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 788° 
Paradeaux
If you don't heal what hurt you,

You'll bleed on people who didn't cut you.
</3
 504° 
The Red Woman
i want to write about a
specific person
but putting him into
words
would be like trying to
explain
life
itself
S.
 354° 
moon child
I'm
Trying
My
Best.

Crying
In
My
Car
But
Doing
It
Well.
 340° 
Yachika Sharma
You have a hold on me.
Spinning my mind off,
Heart beating faster,
Fogging of my eyes,
I lose out control,
You own me.
 273° 
Amanda
when you said
“she’s the love of my life”
i didn’t hear it
i felt it

and it felt an awful lot
like a shattering heart
 250° 
cópAćEtïç
La turistas
like Nor’easters
in the summer
blowing in
for some slumming
fun in tight-*** ironed-
on jeans, those things
if you know what I mean
when they’re leaning
over trying to sink
an eight ball, baebay.
 249° 
Atlas
She is a star child
The way her smile shines so bright
Her pure innocence lights up the room
We all were star children
At some time in our lives
But all stars die out eventually

She was a star child

 223° 
Jessica LeVario
it’s only in your head
until it kills you
~j.l.
and even then it's your fault
for not telling people
who never cared in the first place
 204° 
Donall Dempsey
STARRY STARRY NIGHT

She switched off the moon.

Plucked out the stars.

A little dog barked
as her scream scrawled:

“This time life has gone...too far.”

She took an overdose of sleeping tablets
in her big bright red car.

The day withers
that was once in bloom.

Petals fall
in an empty room.

The moon wept.
The stars cried.

Life was for living... Life lied.
 180° 
Nigdaw
I have denied you during my life
Blasphemed like a docker or soldier
But I know in the end you'll be with me
As the Devil looks over my shoulder.
 159° 
Jann Flach
If someone  is making you feel
lonely
unheard
unnoticed
misunderstood
- youre better off alone

and one day
your name didn‘t make
me smile anymore
 155° 
Cecilia Downing
She pressed her hand against her chest to see if her heart was still there, beating. Sure enough, it was there, but it took a little while to feel it.
 136° 
Daphne Ryan
A master of this mad world,
For the flower bloomed on the saddest day,
To offer,
An ounce of desire,
For a happier and more content way,
Of living,
Without a burning fire of hate. P
 123° 
Anne
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.
 117° 
Eve
When the world ends will you be there?

Or will you be in the ashes?

Will you be hiding?

Will you be screaming?

Will you with me?

Because

I

Don’t

Know

Anymore.

I’v lost you

Somewhere between

Now and

Then.

Will you come back?

I need you.

I need to see you face.

I need to see your smile

You tears

Because there all

Beautiful

And I need them.

When the world ends will you be there?

Or will you be hiding?

Will you be screaming?

Will you be dead?

Because I want to die

With you.
 89° 
Carolina
Si usted no me recuerda
está bien,
me perdí en algún lugar
y tal vez ya no voy a volver.
Si usted no me recuerda
está bien,
mi esencia es de fantasma
y no me puede ver.
 88° 
Donna
Hmm I've only got a
few likes today hmm maybe
my writings not good

Why am I even
writing what's it's all about
What's the point , I only feel

anxious now , deep breaths
Now I feel silly why did
I write that , oh jeez

heart beating feel sick!!
Then my self doubt passes and
I'm back to lovely

place again! Self doubt
sure can grip me making me
feel really down! But you

see writing helps dig
through negativity , am
I a poet or not

Maybe , I'm not sure
But I'm much more too , I'm a
wife a mum a sister

a friend. I've wrote my
heart out for five years now non
stop to be honest

But now I'm in such
a lovely place of content
I'm living happy

Of course I still get
life stresses hit me and yeah
I get negative

But one thing I can
always rely on is my
passion for writing

It helps mentally
to keep me strong and focus
May it come from my

heart or mind or once
in awhile I like to write
stories , fun fun fun :)

I'm slowing down now
Gone and got myself married :)))
Tis so wonderful

Children are growing
up fast , there leading there own
life's more every day

So I'm finding new
hobbies to keep me active
Life changes happen

But to write , will be  
in me always , tis part of me
it's just there always

So to all who love to
write have fun dry those tears up
Find your happy place :))
Have a lovely week ahead :)) love to u all xxxx
 79° 
sandra wyllie
I close my eyes real tight
so, it’s him I cannot see
and dive into my mind
make-believe
you are there
and when I scream
he thinks it’s him
that broke the rafters
and the beams
that woke the neighbors
soaked the sheets
and when I climb off
I lay back
and smile
and so does he
 77° 
Penguin Poems
If want was water,
I would be drowning, my head under completely
and my oxygen quickly depleting.
If confusion was cold,
My fingers would be numb and I wouldn't even
have a coat to ward off the freezing.
If youth was you,
It would be slipping away by the second,
And I can't get a hold to stop it.
Now,
my air is gone,
I'm shivering to the bone,
and can't keep a hold on.
But, this is only a poem:
I know I'm not suffocating, subzero, or slipping.
But I can't help but feel like the more I write,
the farther I get from reality
and the closer I get to metaphor mortality.
 76° 
BLT
This would fall apart
if not for your adhesive
keeping it intact.

BLT
 68° 
Molly Nicole
Spilling out secrets
Like a dripping faucet
We play through the night
You hold me as the sun comes up
But nothing is new
This comfort is not unique
Sewing my chest back together
With a wine stained thread
Pull my hair
And the seams grow closer together
 67° 
sarah
late at night, i lie awake
thinking of things i should have said
all the mistakes i've made
and signs i should've read

then think about what i can't live without
you, front and center in my mind
sometimes it feels like halfway love
almost, but not quite

still, parts of you make me whole
who i am and who i need to be
i think of love letters that weren't torn up
feelings of blue and green

when i'm without you
blank page, artless innocence
i realize how dependent i've grown to you
and feel the need to create a distance

sometimes i look up at the purple sky
and wonder if you're looking too
i gaze at the colors and the beauty of it all
though its beauty would never compare to you
 66° 
MajaDaydreams
Like an editor with a match
Life burned your book
And replaced it with an empty page
 65° 
Whatever
I haven't seen myself in a while .
I have been under bridge below the line .
What makes me alive ;
Is the attitude to get back on line !

I haven't been myself lately .
I have been in the shadow of the better me ;
The me society expects me to be !
And my heart dreads to see

I haven't heard myself  in a  time .
I have been shut by the voice they want.
The Voice of the girl I ain't ;
the girl my mind can never be !
 65° 
Alice Wilde
Away

Into sticky
Summer night.

The nape of my neck
Tickled by passing breath
Of flower scent.

Laughing with moon mother,
Was I mingling with constellations or
Reflections of the self?

I was surely dreaming.
 60° 
Blckstr
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.
 57° 
Poetic T
Every tear I shall collect,
     But not one shall taint
                    The earth.

For I will mould every shard
         In vengeance

of emotion.

And when enough pain
           is forged cold.


The blade frozen in segments
            Of woeful  agony,

Then I shall pearce you deeply,
     So you feel the coldness

Of every tear descending down
      Tarnished cheeks.

   And know that pain saved,



Has a price worse that what
              Was dealt before.

Because tears have a price,
       Are you doing to pay...
 57° 
Max
Time just gets away from us.
Had to quote this amazing sentence from the best ending of one of the best movies I've seen.
 53° 
Xaela San
I'm not "smart" like them.

I'm not "bright" as them.

I'm not "confident" like them.

I'm not "beautiful" as them.

I'm not "someone" like them.

Can you just accept that?

I don't like crying myself anymore

-Said myself in the mirror.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
 48° 
The uniVerse
I heard a bird
it chirped
with glee
my phone it burped
with urgency
I looked outside
and then to screen
another message
from you to me.
A poem about our relationship with nature and technology.
 46° 
rose
...
I had coffee and a cigarette for breakfast
So yeah I'm doing fine
I've become good at taking weight off of other peoples shoulders
and
Searching for happiness in everything
:)
 45° 
Chris
The bird in the sky
The caterpillar in the tree
If only I could fly
Then I'd finally be free
But still encapsulated
in another dream.
Enjoy.
 44° 
White Lion
Bird's whispering tree,
sensational transition,
connecting vision

with senses out of
body's mission to transform
into formless joy.

Some roses, scentless
they might appear relentless,
the slower you smell

the bigger they swell
openly inviting cells
feeling what they have

to tell of fusion
could be just illusion now,
within themselves it could

be

falling out of skins
when hearts turn plenty into
overflowing day.
 43° 
Hg
wri
ting is
threading
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
secrets
you'll
get
po
ke
d
a
l
i
t
t
l
e
.
©Hg
 43° 
Jordan Ray

           Love                                  is                      
wr­itten                    in                    stone
       which                                slowly
             fades                          to
                   sand                   ..                                          
                    ­     ..                 ..
                             . . . . . . .
                              . . . . . .
                                . . . .
                                  . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
 43° 
elaine
my grip is slipping,
and falling scares me.
my world is fading away.
h      
          e
                     l
                             p
       m
                 e

h
          e
                    l
                          ­     p
          m
                     e

writing was an escape but even now words slip off the paper like tear drops.
why does it have to be like this?
somewhere between the fourth and fifth

load of laundry,

sometime after breakfast~lunch,
now served in the USA at home,
as an all day meal, per the edict of Mcdonalds,
start fixing dinner, take a break, walk to the mailbox,
retrieve the post and quick retreat back inside,
ah that Texas sun, bilingual chili hot,
toss the unopened on the prior weeks pile,
cause everyone loves company

the home-cold-brewed ice coffee needs a filling
for the fridge has decided not to help
by automatically refilling the pitcher

even if it could
I, busy folding,
needing two hands
and all my teeth
for folding my master’s rocket ship

sheets

my master observes with one of his alternating demeanors,
this one, super silent watching, announcing that  I need a nap:

“don't you always say, baby,
take a nap when you can, baby,
for when you need one, baby,
you probably won’t be able, my baby”


with selected-hand-led fingers,
he lays me down to sleep,
bids me to slow slide to dreamland, dinner will keep,
curling inside my frame, hands a-cupping my *******,  
telling me a drowsy tale, inherited from his mother’s womb
and his granddaddy’s tongue, mindful of his family’s history

there, is where, they find us,
dinner fixings burnt,
me and my five year old baby boy,
still sleeping fast, around 5pm, bodies enwrapped,
tied by blood and entwined in old nursery rhymes,
Texas tall tales of Pecos Bill,
me and my very own

nap-ster master

<•>

p.s.  and they call me by my other name to wake me, momma
 42° 
Eyithen
Many guilty unsure whispers
Through capable, crooked, smiles
Perfectly gleaming unspoken problems
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