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mom, i love you
mom, can you take the weekend off?
mom, can he go back to his house?
mom, i miss you
mom, i hate you
Eugene Osowski
I love things
In degrees, it seems;
I love things just in ways

That find me in
A perfect place

Or just on
Special days

I love what pleases,
Not what pains

The tender,
Not the tough

It is not that
I cannot love,
But cannot

Love enough.
When we look at objects
Like cars
Do we call them

Why are women always the object of desire
And still the center of so much abuse?

Perhaps we are abused because we don’t run as smooth or as silently as a car.
John Destalo
I was falling
for you

the feeling of
being weightless

the sky and
the ocean are

like your eyes

your eyes and
Einstein’s brain

are the depths
I can never reach

but I will drown trying
to reach either or both
I could blame it on many things
Like the sounds I make in the morning
The people I’ve faithlessly broken
Or that I’m impossibly weak

I could blame it on the inadequacy or
How much that I drink

Anything other than the truth in these seams
Anything other than the fact that
I’m sure about you

And you’re not sure

About me.
तेरी खुली जुल्फों से ढका वो चेहरा
लगता है जैसे चांद बादलों से घिरा हो
तेरे उस चेहरे में ऐसा उलझा मन मेरा
जैसे पंखुड़ी में बंद कोई भौंरा हो।।
u see the knife
you watch the glow
u see me smile
but can't hear me cry
u think i'm happy
but inside i'm breaking
u see the blood
then u realize
that i wasn't
when i said
i'm depressed!
u wish u gave me the
support i needed
but now it's too late.
I'm dying inside...
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)
Richard Reid
I put my fingers to this screen, pen to paper, a retrospect connecting two beings.
I paint modern Latin into charcoaled emotions. Digital inked expressions raging to be exclaimed.
A grey ball burst into a colorful mess.
I’ve finally begin to enjoy the flow of images that have been clustered inside this membrane.
Scribe my boy, scribe with the madness that has detained you for an inconceivable amount of time.
I cry as this ecstasy is so refreshing and this sorrow is so sublime.
The tragedy is
there's a prison in my mind
all the thoughts that lurk there
are ones I wish were never mine
they etch into my heart
the scars I wear so bright

They whisper wicked stories
of things that never happened
or maybe things that did
things that shouldn't create ripples
in the current in my life
but here I lay in bed
stuck awake at night
eyes cutting blankly
through the nothingness of my cold and dark bedroom
I don't feel special,
I'm not unique.
I want to cry
but I can't even speak.
My hands reach out,
but they cannot hold
a single thing
but the bitter cold.
Everything's frozen,
I feel lost.
Even my tears
have turned to frost.
When I cut my waist
it bleeds black.
I'm so deeply gone
there's no way back.
This is goodbye
Coralie Marie
On my way home from the christmas market, the air is heavy from the scent of sweet chestnuts. A cheerful crowd moves towards the flashing lights in the distance. I catch last glimpses of rosy faces and plush woolen hats. Out of balance from a few mugs of mulled wine, my feet slide across the sparkling ground. The street lanterns die out, taking all the warmth with them, making place for the frost to creep in. My breath rises in silver mist into the night and fades into nothingness,
just like myself.
i have grown flowers out of the marrow of my bones
i have harbored seeds from the blood that flows
i have created skies from the pain in my eyes
and i do it all for you,
my wildflower
D Thornhill
marking autumn's close
endless shadows of bare trees
lay on sleeping lands
©️ dt + b
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.
Cydney Something
All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing
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.
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
I used to grow flowers.
Pretty little petals
Sprouted from letters.
Into pretty little paragraphs
Sprouted from words.

Now I only grow lonely.
Ugly little concepts
Sprouted from doubts
Into fetid thoughts
Sprouted from desolation.
Stain darkness on my lips

taste light for the first time.
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
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.
Leocardo Reis
It takes me
perhaps a few minutes,
at most,
to write a poem.

In the brief instant
creation and publication,
I am convinced
that this poem cannot be

But note,
it is never the claim,
that the poem is
any good.

I write
so that I may express
what I had genuinely felt
for a few moments.
When I was little
I was scared
Scared of the monsters living under my bed
I used to hide, under my blanket
Under my blanket, I was safe
The monsters couldn’t reach me under my blanket

My parents used to say
The monsters would go away
I would grow up and that then they would leave

But I grew up
And the monsters didn’t leave
Turns out my monsters, grew with me
Now instead of under my bed
The monsters live inside my head

So I hide, under my blanket
Where I think I am safe
Wondering if after all this time
My blanket can still keep the monsters at bay
Kayley singh
The sky so gray
the ground so sleek
i remember so vividly
as we walked down the street
for the first time
i seen your eyes shine
as you watched over me
so protectively
don't think i didn't see  
we go to the place we were going
somewhere i've never been
but soon will be going plinty
and somewhere you'll return later that day
i miss the old days
the sky so gray
yet we were happy
i miss him a lot and i know he misses me its a shame we are so far apart but this is how destiny wanted it
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
I’m really scared
Im loosing it
My fragile mind
Slowly bruising it
I think too much
Overusing it
it’s my fault
But I keep doing it
Steve Page
Yesterday was a bruiser
Today’s real contrary
Tomorrow’s undecided
But I’m remaining wary
Willow Columbo is Aunty Pam
Oh oh oh yeah
You see she is my Aunty’s next life
Oh oh oh yeah
She is the life
Of the Columbofamily oh yeah
She looks so good
Oh oh oh yeah
Willow Columbia is Aunty Pam
Oh oh oh yeah
You see she is growing up
To a beautiful young lady oh yeah
I am
Sure she will make a lot of friends
As heaven purely waits Aunty Pam’s cool look
Willow Columbo is Aunty Pam
Oh oh oh yeah
You see she looks like the little girl
In the grinch
Oh oh oh yeah
I liked Aunty Pam
She was nice to me
Willow columbo is Aunty Pam
Oh yeah bow bow

You're more beautiful
And more outstanding and bright
Than you'll ever know.

You're worth more than you'll know. Just a reminder.
Life, like a string of pearls,
some white, some black
Good and bad experiences
a concatenation of moments
of rendezvous.
It’s all about the people in it.

Shell ✨🐚
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.
I decided to write a poem
To put words together
In such a way
As to express
My innermost feelings

And I lost the words
And my thoughts drifted
And my computer keys stuck
And nothing came forward

Perhaps tomorrow
I will write a poem
To express my life
And for today
I’ll just go
To play
And with a sincere smile,
she looked to the stars
knowing the future was worthwhile,
even, with a thousand scars.
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.
Hakikur Rahman
And if these could be my last
few words to the world,
And if this could be my last
poem to be written,
Torned out entirely, but rigid inside
Sad by looking, but happy inside,
I would write, one word, "Companion".
Based on a true story.
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