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YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE DOING YOU PATHETIC PEICE OF ****
the perfect palindrome
 50° 
Theia
on your last day
the sun was shining
and big white clouds ran across the sky

someone held you tight
and told you, "i love you"
admired you
and cherished you

on your last day
all of your love poured out

you inspired
and you soared
you lived
and you died

your love remains
always
 49° 
soft
Some days I am swimming,
most days I am sinking.
There is never a day where I
can simply just float.
 47° 
Michael Marchese
See not the messages
Lying asunder
Go not to temptation
To beckon my blunder
For under the surface
Observance
Is clear
And my cryptic
Ellipsis
A sickness to fear
But appears
An abstraction
Attraction’s
Blurred vision
And fades
From the page
Like a razed composition
Conveying the grave
Like a bladed
Incision
Still spilling its villainy
Victimization
Of poor little me’s
Permanent
Paid vacation
Upon what is free
Just a fee to exist
And then not just deceased
We will cease to be missed
Like a vanishing wish
Dissipates in the mist
Like a widow
Divorced from reality’s
Kiss
 40° 
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)
 39° 
Mister J
Heavy is a mind
That is chained to its past

Heavy is a soul
That knows no way forward

Heavy is a spirit
That keeps running around in circles

Heavy are the eyes
That never stopped shedding tears

Heavy are the ears
That remain slaves to your voice

Heavy are the hands
That knows no other feeling but you

Heavy is the heart
That is struggling to forget everything

Heavy is a person
That drags himself down
To memories that will never
Become a reality

Heavy are his dreams
If these dreams can never be
And will only be
The source of his nightmares

Heavy are the arms
That helplessly linger for yours
Constantly waiting for you
Though never to come back

No more
Please?

I've had enough
Midnight writing

Thanks for reading!

-J
 34° 
Bus Poet Stop
the bus poets

we are the modern day chimney sweeps,
the ***** black faced coal miners of the city,
digging up its grit, toasted with its spit,
the gone and forgotten elevator operators,
the anonymous substitutable,
still yet glimpsed occasionally,
grunts of urbanity
provoking a surprised
whaddya know!

once like the bison and the buffalo,
we were thousands,
word workers roaming the cities,
the intercity rural routes and the lithe greyhounds
across the land of the brave,
free in ways the
founders wanted us to be
us, the stubs and stuff,
harder working poor and lower cases

we were the bus poets,
sitting always in the back of the bus,
where the engines growls loudest,
seated in the - the most overheated
in winter time, so much so
we nearly disrobed,
and then come the summer,
we were blasted with a joking
hot reverie from the vents,
but vent, no, we did not!

no - we wrote and wrote of all we heard,
passion overheated by currents within and without,
recording and ordering the
snatches and the soliloquies of the passengers,
into poem swatches;
the goings on passing by,
the overheard histories,
glimpsed in milliseconds, eternity preserved,
inscribed in a cheap blue lined five & dime notebook,
for all eternity what the eyes
sighed and saw

books ever passed
onto the next generation in boxes from the supermarket,
attic labeled, then forgotten beside the outgrown toys
with our names writ indelible with the magic of
black markers

if you stumble upon a breathing scripter,
let them be, just observe,
as they, you,
these movers and bus shakers,
as they, observe you

tell your children,
you knew one in your youth,
then take them to the attic
retrieve your mother's and father's,
teach your children
how to read, how to see,
the ways of their forefathers,
the forsaken,
the bus poets.
dedication: for them, for us, for me
 31° 
Jason James
It ends with a whisper,
A handwritten letter
Saying goodbye,
Sorry
I tried
 28° 
Jennifer
Then suddenly the storm ended
  
The chaos was over

The sun came out and shed it’s light on all the wreckage

It made the tears running down my cheeks sparkle like diamonds
 25° 
BMG
And she whispered to the moon
“You promised
to stay wild with me.
I didn’t know then,
the wild would take you
so far away from me.
Don’t worry my love,
I’ll carry your secrets until you return.
Distance doesn’t break our bond.
Forever is still to come.”
 23° 
irinia
kanso infuses my eyes
everywhere there
even in a deer
my heart recognised him
skipped a beat in overwhelm
the sacredness of the air
touched everything
the great temple
the red shrine
its emptiness
so vibrant
pure beauty
my atoms turned
into God's particle

something
in my heart
misses him
in the unseen
puzzle
surreal so
beautiful
and
so it is
kanso of the soul:
I kept on
dreaming
to be a deer
in Nara
 23° 
Maggie
Everything starts
As a blank canvas
Just waiting
To be given meaning
I give meaning to myself
 18° 
viola
sometimes I wish I had cancer
then people would send me flowers, and get well soon cards.
but I am bipolar
so when I am sick
I suffer alone, ashamed
because too many times
people synonymously use my illness for crazy.

-please stop
 16° 
Shin
I think you told a lie today
about the shadow on your mind.
I think you plan to die today,
and leave these follies far behind.

I wish you would write me a song,
and ink the truth within its verse.
Happy or sad, it's fine, so long
as this does not end in a hearse.
 14° 
Arthur Vaso
when words fail you
silence smothers you
fears surround you
you borrow inside yourself


                   waiting


                              till that special friend

                         brings you back

your heart and mind
Forget when I wrote this
 14° 
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.
 14° 
neo
she stands there,
wind through her hair,
dazed and unaware,
numb and hopeless,
a broken goddess.

she stands there
waiting for time
to fade her away
into the dark, cold night.
 13° 
emnabee
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.
 12° 
erin walts
Hello?
Are you there?

Did I write this?
Do I care?

My brain is gone
and I don’t know where

My creative spark
My unique flare

Hello?
Are you there?
 12° 
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
 11° 
Atlas
Society is a prison.
It traps you in
And steals your freedoms.
Makes you conform.
Until you are normal.

So why don't we escape?

Because we are afraid.
Afraid of being alone.
Loneliness rots the mind
It steels the heart.

We all decided
Being trapped together
Is better than to be free
Alone.
 11° 
Aslam M
Hungry Eyes.
Thirsty Lips.
Empty Soul.
I need you now
more than Ever.
 11° 
blank
not wanting to die
is good enough
 11° 
rose hopkins
When I was young  and time was infinite
I was spontaneous,impulsive, impatient.
Now I am older
and life is precious
and timeless becomes time
with an end in sight.
Love becomes more visible.
I am adventurous,
pensive and patient,
riding the next dream
into a timeless future.
 11° 
Bus Poet Stop
eye sometimes go to bed wearing an old hoody. It has a metal zipper  to close the front and the zipper is always cold, unpleasantly so, on my bare skin.  After awhile though, my body temperature warms the metal just enough, that it is no longer a cause of discomfort though the metal still remains inherently cool to the touch

While science can easily explain this I guess, I felt this to be a major miracle.  That flesh pliable and heart-heated to 98 degrees could conquer the molecules of metal that were made in China struck me as extra ordinary (always two words, please!) and nothing short of a personal intervention by a personal deity

When I put the hoodie on at first I would think
******* (that's cold)
When I awoke, cosy and warm, I would think
******* (that's so cool)

having studied philosophy in Cleveland,
I knew that the logic of the situation,
what I had experienced was not an
interregnum, but the invisible intervening handiwork of god, who, also knocked my glasses from the nightable to the floor,
just cause she/ he was in a bad mood, on account of having to come such a long way, just,
to reheat me
one more time.
In terre gnum - freedom from the terror of chewing gum discard actions and a phobia of gnus
 11° 
MangoMan
I find more comfort in strangers
than my family
 11° 
Caroline Shank
There are things
I did not do.

I did not  touch
you.  

You
died. Without
a sound.

Your soft brown eyes pierced me.
I saw you go in the quiet
way you did everything.
I knew you were gone
but not before I
knew sadly, silently
that
I
could not hold
you in a final

embrace.

Closeness had run out
so long ago,

though we loved until the end,

bereft of speech,
as we we were bereft of
touch.

I bowed to your
blank stare.

I would have died for
you if I could have.  

but I could not
save you from
this destiny

with the Father

Who

Loved

you



Caroline Shank
2.2,2023
 10° 
Archer
Well... I am finally leaving Hello Poetry.
I have had enough of the site not working properly.
It's been getting progressively worse for years, and the owner won't respond to any inquiries.
The constant 502 errors ALL THE TIME ****.
I've lost multiple pieces due to this issue (not in drafts).
So I am moving to a better site that's taken care of.

The other reason I'm leaving is that too many people that have been in my personal life know about this site. I know many in the past have come on to creep. It's affecting my writing, knowing some might still be looking.

I want to thank all of you that have commented and supported me through the years. Put up with my melodrama and my depression.
My repeated heartbreaks and my anger and frustration.
Even helped me through addiction and recovery.
You all have been closer to me than most that speak to me in real life with mute tongues and blank faces.

Thank you, everyone, for helping me in ways you can never know.
I appreciate all of you very much, and I'm sad to go.
I'll leave this up for a few days, but then I'm deleting my account permanently. I'm about to publish my second full-length book, and you all were a part of that accomplishment.
Thank you so much, ALL OF YOU, and keep writing!
 10° 
JP
Stay here
when everything says run.
Stay here
when the jaw grinds shut.
Stay here
when the breath runs thin.
Stay here
when you're out of your skin.
Stay here
when the drink calls quietly.
Stay here
when the voice says spitefully,
"you're not enough"
because
when it comes to this stuff,
running feeds the fire
and true healing requires
staying here.
8/17
 10° 
Max
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
 9° 
haysia
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.
 9° 
V
If you don't heal what hurt you,

You'll bleed on people who didn't cut you.
</3
 9° 
irinia
were we looking
for the feminine
of our soft hands
no questioning
the nature of daylight
is wonder, we feel it
in our touch
we know the ancient art of
cartography: love memory
death quivers deltas of tears
we taste the starvation of breath
the magnitude of gratitude

we kept the drum of hearts
alight to catch the waves of time
Anna's drum summoned Shiva,
the master of shiver
the god of blood
carrying sage scent in our hair
forgotten paths in our shapes
pink lotus flowers in our wombs
bold desires in our feet
tales of flames in each scar

we recognise each other
greet with a soul reverence
across time across space
we forgive ouselves
our betrayals violations
of a feminine truth
we wait for the men we love
we set ourselves free
from the spinning wheel of pain

we receive
we keep
what is alive
what is dead
still not born
in refused bodies:
the possibility of
kindness

we are women
we are dancers
we sing fiercely,
gently from the
chest of the moon
dedicated to J, A, S, A, S, M, I, A, B, A with gratitude
it's wonderful to come together
 9° 
M
I never know what say  

a memory of longing
is painful as it keeps

decaying in my chest

putting my love on paper
doesn't take it away
it amplifies the sting
trying to move on

infecting the open cavity of my being

you read my words like you understand
but I'm lost in a memory of what would have been

trying to collect shattered pieces of my own self

emptied and dancing whisked into the shadows
like the end of a dream

feverishly waking up because my feelings weren't received

give them but don't get them
like as if I sent a letter of longing

never in return
I try to write but the words are my tears
drink up
and only then you will feel the same
as I do
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