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 369° 
Marrisa
What can I say except
 "Thank you."
You pulled me from my corner
of depressing, self-hatred;
from my bubble of tears and lies.
I cannot express my gratitude.
You held me when all I
wanted was to cry out my eyes.
You told me it was going to be okay.
You told me you wouldn't stopped fighting
me for my own health.
You didn't shy away from the
ugly truth that I am.
You embraced the sad, small
creature that I am.
 361° 
Tanisha Jackland
I get so lost from you

daydreaming of revenge

on wolves who'd prey

on you

or how the

syrup from your lips

keeps me so drunk

I get enravelled

in the flesh

that I lose some of you

each time I bring the glory

to myself

So I try to daydream of roses

they are safe it's wise to say

for they will not lead

me away from you

towards the brimstone

and decay
I don't know,
If what I feel is love.

All I know is,
I will never tire,
Of seeing your face,
Smiling back at me.

On every day,
The sun rises.
http://www.folabomiamoo.com
 313° 
nivek
the mute poet of ages
born to sing
to sing even in silence
songs of the heart.
 250° 
Habits
You incentively smile; swallowed by
Demurs, encasing an idol. Peer—Searching
of yourself six feet under? Its appearance;
couldn't relate; masquerading looks—
Stunning.

Surely not! Beast, Repress!
Remorse, Repair!

Tone lacking for a visual was all required.
What once could become—If only
Onced listened!
You lend no gratitude—Care for me!

care lost; for an idol
compressed all you had ever
given.

Crushed alongside the visage of which
lay beyond your inexperienced lips!
I have no care;
no longer
 249° 
joawee
The hardest goodbye are the ones,
you never got to say
Bye.
 242° 
Bansi Adroja
The smell of your shirt
when you talked me down from the edge
the middle of winter
in an overcrowded pub
has been my sanity

The sound of your voice
on a crowded bus late Friday night
my escape from reality
from the moment we met
you've been the one
who saved me
Nostalgic and sad
 240° 
Hislizard
Under the gloomy moonlight
Here I am
Crossing white days
On the grey wall

Trapped in four walls
Here I am
Chained to the wall
Breathing the air of prison
 189° 
Sylph
Lifes like hills
They rise and fall
You will be at your highest
Then life will bring you back down to hell
And I used to wonder while people were skeptical of happiness ha
 168° 
Reem Sabaa
I often find myself waiting
waiting for a person I don’t know,
Bad news to be told wrong,
A heart that needs to be strong,
and for a mind that’ll never get me wrong.
Waiting...
 136° 
ArielMarriel
They will tell you
All poetry has been written
There is nothing new
Under the moon
But let me tell you
They don’t know you
You are as unique
As the DNA that exists
Within your frame
The ripples on your thumbprint
No one ever had the same.

Listen...

You have something to say
Say it proudly
Say it boldly
Never let them scold you.

Never let them make you go away.
I love it when someone tells me to keep writing. You should keep writing too!
 132° 
Cné
~
Love's only weakness
Is also its greatest strength:
It defies reason

~
My thoughts on Valentine’s Day
 124° 
misha
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

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
 103° 
Victor Hugo
La satire à présent, chant où se mêle un cri,
Bouche de fer d'où sort un sanglot attendri,
N'est plus ce qu'elle était jadis dans notre enfance,
Quand on nous conduisait, écoliers sans défense,
À la Sorbonne, endroit revêche et mauvais lieu,
Et que, devant nous tous qui l'écoutions fort peu,
Dévidant sa leçon et filant sa quenouille,
Le petit Andrieux, à face de grenouille,
Mordait Shakspeare, Hamlet, Macbeth, Lear, Othello,
Avec ses fausses dents prises au vieux Boileau.

La vie est, en ce siècle inquiet, devenue
Pas à pas grave et morne, et la vérité nue
Appelle la pensée à son secours depuis
Qu'on l'a murée avec le mensonge en son puits.
Après Jean-Jacques, après Danton, le sort ramène
Le lourd pas de la nuit sur la triste âme humaine ;
Droit et Devoir sont là gisants, la plaie au flanc ;
Le lâche soleil rit au noir dragon sifflant ;
L'homme jette à la mer l'honneur, vieille boussole ;
En léchant le vainqueur le vaincu se console ;
Toute l'histoire tient dans ce mot : réussir ;
Le succès est sultan et le meurtre est visir ;
Hélas, la vieille ivresse affreuse de la honte
Reparaît dans les yeux et sur les fronts remonte,
Trinque avec les tyrans, et le peuple fourbu
Reboit ce sombre vin dont il a déjà bu.
C'est pourquoi la satire est sévère. Elle ignore
Cette grandeur des rois qui fit Boileau sonore,
Et ne se souvient d'eux que pour les souffleter.
L'échafaud qu'il faut pièce à pièce démonter,
L'infâme loi de sang qui résiste aux ratures,
Qui garde les billots en lâchant les tortures,
Et dont il faut couper tous les ongles ; l'enfant
Que l'ignorance tient dans son poing étouffant
Et qui doit, libre oiseau, dans l'aube ouvrir ses ailes ;
Relever tour à tour ces sombres sentinelles,
Le mal, le préjugé, l'erreur, monstre romain,
Qui gardent le cachot où dort l'esprit humain ;
La guerre et ses vautours, la peste avec ses mouches,
À chasser ; les bâillons qu'il faut ôter des bouches ;
La parole à donner à toutes les douleurs ;
L'éclosion d'un jour nouveau sur l'homme en fleurs ;
Tel est le but, tel est le devoir, qui complique
Sa colère, et la fait d'utilité publique.

Pour enseigner à tous la vertu, l'équité,
La raison, il suffit que la Réalité,
Pure et sereine, monte à l'horizon et fasse
Évanouir l'horreur des nuits devant sa face.
Honte, gloire, grandeurs, vices, beautés, défauts,
Plaine et monts, sont mêlés tant qu'il fait nuit ; le faux
Fait semblant d'être honnête en l'obscurité louche.
Qu'est-ce que le rayon ? Une pierre de touche.
La lumière de tout ici-bas fait l'essai.
Le juste est sur la terre éclairé par le vrai ;
Le juste c'est la cime et le vrai c'est l'aurore.

Donc Lumière, Raison, Vérité, plus encore,
Bonté dans le courroux et suprême Pitié,
Le méchant pardonné, mais le mal châtié,
Voilà ce qu'aujourd'hui, comme aux vieux temps de Rome,
La satire implacable et tendre doit à l'homme.
Marquis ou médecins, une caste, un métier,
Ce n'est plus là son champ ; il lui faut l'homme entier.
Elle poursuit l'infâme et non le ridicule.

Un petit Augias veut un petit Hercule,
Et le bon Despréaux malin fit ce qu'il put.
Elle n'a plus affaire à l'ancien Lilliput.

Elle vole, à travers l'ombre et les catastrophes,
Grande et pâle, au milieu d'un ouragan de strophes ;
Elle crie à sa meute effrayante : - Courons !
Quand un vil parvenu, marchant sur tous les fronts,
Écrase un peuple avec des pieds jadis sans bottes.
Elle donne à ses chiens ailés tous les despotes,
Tous les monstres, géants et nains, à dévorer.
Elle apparaît aux czars pour les désespérer.
On entend dans son vers craquer les os du tigre.
De même que l'oiseau vers le printemps émigre,
Elle s'en va toujours du côté de l'honneur.
L'ange de Josaphat, le spectre d'Elseneur
Sont ses amis, et, sage, elle semble en démence,
Tant sa clameur profonde emplit le ciel immense.
Il lui faut, pour gronder et planer largement,
Tout le peuple sous elle, âpre, vaste, écumant ;
Ce n'est que sur la mer que le vent est à l'aise.

Quand Colomb part, elle est debout sur la falaise ;
Elle t'aime, ô Barbès ! Et suit d'un long vivat
Fulton, Garibaldi, Byron, John Brown et Watt,
Et toi Socrate, et toi Jésus, et toi Voltaire !
Elle fait, quand un mort glorieux est sous terre,
Sortir un vert laurier de son tombeau dormant ;
Elle ne permet pas qu'il pourrisse autrement.
Elle panse à genoux les vaincus vénérables,
Bénit les maudits, baise au front les misérables,
Lutte, et, sans daigner même un instant y songer,
Se sent par des valets derrière elle juger ;
Car, sous les règnes vils et traîtres, c'est un crime
De ne pas rire à l'heure où râle la victime
Et d'aimer les captifs à travers leurs barreaux ;
Et qui pleure les morts offense les bourreaux.

Est-elle triste ? Non, car elle est formidable.
Puisqu'auprès des tombeaux les vainqueurs sont à table,
Puisqu'on est satisfait dans l'opprobre, et qu'on a
L'impudeur d'être lâche avec un hosanna,
Puisqu'on chante et qu'on danse en dévorant les proies,
Elle vient à la fête elle aussi. Dans ces joies,
Dans ces contentements énormes, dans ces jeux
À force de triomphe et d'ivresse orageux,
Dans ces banquets mêlant Paphos, Clamart et Gnide,
Elle apporte, sinistre, un rire d'euménide.

Mais son immense effort, c'est la vie. Elle veut
Chasser la mort, bannir la nuit, rompre le nœud,
Dût-elle rudoyer le titan populaire.
Comme elle a plus d'amour, elle a plus de colère.
Quoi ! L'abdication serait un oreiller !
La conscience humaine est lente à s'éveiller ;
L'honneur laisse son feu pâlir, tomber, descendre
Sous l'épaississement lugubre de la cendre.
Aussi la Némésis chantante qui bondit
Et frappe, et devant qui Tibère est interdit,
La déesse du grand Juvénal, l'âpre muse,
Hébé par la beauté, par la terreur Méduse,
Qui sema dans la nuit ce que Dante y trouva,
Et que Job croyait voir parler à Jéhovah,
Se sent-elle encor plus de fureur magnanime
Pour réveiller l'oubli que pour punir le crime.
Elle approche du peuple et, guettant la rumeur,
Penche l'ïambe amer sur l'immense dormeur ;
La strophe alors frissonne en son tragique zèle,
Et s'empourpre en tâchant de tirer l'étincelle
De toute cette morne et fatale langueur,
Et le vers irrité devient une lueur.
Ainsi rougit dans l'ombre une face farouche
Qui vient sur un tison souffler à pleine bouche.

Le 26 avril 1870.
 101° 
Chameleon
I was laying in bed with the lights off watching the outline of my ceiling fan spin,
when I came clean to myself.
I mess things up, life gets too hard for me to handle sometimes and things can get bad.
Because I am mentally ill.
I almost can’t help it.
But, I don’t hate this part of me,
because it is part of me.
I am not a perfect person, I never will be and quite frankly, I don’t want to be.
I don’t always follow the rules,
I don’t just “get in line” with everyone else.
I don’t want to plan my life out.
I am happiest when I’m following the breeze, going where ever life takes me.
I don’t know what defines being successful,
other then ending up happy.

That’s what I’m gonna try to do.
 86° 
Bluebird
I love it when I can feel you watching me

I love it
when I turn towards you to tell you a joke
and find you
already grinning at me

I love knowing that you like me
Even if you don't love me
 84° 
Donall Dempsey
I LIKE TO SAY YOUR NAME

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
only

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.
 83° 
Liz
Felicidad, a donde va?
Quiero estar donde estás
Mi vida se rompió
Cuando de mi salió
Quiero estar contigo
2/20/2020
 83° 
milkweedangel
i remind myself
you can’t feel
a wound on your skin
as it heals
but little by little
it is

so the wounds
on my heart
must be the same

i should be patient.
even if i can’t feel it, it must be happening
 82° 
Makana visaya
Cold
Harsh
Isolation
Spring out of the ground
Into an immortal cage

A bird void of song
Flightless
Insane

He is senseless
And alone

Calm
But aware
for this cage is no home,

even the light

Strikes through
In a pinch

And it hurts

The burning of light
Cracking rays
through my ribs
 81° 
JustGreylon
Pretty brown eyes,
don't weep from under the melanin;

she is stunning
and you too can see that,

saturating the underlining
of an unbroken makeup,

but for all the world to entreat
that she too fall flat.

-Jg
 81° 
clever
when the only thing that i know is what i'm not,
i think it's well past time for me to go
Silently travels light
Through the dark
Showing the way
All the way.
 79° 
Jack
I would gladly die a whisper
on the tip of your tongue.
 76° 
TurttleQuack
OCD
This disease struck me
Like a brick on pavement
Hard

Everything was
Perfect
Then that brick came along
And with the slightest movement
Destroyed everything

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
The voices say

Why can’t I let them go?
They keep repeating:

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
Why won’t they stop

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
I don’t understand

“Count it
Perfect it
Measure it
Clean it”
Someone just HELP me understand

This disease is about
Perfection
But it's the biggest
Imperfection about me
 65° 
moon child
"I'm an open book"
She says

Written in
code.
 62° 
Day
thank you
lover
-
for the
reminder
-
that no
longer
-
are they**
stronger
-
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.
 62° 
ok okay
So many people focus on finding love
I'm too busy finding myself
 60° 
Iz
I am in love with the way you avoid me
It reminds me of myself
 55° 
Ari White
to slow down time
we took acid
boiled water
and watched

we wanted more of the enigma
more ticking

but the water boiled too quick
morning was knocking at the door
and our tongues could no longer contain
the words

i love you
 54° 
Ctesiphon
Birds flew into hurricane,
the angry whirl of woe,
someone threw them in,
oh, what an act of sorrow.

They're not born for troubles,
they're meant for flying free,
now they drown in gusts of fear
they cannot ever flee.

Some begin to cope with that,
devastating crushing menace,
and begin like its own
perverted view of solace.

But many birds seem not to care
they fly around in pain
seeking clear skies up somewhere,
where's better life to claim.

Yet there they are,
tiny hopeless beings,
that die when they tire,
seldom with happy endings.
 53° 
Mackenzie
I wrote fantasies and I wrote about sleep
I wrote about demons and
how they danced around a fire in my dreams
I wrote about skeletons in my closet that suffocated me
I wrote about monsters that I rolled around with
In my sheets and when “I love you”
Used to sound sweet
I wrote until my brain stopped flooding and my fingertips began to bleed

Poetry
       i wrote until it
              Finally
          Became easier to
Breathe
m.d
 50° 
MawaLin
And when you left
I overwatered all your flowers
 49° 
nsw
It seems so simple and effortless to become a poet
Just write out your emotions and be vibrant with the pain through your words
Simple enough..
Now what about when you're trying to hide your adversities..
While trying to be transparent about your feelings?
Or how about performing in front of large groups of people..
While trying to detain your tears and imprison the pain
Is it still so uncomplicated?

Poetry is a gift..
 46° 
Butch Decatoria
Break him down, then build him up—both requires strength.
 46° 
Emily
You don't know
why the dog is
afraid of you:
I do.
You don't like the fear? Do something about it.
 44° 
Lemonade
she is a happy ending,
not everyone can wait for.
 44° 
Nara
I'm Glad that the person you love is not a girl.
And that I don't have to envy anything about it.
It just made me glad that you choose the right one.
 42° 
JAC
You
You were the one to keep me safe,

Helped me get over my fear,

Pushed me to go beyond the limit,

Stopped me from crying,

Told me around, three billion times that I am beautiful.



You were the one that took my heart away,

Helped me remember what love was,

Pushed each other closer together,

Stopped my anxiety from getting the best of me

Told me around, five billion times that you believe me.
This is for you diane.
 41° 
Janice
A peaceful, calm, and quiet place
A restbit from, this crazy haze
Silent whispers - from afar
Shes too drifted to hear them call
Out to her, from reality
Her comatose tranquility
Sorrounds her mind,
In foggy clouds
Protects her from her memories
She doesn't need to understand
Nor realize what is happening
As she slowly drifts, off to sleep
Never to come back
To me.
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