Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 3130° 
Phil
Where once
There was laughter
Silence is deafening
 454° 
NICOLE
she needed you last night
as much as she needed air
because she’s afraid as hell.
she was so afraid
that she didn’t want to close her eyes
in spite of the sleepiness she feels
because if she does,
the darkness would come in
and swallow her.
What it feels like to be scared with no one to help you.
 385° 
Tess Murray
why do i feel so sad?
nothing happened
least not really
but i am wrong
i am always wrong

that is what
they said

I believed them
 366° 
BadBookthief
🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹
In a world

that falls

for looks,

darling,

go for the soul.
🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

#badbookthiefpoetry
For more poetry, check out my page @badbookthief on
Instagram
Facebook
Twitter
Thank you!
 323° 
Kayla
carbon is made to diamonds,
with heat-
and enough pressure,
but-
why do you expect people-
to work the same way?
 307° 
Elisabetta Fato
Sometimes I just
think I should  
be the
flow,
not the
girl
lost into
it.
 241° 
Smothered Divinity
Eyes heavy..
Body aching..
Tears reigning..
Cradling into yourself...

When did you feel the most alive?

Glimpses and waves(**)

Drowning, swallowing currents of
ANXIOUS
Death.
Taken down to be edited at 10. Just a draft.
 230° 
Samantha
Noting changes.
Nothing grows.

Empty highs.
Empty lows.

I can't feel the warm,
And I can't feel the cold.

You try to make me happy,
And I try just for you.
But other than our trying,
Nothing else is new.

I worry I'll upset you,
If I can't make a change.
It's not fair of me,
To make you stay the same.
Don't let me drag you down with me.
 149° 
Aryan Sam
Hi
Years ago
We stayed up till
3 am talking,
And today
I don’t even know
How to say hi,
 141° 
mila splawska
she pulls a cigarette out of the box
click
fire emerges from the lighter
she lights tangible death
breathe in
2, 3, 4
her heart still hurts
breathe out
5, 6, 7
the pains a little duller
breathe in
2, 3, 4
breathe out
5, 6, 7
smoke pours out her lungs, out her mouth
if only her pain could be expelled in the same way
breathe in
2, 3, 4
(im sorry)
breathe out
5, 6, 7
 112° 
Rupert Pippingford
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.
 111° 
gabby
i was crying
and my parents were sure
it was all because of a boy
but in fact
i am the one who always
hurts myself
it s so hard to hide this part of me, the sad one from my family. if only i could open up to them and talk about my anxiety without being judged
 109° 
Tess
I never thought I'd matter
To anyone

Until you
Came along

And changed my perspective
Of the universe

You made me feel
Like I matter

And I'm grateful
For you.
 103° 
julianna
Monsters don’t exist
Still, we are very afraid
Because we made them
Monsters. A concept so often used to represent anything dislikable to society, which we are afraid of. Yet literal monsters don’t exist.
 101° 
Gabriel Celaya
Amigo Blas de Otero: Porque sé que tú existes,
y porque el mundo existe, y yo también existo,
porque tú y yo y el mundo nos estamos muriendo,
gastando nuestras vueltas como quien no hace nada,
quiero hablarte y hablarme, dejar hablar al mundo
de este dolor que insiste en todo lo que existe.
Vamos a ver, amigo, si esto puede aguantarse:
El semillero hirviente de un corazón podrido,
los mordiscos chiquitos de las larvas hambrientas,
los días cualesquiera que nos comen por dentro,
la carga de miseria, la experiencia -un residuo-,
las penas amasadas con lento polvo y llanto.
Nos estamos muriendo por los cuatro costados,
y también por el quinto de un Dios que no entendemos.
Los metales furiosos, los mohos del cansancio,
los ácidos borrachos de amarguras antiguas,
las corrupciones vivas, las penas materiales...
todo esto -tú sabes-, todo esto y lo otro.
Tú sabes. No perdonas. Estás ardiendo vivo.
La llama que nos duele quería ser un ala.
Tú sabes y tu verso pone el grito en el cielo.
Tú, tan serio, tan hombre, tan de Dios aun si pecas,
sabes también por dentro de una angustia rampante,
de poemas prosaicos, de un amor sublevado.
Nuestra pena es tan vieja que quizá no sea humana:
ese mugido triste del mar abandonado,
ese temblor insomne de un follaje indistinto,
las montañas convulsas, el éter luminoso,
un ave que se ha vuelto invisible en el viento,
viven, dicen y sufren en nuestra propia carne.
Con los cuatro elementos de la sangre, los huesos,
el alma transparente y el yo opaco en su centro,
soy el agua sin forma que cambiando se irisa,
la inercia de la tierra sin memoria que pesa,
el aire estupefacto que en sí mismo se pierde,
el corazón que insiste tartamudo afirmando.
Soy creciente. Me muero. Soy materia. Palpito.
Soy un dolor antiguo como el mundo que aún dura.
He asumido en mi cuerpo la pasión, el misterio,
la esperanza, el pecado, el recuerdo, el cansancio,
Soy la instancia que elevan hacia un Dios excelente
la materia y el fuego, los latidos arcaicos.
Debo salvarlo todo si he de salvarme entero.
Soy coral, soy muchacha, soy sombra y aire nuevo,
soy el tordo en la zarza, soy la luz en el trino,
soy fuego sin sustancia, soy espacio en el canto,
soy estrella, soy tigre, soy niño y soy diamante
que proclaman y exigen que me haga Dios con ellos.
¡Si fuera yo quien sufre! ¡Si fuera Blas de Otero!
¡Si sólo fuera un hombre pequeñito que muere
sabiendo lo que sabe, pesando lo que pesa!
Mas es el mundo entero quien se exalta en nosotros
y es una vieja historia lo que aquí desemboca.
Ser hombre no es ser hombre. Ser hombre es otra cosa.
Invoco a los amantes, los mártires, los locos
que salen de sí mismos buscándose más altos.
Invoco a los valientes, los héroes, los obreros,
los hombres trabajados que duramente aguantan
y día a día ganan su pan, mas piden vino.
Invoco a los dolidos. Invoco a los ardientes.
Invoco a los que asaltan, hiriéndose, gloriosos,
la justicia exclusiva y el orden calculado,
las rutinas mortales, el bienestar virtuoso,
la condición finita del hombre que en sí acaba,
la consecuencia estricta, los daños absolutos.
Invoco a los que sufren rompiéndose y amando.
Tú también, Blas de Otero, chocas con las fronteras,
con la crueldad del tiempo, con límites absurdos,
con tu ciudad, tus días y un caer gota a gota,
con ese mal tremendo que no te explica nadie.
Irónicos zumbidos de aviones que pasan
y muertos boca arriba que no, no perdonamos.
A veces me parece que no comprendo nada,
ni este asfalto que piso, ni ese anuncio que miro.
Lo real me resulta increíble y remoto.
Hablo aquí y estoy lejos. Soy yo, pero soy otro.
Sonámbulo transcurro sin memoria ni afecto,
desprendido y sin peso, por lúcido ya loco.
Detrás de cada cosa hay otra cosa que es la misma,
idéntica y distinta, real y a un tiempo extraña.
Detrás de cada hombre un espejo repite
los gestos consabidos, mas lejos ya, muy lejos.
Detrás de Blas de Otero, Blas de Otero me mira,
quizá me da la vuelta y viene por mi espalda.
Hace aún pocos días caminábamos juntos
en el frío, en el miedo, en la noche de enero
rasa con sus estrellas declaradas lucientes,
y era raro sentirnos diferentes, andando.
Si tu codo rozaba por azar mi costado,
un temblor me decía: «Ese es otro, un misterio.»
Hablábamos distantes, inútiles, correctos,
distantes y vacíos porque Dios se ocultaba,
distintos en un tiempo y un lugar personales,
en las pisadas huecas, en un mirar furtivo,
en esto con que afirmo: «Yo, tú, él, hoy, mañana»,
en esto que separa y es dolor sin remedio.
Tuvimos aún que andar, cruzar calles vacías,
desfilar ante casas quizá nunca habitadas,
saber que una escalera por sí misma no acaba,
traspasar una puerta -lo que es siempre asombroso-,
saludar a otro amigo también raro y humano,
esperar que dijeras -era un milagro-: Dios al fin escuchaba.
Todo el dolor del mundo le atraía a nosotros.
Las iras eran santas; el amor, atrevido;
los árboles, los rayos, la materia, las olas,
salían en el hombre de un penar sin conciencia,
de un seguir por milenios, sin historia, perdidos.
Como quien dice «sí», dije Dios sin pensarlo.
Y vi que era posible vivir, seguir cantando.
Y vi que el mismo abismo de miseria medía
como una boca hambrienta, qué grande es la esperanza.
Con los cuatro elementos, más y menos que hombre,
sentí que era posible salvar el mundo entero,
salvarme en él, salvarlo, ser divino hasta en cuerpo.
Por eso, amigo mío, te recuerdo, llorando;
te recuerdo, riendo; te recuerdo, borracho;
pensando que soy bueno, mordiéndome las uñas,
con este yo enconado que no quiero que exista,
con eso que en ti canta, con eso en que me extingo
y digo derramado: amigo Blas de Otero.
 97° 
Pluto
Emptiness reflects off the mirror
An eternal truth rests in my empty bed
Propaganda flashes on the tv screen
The unclean window shares my view
And the drain knows my dreams
 90° 
ethan gaskill
i keep waking up
with you on my lips
but it's only your name
and not your kiss
screaming your name at night in my sleep
 82° 
Jeremy Stacy
Happy are you? It’s easiest to do
A satisfied you is harder to ensue

To just be merry and ignore the contrary
Passing ordinary a challenge necessary

Some live for change, others find this strange
For a rearrange what have you to exchange?
A poem questioning if happiness is the best policy of life
.....Pain?...
Yes....pain..
I don't seem to understand what you feel like anymore
Have dined with pain,made pain my companion that it's wrath doesn't break me anymore
Funny how i find pain more accommodating than happiness itself.....

.......But then I met You..
And I got to laugh everyday
Not because I was building a wall round my brokenness
But because pain became distant from me

And now
I laugh so loud because I have reconciled with pain....
I guess in the end
Pain proved itself more worthy and trustworthy than YOUR existence.
Not all angels maintains their righteousness but demons never finds salvation.
 77° 
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)
 73° 
Shadow
And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
      Not shaking the grass
And every night that passes by leaves me more empty than the one before...
 70° 
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
 67° 
Thunderstorm
-her full
and
longing lips

-her thighs
that bring me
deep into
a mischief
so raw
and sweet

-every
granular
part of her
tasted
like
fresh,
pure
cane sugar

-she was
unhealthy
for my heart
but,

my
throbbing
sweet tooth
no longer
heeds the
warning

-death
couldn't be,

any
sweeter
 65° 
Words' Worth
They sent a man
On the moon
During quarantine
He never came down
Breakdown?
Breakthrough.
 60° 
Ellie Phant
As a pandemic spreads across the globe,
we realize more and more
about ourselves
which we once did not know.
Extroverts transform into introverts,
introverts into extroverts,
finally, a revolution for the mind,
an extraordinary, cosmic show
of divine and unprecedented kindness.
Externally and internally
we will continue to grow.
 56° 
Zhanara
I am an artist
I draw my life.
I am a teacher
I teach my steps.
I am a doctor
I treat my destiny.
I am a lawyer
I judge my actions.
I am a builder
I build my success.
I am a translator
I translate my opinion.
I am a  photographer
I take  my memories.
I am a writer
I write my future.
I am a chef
I cook my mood.
I am a businesswoman
I manage myself.
18/11/2018
 55° 
Sunstrike
When butterflies fall in love, do they feel humans in their stomach?
 52° 
Micah G
Why
Can I give a girl anything  
Except what she wants
 49° 
Tsunami
I was a page in your book of life.
You were a whole chapter in mine.
 48° 
Poetic T
the stars are cold
the air frigid

dying alone, corona
 47° 
Marsha
to me,
you are
an art

                              to you,
                              I was
                              a tragedy
you still remain, and will always be
a fine piece of art
to me.
// edit: thank you for having this in the daily. ♡
 44° 
Ellie Geneve
I drink my morning coffee,
gulp after gulp,
searching for sanity
in the bottom of the cup
Deep witchery
I have felt
So much torment
Inside this Hell
Moves so close
Yet so far away
No time for alliances
Nothing left to say

-

Please forgive me
For I have felt
Deep within this Heaven
Deep within this Hell

-

Tho I sleep
I will Rise
Only to Awaken
To this Dream
This Paradise
Phew, this took a lot out of me
Thanks to my friends and  family
#ForTerra !
#YouAreLoved
 41° 
Angela
A sower
     A seed
A root
     Of the tree
A forest is the poet

A harvest
     A trove
A cherry
     Of the grove
Sweetness is the poet

A feather
     A wing
A flight
     Of the spring
A sparrow is the poet

A swarm
     A bee
A buzz
     In the tree
A sting is the poet

A puzzle
     A haze
A fog
     In the maze
A mystery is the poet
 40° 
Katinka
I´d like to vanish
in the dark
so when the sun raises
I am gone

I don't want to be
in this world
so when the earth turns
I am gone

I wish to flee
from this life
so when the birds sing
I am gone

I gave up
the hope of morning
so when the moon vanishes
I will too
 40° 
Deanna
when ever i hear your name
my heart instantly
sinks
to the bottom of a
sea.
 39° 
Simpleton
Love didn't end wars
It started them
 38° 
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.
 38° 
r
Black Lilacs
blooming -

a blossoming
of grief -

dark fallen pollen
on the breeze -

I can see it falling
all around me -

there on the wall
for us to see -

April will be
the cruelest of them all.
“ April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land...

I will show you fear in a handful of dust...

...And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls;...”

T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land, 1922.
 35° 
Luka
I am fierce
yet I burn out so easily
you can out me out
you can stomp me down
i can burn bright
or I can be small and easily killed.
 35° 
Perry
I've drank the finest of wine
Down to the bottom of the bottle
Only to witness an ocean alone
Barely surviving my own hands

A fire burned through my viens
That was blew out by the wind
Breezing through the leaves
A calmness that sits with me
Before calmness dismisses me

I walked across the tallest blue sky
Where wide winged birds soar high
Til promises of white clouds turn grey
And so there I fell with the rain
Dripping through the lowest gutter

Many times I was buried, lying in dirt
Like a grave, needing no help
Finding the dark inside of myself
But I always rise with the blades
Of the greenest fresh spring grass

No matter what feeling I catch
None of them seem to everlast
 35° 
Ruheen
Demons are just FALLEN ANGELS.
They fell
From HEAVEN to HELL,
And unlike angels,
DEMONS have a STORY to tell.
Good and evil.
It's just two sides of the same coin.
Next page