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There are lots of noughts in millions
lots of trees in acres
and winds will blow in gales
and thunder can roar in white skies
and labourers will do labour
and will always lean oh study trees
or find its shade to hide underneath
some things never change
my happiness is a very tired puppy in a fast moving current
They’ll read it
They’ll like it
I get a chance

I take it.
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
poems are just an external manifestation of internal turmoil
Wish I could reach back through time
  and touch those gone still remembered.
  I'm pieces of them sewn into a quilt
  keeps me warm in my dreaming slumber.
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
Jason James
I am crowding
The latest
On a Sunday night.

Take the stage,
Believe me,
I only perform every now and then.

And I like
Reading yours
Than I like re-reading mine again.

I am ready.
Sunday night
Don't be intimidated
Write your poetry.
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...
I wish I were a flake of snow—
a gentle whisper in the night
descending slowly from the sky
to melt, cease to exist, just so
to kiss your cheeks, your parted lips.
I wish I were as brave as snow.
about the inability to confess love
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)
Today you were told one truth.
Today you were also told two lies.
The world is flat... gremlins steal your socks... you have cancer.

       None of these are true!

I know that the world is round...
I know my missing socks are underneath the couch...
I know I don't have cancer...

       ...I couldn't?
       ...I shouldn't?

I've never smoked,
I've never done drugs,
I am a good person,

I did all the things you are supposed to do, so obviously the gremlins stole my socks since they aren't under my couch.

Life can be cruel, as it is beautiful. That flourishing flower from yesterday that you plucked for it's beauty... weathers today.

Your life is a message, what will yours be?

I lived.
I loved.
I cried.
I lied.
I died.
It's like we’re playing chess.
Moving strategically, testing boundaries,
all while watching each other’s expression.

We all know how this games ends…
The queen destroys you and steals your heart.
I’m sorry you love a damaged heart,
I only know two sides to a story, either heartfelt or torture.
It’s hard to put down my shields that’s been guarding me for years.
I’m sorry I’m the one you wanted,
It’s not too late to walk out.
Francie Lynch
The power is off.
I sliced and peeled back the plastic covering;
Exposed the current bearer
For repair.
Twist it.
Tape it.
Make the connection.
Bring back the power and light.
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
Jordan Leisure
i'm melting for you
my heart drips
while your cream-colored candle rests under it

breath coated in bourbon
whisky fantasies
of you and me
i couldn't prepare for your hair
or your stare
or those bouts of two a.m. mayhem
i'm melting for you
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
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.
The candle sits still
steadily in the darkness
The cold wind strikes
making the fire and light vanish from existence
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
Most people are opening their gifts...
While others are opening their wrists.
This is for my cousin Julia, who opened her wrists on Christmas day almost four years ago. R.I.P Julia.
Mahdi Akhloumadi
مرا شیانی نه کنامی نه
مگرم شعری
از سرشت سرشار زیستن
که به التفات
تیزابگون و الماس وش
مشبک قربال آگاهیم را
می درید
یا گویی همیشه سیال هردوسوش بود
غرقه در او بودم
غرقه در خدایان و جنون
خود را می باختم
و بر خویش چیره می آمدم
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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
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.
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
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