si ragiona coi vicini
presso al fuoco, e giΓ  la nuora
porta a nanna i suoi bambini,
uno in collo e due per mano;
pel camino nero il vento,
tra lo scoppiettar dei ciocchi,
porta un suono lungo e lento,
tre, poi cinque, sette tocchi,
da un paese assai lontano:
tre, poi cinque e sette voci,
lente e languide, di gente:
voci dal borgo alle croci,
gente che non ha piΓΉ niente:
- Fate piano! Piano! Piano!
Non vogliamo saper nulla:
notte? Giorno? Verno? State?
Piano, voi, con quella culla!
Che non pianga il *****... Fate
piano! Piano! Piano! Piano!
Non vogliamo ricordare
vino e grano, monte e piano,
la capanna, il focolare,
mamma, bimbi... Fate piano!
Piano! Piano! Piano! Piano!
If I posted a poem
Containing my feelings,
Would she see it?
Or would it be lost,
Like many other things,
In the silky sands of time?
I mean it’s not like she uses the sight,
I hope she doesn’t see all of this. Embarrassing stuff...
Austin Reed
Windows downs
On the state route
dad driving a 93’ pickup
As I rode in the front seat
2000s pop playing through
Joyous as any kid could be

What I’d give to relive one day...
One more day of innocence.
I miss that truck man :(
kailee cardinal
I'VE been crying

JUST quit hurting

TRIED to live on

TO you

FORGET the hurt

i've just tried to forget
And when you left
I overwatered all your flowers
You don't know
why the dog is
afraid of you:
I do.
You don't like the fear? Do something about it.
sometimes I feel sorry for those who aren’t a little bit touched by
madness wondering if they have even experienced half
the layers of the soul
she is a happy ending,
not everyone can wait for.
Pilar Orozco
Just say you need me
Nolan Morris
It’s all a dream
Heartache and everything
Still I sing
There is sunlight in your eyes
and it is a place
I wish I could
escape to.
It is warm
and I am cold.

There is sunlight in your eyes
and I know
it does not
live in mine.
This cave I hide in
does not have room
for you.

There is sunlight in your eyes,
in the world
I used to be in.
Nothing grows here
but weeds
and a grey sad.
My hands are covered with it.

There is sunlight in your eyes.
You are alive.
I don’t know what that feels like.
I find beauty in dark places
Love in mysterious ways
Comfort in unbelievable happenings
I'm not weird
I just pay attention to things others neglect.
Life isn't worth living if it's viewed in one perspective
Shreya Ghosh
I love you
Doesn't mean I love you

It means your eyes
Are deep enough
For me to dive in
And trust the waters
To keep my secrets

It means your lips
Are never harsh upon me
And they make me happy
Every single time they open

It means your hands
Are with you always
Except when I call them
To hug me and leave traces on me

It means your ears
Never get tired of
What my lips convey
And never will , they respond

It means your heart
Has touched my heart
And they'll never get apart
Like they are in a hug for eternity

It means you are special
It means you are mine
So I can be possessive
And you'll say nothing
I can be jealous too
And you'll never see
My hand leave yours
Or our hearts leave the hug

You are mine
And you will remain mine
Ugo Victor
Dear HP,

This is not a poem
But a question
The answer to which
I do hope you have

Why does my lover claim to love me
But still looks for every opportunity
To let me go?

Is it that she loves me so much
But doesn't think she's worthy of me

Or she doesn't love me enough
To think I'm worthy of her?
i dreamt of you once again-
i wish i had not woken up.
i look up at the moon
wondering if you're seeing the same
or if you're seeing the sun
but one day
we will see the same
one day
we will be under the same roof
in the same bed
as lovers
who use to see different
i felt embarrassed writing this.
tina kimi
aging by seconds
learning by minutes
familiarize in hours
grow in days
smart in weeks
old by months
prosper by years
ages to fall in love
Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,
First poem I've written, to anybody who reads this is hope you enjoyed it and it made you day a little better
Is there any buddy out there?

Am I the only one?

Could this be the end?

Is this site said and done?

Shall I post 1 million words and read them to myself

Shall I write 1 million poems and place them on a shelf

Within the womb
With in the mother
Have I yet to discover
Light beyond the darkness
Forcing me to breathe
Is there anybody out there
Or am I all alone
Life is but a dream
We cannot control
A Mess of Words
This bed is far too big.

There is no beauty being adored,

No lips being kissed,

No limbs being caressed,

No festive mingling.

I am left with naught but

Lukewarm bittersweet memory.
I fell in love with him
The way he looked at me
His gentle touches
Third eye kisses

Moments and memories
Destined to last forever

I fell in love with him
... slowly
Then all at once
I always thought we were the perfect match.
But matches are meant
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β  to ignite
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β  and burn out.
Coraline Hatter
candles light up her room
it smells like herbs
and flowers

fall is her favorite season
she enjoys the rain
while dancing trough the woods

she's one with nature and the sun
but in love with the moon
everyone's terrified of her
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
β€œI’m tired,”
β€œI’m a failure,”
β€œI’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.
patty m
Cupped hand on chin watching
people having a good time on Lennox avenue.
Have you ever read a Cummings poem then read it again
and watch the content change from innocent to perverse?

In the clubs conversation swirls much like that,
flat intonation minus punctuation, do they flirt or flip you off?

In my room backlit by a bare bulb
the numbness in my arms and mind escalates;
poetry is sometimes a gift filled with healing power,
at other times its abandonment feels like a curse.  
Vague face in the mist, my sometimes talent
turns on me leaving me forsaken..  
Chasing words is like trying to catch the tail of a comet,
the symbols manifest in strange tattoos
while the alignment looks totally alien.
The hour is late and my eyes burn with exhaustion
yet I won't submit to the shadowy being
who snidely smiles and sprinkles sand.
what i hold so dear for you
only i know what it is
only i dwell in that world
only i feel that magic
it is a two people's joy
but one heart's tells its own story
only i know so
Next page