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 355° 
Emma Price
There's so much that I can't say
that saying anything at all leaves me in dismay
~much love
 299° 
Alicia Moore
monotone voices hold
an element that glistens
in the light
of worldly havoc.
peace can be found
when one listens
to the simple
black and white.
 293° 
Audur Einarsdottir
How are you?
Are you in love too?
It's wonderful isn't it?
I wish you luck
 240° 
Julianna
the word die used to
just slid, simply,
with nothing to hide.
Now the word die
sits in my throat,
like a pill half swallowed.
I'm not sure whether to bring it down or up.
twisting and turning
i am pulled in every direction
but mine

expectations stacked
higher than mountains
unable to climb

"no breaking allowed"
is the rule for me
but i might, sometime
 114° 
C
I am haunted:
Not by poltergeist,
but by my unlived lives.
Parallel universes
won't ever speak,
they took an oath
to keep from me.
I have words and voices
humming in my head
that will never be met
outside of my bed.
I have to accept
I cannot have it all,
I have to accept
knowing nothing at all.
 74° 
Mary Frances
I look at myself everyday
in the mirror and then realize
I've been given the most beautiful gift
I could ever ask for - my existence;
my chance of life;
my chance of love.
 70° 
Wk kortas
You’ll not see their like come race season,
Having left the premises to be replaced
By the preening breast-augmented and face-lifted set,
Shaking their heads and clucking sadly if one inquires
If they might have something
A touch smaller than a Franklin in their wallets,
Their smooth patter, replete with references
To Paris junkets and Milan catwalks
Occasionally interrupted by one of their more prosaic counterparts
(Hard-core players following the nags up from Belmont)
Stopping in to partake in one vice they’d sworn off earlier
While loudly disclaiming the other which had ruined
An otherwise perfectly lovely afternoon
(They’ll down their draughts in short order,
Most likely headed for the harness track
To drop a twenty on some longshot
Which bears the name of a long-departed grandmother.)
This time of year, though, they are ubiquitous
As the black and salted slush,
Sad souls slouching in after a bracing walk from Skidmore campus
Or some down-at-the-heels apartment on Alger Street,
Forlornly popping into some quiet booth
With the familiar long-distance stare seen in those
Beginning to grasp the truth that one
Is an object of prey in a very small pond indeed
(Likely a semester, no more than two certainly,
From having their undergraduate epaulets
Torn unceremoniously from their shoulders)
Being as quiet and unobtrusive as church mice
Until a half-dozen or so Coors Lites
Leads them to pontificate on the injustice of the universe
And if they have not decided to stagger home
Or degenerated into desolate tears of self-pity,
They are wont to dispute the existence of the Almighty,
Saying with a conviction which would be impressive
If expressed by Beelzebub himself
That he does not exist, that he cannot exist,
Though the body of proof cited in support of the proposition
Tends to be fragmented and rife with circular reasoning
(We know that they’re most likely drinking with false ID,
But they are invariably pedestrians—let them have their moment,
Only threats to themselves, after all.)
As for myself, I’m of the opinion that faith in the Hereafter
Is that rarest of bets, an absolute bet-the-chalk- dead- cert
Where you walk to the betting window clutching house money.
 63° 
putiira
Perhaps, the most
terrible lie
you could ever tell
yourself is,
you are not beautiful.
 60° 
Mohannie

Although I don't know you
I know some need to hear
That I'm proud you're alive
You've got this, my dear.

I know it's been hard
But you are so strong
Keep your head up, my dear
And remember:

you belong.

Hello everyone! I'm back with a mission to spread love <3
 50° 
Traveler
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
Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

Yeah Incubus!
 46° 
Deadwood Jawn
-------------------------------------------------------



H́ͨ̆ͪ̉­̴̛̫̥̳̪̘̫͙̟ͪ̈̓ͨ͟ͅE̶̊͒̔̀͛̌͡͏̛͉̦͚͚͔͝ ̵͑̔͗ͥ̉̐͋̈ͥ͒͑̋ͨ̍͂̚͏͕̼̲̫̥̫̮̙͖̤̮͖͓̲͍͍̀̕W̢̹͕̫͇̙̞͇̪̌̋̆̔̃͛͛ͩ͐̊̃ͨ̅ͮ̍͊̈́́̚­͉͕͍̞̱̠ͅͅA̛͆̋ͩ̓͋̓҉̶͙̣̹̥̩̘̪S̡̃ͤ͗̒̐̊͛̍̕͞͏̰͍͖̥̦͎̻̱̪̪̙̭̫͔͚̘̣͉ͅ ̵̉̈́̌̾̿ͪͤ̃̈́͏̡̗̪̦̹̪̟̞̪̗͇̯ͅN̸̢̨̺̱͉͙̝̖̣̻̺̳͔̮̱̜̪͚̠̤̜ͬͮ͐ͤ̋ͪͩ̇̂̀͊̉̏ͦ̏̌ͧ̑­O̵̡̹͓̣͙̘͈̩̳̫̼̖͙͌̂̃̚͘͠Ṭ̢͓̭̦̣̗̩̭̪͉͓ͤͬ̋̎̓̾̔͛͛̔͂̾ͬ̄͊ͦͥ̅͡ ̧ͩͤ̑̿̿̇̚͘͏̢̛̯̬͍̹̳̘͇̥̩̣̩̟̤̺͉A̶̴̬̗͍̥̞̞̩̝̩̣̰̳ͯ̎ͥ̏̃ͮͤ̆̋̏͜͜Lͨ̀̄̏̓̉̋͆̋̇­̸̧͔̼̰̪̱͕̞̺̬̼̘̟̭ͥ͐͒̅͗͠͝͠W̧̖͙̞̪͙͙ͮ̑ͥ͆͛̌̽ͭ͐̌ͩͦ̓́̚̚͘ͅA̰̺̝͙͖̻̹̘̣͌ͨ̾̓͢͜­̬̣̺Y̢͎̹̩̺̦̬͚͉̲͎͓͉̅̄̽̅̎̏̎̌͂̃ͫͭ͞͞S̴̵̨̠̞̖̠̳̖͇̓̇ͧͮͥ͗͑̅̃̾͗͂ͨ͊́̆ͨ͢͢ ͦ͌̌̃̋̒̽͜͏̴̧̪̯̻͙͇̙͈͉̠̠͇̜͈͇͍̣͕̞͢L̵ͪ̊̏̃ͭ̒͊҉҉̞̰̣̥̺͙̣̥̳̠̹̭̘̜̜̙Iͨ̂ͬ̑̿͋͐­̲̗̹͓̠̜͕̞̞̻͙̞͚̼̫̲̞̣̟̃͑̓̃̂͊͛̅̓ͥ̕͜K̅͊ͤ̃̊͂ͮ͊͒̒̎̿҉́͡҉͏̖̯̜̜͔̪̖̟̙̞̺͎̦̖̠E­̶̶̵̪̱̺͍̫͎̣̾̽̂̾̒ͣ̀ͬ̏̐̿ͭ̿͟͡ ̸̧̡̞̠̻̟́̅ͮ̋̕͢T̡̢̼͕̝̠̼̩̜̜͓̠̱̘̜̲̦́͆ͩͨ̈͊ͮ̆̈͑͐̚͜͢͝ͅH̡ͫͧ͛̐ͦ̋ͣ̔̓̾͆͐ͥͯ̚͢­͕͉̤̫̹̟͇̭́I̷̧̨̒ͬ̇ͬ̾̆ͬ̂̌͌͏͍͍͔̖̮̪̖͓̰͎̪Ş̴̰̭̜͓͚̖̯̦͇͓̞̹̼̺͖̐ͪ̐̅͒̚̕͘



­--------------------------------------------------------
He wasn't. Thanks for understanding, Lydia.. Lydia is angry.. Someone's hurt him..
This is Lydia speaking.
 45° 
Bek Blanchard
Now there were two of them
Separated between thousands
of read texts and timely
chats touched by sound
but not skin  
Awake in the others sleeping
Sleeping in the others awake  
Restless as they wait
Restless as they wait
 44° 
Millie
If I only eat to fill me up
And I only wake to grow tired
Am I really living?

In this lingering state I exist only
For the glimmering hope that is you
 41° 
Jeremy Stacy
How can you not see the **** on tv and photos from paparazzi, the nominee in front of me is a hyperbole of an unfree reality

How twitter fingers trigger exchanges between strangers, neighbors, and calm natures to waver in ranges that cause dangers

How healthcare and welfare get lost in Laissez-faire, that airfare, software, and warfare get arranged for billionaires over childcare

How a schism between racism and altruism is created by journalism to institute imperialism and break a rhythm of higher criticism
 39° 
Astral
When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.
Today
Is the day,
That the light
Will bright
Over it might.

A day
like today,
A baby as cute as a doll
Was seeing light
For the first time in the night
In the arms of Mrs Samira

A day
like today,
The only popular words
In the house of Mrs Samira
Was”barkamu da daadin Kai ”

A day
like today
A baby was identified
In the family as Zeeya.

A day
like today,
A celebration was made
On her existence

And today,
A celebration is made
On her maturity.
Barkamu da Daadin Kai is a Hausa greetings to a woman after delivery
 36° 
Austin Reed
I can see my breathe,
my fingertips are frozen,
and my notes are damp.
 36° 
Reagan
I never truly believed in you
Maybe i did once
But now i know you
As the thing people hold on to
When there's nothing left

So here I am
With nothing left
This is written as my sister is in a coma
 33° 
E
The face in the mirror
the look in the eye's
that reflection ain't me it's just a disguise
the fading of hair
the wrinkles that bend
it's just a life story that's told on my skin
this man in the mirror he ain't really me
their's a child inside that want's to be free
that woman of mine you could say she's the same
sometimes in the covers we laugh and play games
but as I get old and my life bears thin
I think of the fun
and think of the friends
so you could say i'm kind of bold
it's just a part of getting old
A poem my dad wrote on his 45th birthday
we all thought it was funny but truth is
I think it was the greatest one he ever wrote
 31° 
Kyle White
Your body language
A distant stranger
Your voice
A faint whisper

Every night
It's a wine tasting tour
From the couch
To the kitchen floor

A world away, I write
You kiss me, and
Remind me to
Turn of the light
 31° 
JDMaraccini
Composed society a system complex rotten and deformed
Unfettered anger frustration and anguish festering the storm
Putrid blisters of vile memories sobriety castrates the scorn
Impostor hypocrites who pose as friends devour each victims form
Again, again I plunge my pen this cauldron of memories mourned
Unspoken I vent forthright enigmatic in dreams I am reborn
Unbroken, unbent, unwavering, dramatic
I drag along the garden thorn
© JDMaraccini 2020
 31° 
jeffrey conyers
My friends see ugly.
Or stated you weren't all that cute.
Their opinions didn't matter because I saw you.

I saw the personality within you.
I see a smile that's joyful and so cute.
Believe me, I saw you.

The depth of your tender loving side stands out to me.
Could care less if others refuse to see your inner beauty.
Many see the outside and try to impress others without ever loving that certain one.

It's done simply for appearances to impress.

When their looks fade?
Will, they soon feel the same way?
 30° 
mark soltero
let me rip away the ivory
from the elephant in the room
rebuke its presence
cover my ears
so i don’t have to realize
these anxieties you bring
they long to dethrone me
rip apart each bone
pick apart this broken brain of mine
with each triggered nerve
i scream it’s okay
putrid false indifference
hopeful lies
for the barren sober pain
She was stuck
in endless cycles
it seemed to her
more harm than good
to be a girl
in this world
 29° 
tainted black
..
she
closed her
eyes and took
a very deep breath,
crossed her fingers then
w  h     i     s    p   e    r     e   d,
"I long to see the   o n l  y
man who made me
shine in his
darkness
..
 29° 
Dean
when you sleep it's like you never cried,

breathing soft and steady, wet cheeks dried.



when you sleep it's like you never lost,

boundaries weren't broken and lines weren't crossed.



when you sleep it's like you're still there,

and you still smile and you still care.



when you sleep you look young as I,

no crease in your brow and no old worn sigh.



and so if sleep is death just being shy,

is it still so wrong,

to wish

to die?
This was made by yamiyurei
 28° 
Dr Peter Lim
The night does not speak
chooses to listen
it hears your every heartbeat
and thought--your secrets it has stolen
 27° 
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
It was a lie when they said
that the power to change the world
lied within you

but the ability to transform
the small square of Earth
on which I stand

with a smile

lies within your heart and hands
I wrote this in my sleep, so sorry about the ****** quality!
 24° 
REY
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 like *******.
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.
 23° 
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.
 23° 
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.
 23° 
JL Smith
It's been said,
If you love something
Let it go

So you did
And I'm free,

But I'll return
Knowing

You love me

© JL Smith
 22° 
Wanderer
Is it the words whispered
in secret corridors
i love you

are they proclaimed boldly
from roof tops
I LOVE YOU

Or maybe love
sounds like laughter
giggles shared only between two

what if love has no noise
its beauty is similar to a sunset
seen and felt
but never heard
 22° 
Diya
I will bury myself
Beneath the daisies
Unless I fix myself.
Thanks for reading.
Do you remember me?
I was the boy sitting at the back in history
When I tried to talk to you, I would stutter
Because you always made my heart flutter

You were the most popular girl in class
I was ordinary and our styles would clash
You always ignored me as if I wasn't there
It hurt me, knowing you didn't really care

That was so many years ago, now here you are
I'm so sorry to see you've fallen so far
Begging on the street, with nothing in your eyes
Your looks are gone, no one hears your cries

Do you remember me?
I was the boy sitting in the back of history
I'm trying to help you, but I can only stutter
Handing you some money, watching it flutter

Copyright © Chris Smith #darkpoetsoul 2020
 22° 
Liz
It's ok to not be sunshine
It's ok to cry at night
Because other people cry too
And for them, the sun is too bright
Sometimes people don't need happiness and sunshine, sometimes that's too much for them. Sometimes they just need someone to cry with them to let them know they aren't the only ones who cry
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