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J Arturo

the hills were beginning to grow
the grass greening on the approach
to Blue Earth, and how
in summer
Minnesota shed her old coat
to shy guilty into brief silty lakes
like the
joy of a little kid, sneaking a forbidden dip.

remarking, casually, about
white warm flowers hung low from
planned oaks, and the impossible way the town
pulled local hills close, to coat
in dandelions. and cultivate
all under an ambitious midwestern sun.

          rolling through the stop sign, hand on mine
          you told me if you’re moving at all

          you should keep it in second gear.

and we had so far to go, but in the light that
broke through westbound clouds,
we became less so.
contented to spread toes out in earth we
dug into Minnesota, the middle coast:
a land we could like to get to know.

and you:
looking down at the salt, the sand, the scars of
the grand american plantation:
the last coast.
knowing that by the next coast, we
you and me.
we'd be through.

          saying, ‘how could anybody die?’

          ‘how could anybody tell you anything true?’

undercut by the honest waves of the little lake,
the hum that drummed in my gas tank.
trying, for once, at a little piece of truth:

          when I leave this place I leave
          a part of me behind.

          and that part of me
          will be you.

saying there’s only so much sweetness in the soil,
only so long after the thaw,
and grief is rich and dark and made for sowing:
must be, for maintaining verdant local hills, must be
for to keep corn sweet. must be for to put
on the table. must be for to
keep with us.

          for to keep a little bit to eat.

saying, we bleed but together we make a hole
to bury both our bodies in.
saying there’s a west out west but too late it’s
already hemmed us in.

          saying now I am only a fragile assimilation of this weak
          and fractured purpose that drives me, and you are

          beautiful enough I would lie to let you love me.

even I would scorch this soil if only things wouldn’t grow I would
saying Blue Earth is still in the trucker's atlas is
only an excuse for sunshine. a point,
where freeways go.
“with earth, so green, that here they call it 'Blue'.”

          “I could learn to love a leopard.”

          “how dare you.”

I asked God for a blessing
and he give me you, you
are my blessing...


She danced.
She danced as if it were her last,
and there's something more than mesmerizing about it.
What's more,
she danced for herself,
not for anyone else.
The world fades to black,
and then it's just her and her thoughts
up on that stage.
It's as if her body was giving a soliloquy upon a canvas.
She's vulnerable,
her soul stretched from
one end of the stage
to the other.
A tapestry of emotions,
and there's something in the way
she moves,
the way she bends to the whims
of her own mind,
and I can't help but feel overwhelmed.
The minute her thoughts,
and body collide,
that stage becomes less like a stage,
and more like a song.


There are infinite colors in the world, but nothing is comparable to the colors of your soul

She Writes

Just because you’ve undressed her
Does not mean you’ve seen her naked

Do you know her past?

Just because you’ve touched her skin
Does not mean you’ve touched her heart

Do you know her secrets?

Just because you’ve been inside her body
Does not mean you’ve been inside her soul

Do you know her dreams?


I woke up this morning to you towering over the foot of my bedframe.


When I stared blankly at my cereal bowl, disinterested and afraid to eat.


I take a shower at a snails pace, petrified of returning to the mirror to be bathed once again in your foul cocoon.


When I leave the house I look down at my feet, to avert the predatory gazes of kind strangers unbeknownst to me.


As I cry alone in the bathroom stall, not knowing who to turn to for a problem that never leaves.


I just want you to know that you're killing me.


Sometimes life is an unnecessary struggle we are just trying to beat.

He is the color yellow,
My happiness.
He is the sunflower,
My favorite color.
He faces up to the sun,
Blinds himself,
But I am right beside him,
Illuminated by his bright touch,
I feel the color creep up my spine.
He makes me feel red.


I heard writing helps.
I heard people say just write
"write about what hurts"

write about the gruesome pain
write about the mental never ending rain
write about those secret tears you shed
write about the storms in your head
write about the 2 am thoughts that dont let you sleep
write about the dark memories you keep
write about those scars you daily hide
write about the reasons for your puffy eyes
write about that strange addictive ache
write about your forced smiles, just for their sake
write about those fading, yet haunting dreams
write about your quiet 3 am screams...

Just write, Just write
They said
But little do they know
For me, what lays ahead.

Every time I put my pen to the fresh sheet of paper
These fingers only trace our name together
On the second line, they still want to write....
forever and ever.


pull up your bootstraps
wipe off your chins
our mouths may bleed
but these hearts
are iron armored
lets keep them out
just like we practiced

Phoebe Woods

I love them I do, but
They make cry when they speak

I love them I do, but
They make me bleed when I protest

I love them I do, but
They starve me when they hurt

I love them I do, but
They break me when I try

I love them I do, but
I only do, because I love them.

Emotional abuse can hurt just as much. I am getting help, no worries. Poetry is a good place to vent.
Brianna Bushee

I will drown myself
in things to do.

Since I can no longer
drown myself

in you.


and i always look forward
to sleeping after a long day
not necessarily because i'm tired
but because
i get to dream of you
since my subconsciousness
is the only place where i can
look into your eyes
and still feel gravity in my feet

you make my dreams feel
so hopelessly beautiful and real
it hurts to wake up

maybe i am tired after all
tired of not being dreamed by you

something i just came up with as i thought of you

Not only does He give my life a reason,
As of matter of fact, He is my every season,
Letting stand me there in the glory of His Blood;
All I can see are all blessings from above,
There are no blessings like the blessings by the Messiah,
You don't say a word or be heard for Him to inspire.

If it was not for His Holy grace, I could even say
That I would be standing right here today;
Don't put in a place that I could not afford,
I just want to be one with my Savior and Lord.

I could go anywhere
Out of every where,
I wish I could be with
Christ, Christ, Christ,
In paradise...
With my Lord Jesus Christ.

He is my Savior and He saved my life amen,
That's more than I needed for me to stand;
If I nothing more than all His mercy,
Then I would be just fine with His mercy;
His garmets still has not been filled,
They tried to fabricate, but only His Glory is real
The Way, the Truth and Life are in Jesus,
Grace reveals that He would never leave us.

If it was not for His Holy grace, I could even say
That I would be standing right here today;
Don't put in a place that I could not afford,
I just want to be one with my Savior and Lord.

I could go anywhere
Out of every where,
I wish I could be with
Christ, Christ, Christ,
In paradise...
With my Lord Jesus Christ.

Who would I be or Where would I go,
If He didn't die for me, over 2000 years ago?
Now, think about it...

Let me repeat it,
Who would I be or Where would I go,
If He didn't die for me, over 2000 years ago?

Now, think about it...

If it was not for His Holy grace, I could even say
That I would be standing right here today;
Don't put in a place that I could not afford,
I just want to be one with my Savior and Lord.

I could go anywhere
Out of every where,
I wish I could be with
Christ, Christ, Christ,
In paradise...
With my Lord Jesus Christ.


You have to understand
I am alive too
And need to breathe
In order to exist
What would you feel like
If I’d take all the air?

give me life

Happy, so happy,
always wearing a smile,
razor sharp teeth caught upon flesh
a grimace through the light breaks,
scaring the wholesome crowd.

Yet, happy so happy,
as they rip you apart,
piece by pretty piece.
they howl with laughter,
as you bleed for them,
"what have I done to deserve this?"


You look at my body
And tell me i'm pretty
I turn away and you say
"Dang what a hottie"

Why is it that every time i hear
a catcall or whistle
instead of feeling good  
I turn in anger and I bristle

I wish when you saw my curves
you wouldn't gawk
instead walk over to me
and let's talk

I feel nasty in my own skin
I shrink out of embarrassment
uncomfortable in the only place I've ever been
wishing more than anything that I had no body

I fear that the only reason you like me
is not for my heart
wish that wasn't how it has to be
but that's how it's been from the start

So I will ask now
will love me, for me?

Erica Carrillo

The moment we met you were infatuated. You were delusional with affection. The way I learned how to conjure words from the inner pits of lust and fondness created the illusion of something far more complex than love. The epitome of regret.

Your intellect was mesmerizing, which, I will admit kept me intrigued. How delicate your words were when the air left your lungs and your soul flooded the meaning before it captivated my attention.

With much repent I must admit that I loved you. The instant I became speechless it was not a romantic gesture. My lack of words mimicked the end of my adventure. I feared the demise. My apologies for not being the compassion that you were seeking for. You asked me why I could not love you. It was not that I couldn’t. There were simply no words that I have learned that could remotely express the endearment that my heart held for you.

The moment we met you were infatuated. You were delusional with affection. The way I learned how to conjure words from the inner pits of lust and fondness created the illusion of something far more complex than love. The epitome of regret.

Just admit it. I am only temporary.

Rebel Heart

Dawn still whispers
Droplets onto my windows
As I stare out into the sky
Realizing dusk never comes soon enough

Where do you go
After the moonlight fades
Your soft lips still lingering
On my aching skin?

For only in the midst of the night
Do I truly feel alive
Which makes me wonder
If its the power of the stars
Looking down upon us
That fills my veins with such energy

Or if its the power of your eyes
When they stare deep into my soul
As they glisten with the night's
Deepest desires as you whisper
    I love you

Pieces of an older poem that confused me at first but touched my heart after. Enjoy and please recommend a title ~BM

P r e t t y   p e o p l e
W i t h   p r e t t y   w o r d s
B u t   t h e y   a r e   u g l y
T h e i r   s p e e c h   i s   s l u r r e d

They never show
Their real emotion
While people watch
Their every motion

Everything they have
Is fake
If they'd notice
They would break

They're living in
A fake reality
They need to wake up
To actuality

We always talk
Behind their backs
If they knew
They would crack

They think we love them
They think they're pretty
But they really don't
Deserve our pity

P r e t t y   p e o p l e
W i t h   p r e t t y   w o r d s
B u t   t h e y   a r e   u g l y
T h e i r   s p e e c h   i s   s l u r r e d


Have you ever
Read Dr. Seuss
To a rap-song beat?
Have you ever
Browsed the Net
Just to want a treat?
Have you ever
Tapped the top
Of a doorway as you went past?
Have you ever
Played a game
And want it to last and last?
Have you ever
Sung the alphabet
In your head to find one letter?
Have you ever
Wrote something over
Because you thought you could do better?
Have you ever
Eaten chicken
On the day of Thanksgiving?
Have you ever
Said something dumb
To find yourself unforgiving?
Have you ever
Taken a bite
Instead of pulling string cheese apart?
Have you ever
Used big words
To make yourself sound smart?
Have you ever
Shaken your head
To get out of being dizzy?
Have you ever
Doodled in class
To make yourself seem busy?
Have you ever
Explained your steps
To a toy so you could fix it?
Have you ever
Read a site
Although it was elicit?
Have you ever
Attempted to write
With the wrong hand?
Have you ever
Went to the beach
And got your swimsuit full of sand?
Have you ever
Used a straw
To drink a glass of water?
Have you ever
Wished it would
Never get any hotter?
Have you ever
Tried to use
A spoon as a mirror?
Have you ever
Actually liked
Chocolate that was bitter?
Have you ever
Tried to boast
About how humble you are?
Have you ever
Looked at the sky
And wished you saw the stars?

All of these are things
That I have, indeed, done.
So I wrote them all out...
I sure had some fun.



daughters fallen

bleeding on blades and razors



blood stains

in the snow


in the woods

the truth of her body

savaged by wild flies

a runaway

the girl from the tower

the sex

the money

the drugs

away from her ghosts

into the dark,

her master’s dungeon

"sorry Mum!"

Francie Lynch

You've heard this tale
A thousand times,
Take one more spin,
This version's mine.
And this telling tale
Is its first time.
My theme is fitting,
The message sublime,
For the Season of giving,
And gifting one's time.

For my first Christmas
I was three,
But the warmth on that night
Never cooled,
And indeed,
It was
A cold Christmas Eve.

We stuck branches of pine
In a bucket of sand,
That's the snapshot I've got
Of our Christrmas tree then.
Here's the memory that Eve
Of a lad of three,
Yet this story is true,
It's a family heirloom.

We weren't many then,
There was Mammy and Daddy
And six children, soon seven.
Daddy was an Operator
Of cranes and loaders
Dirt packers and graders.
He was working North,
Far North,
Manning a dozer,
Distant from family
Near the Quebec border.
That's where he was
Days before,
When his pant-leg caught fire,
When the diesel was spilled.

We were only three months
In our chosen homeland,
It was 1958,
And fresh from Ireland.

No way to get to him,
Nor him to get home,
No car,  no friends yet,
Little money, no phone.
Yet somebody knew
We were out on our own.

And the snow started falling,
It was Christmas Eve,
I stood at the window,
Saw the snow fill the trees.
I was still and staring,
At what I don't know,
But I remember quite vividly
All that I saw.

Like a scene from a movie
Starring Barry or Bing,
A fire-engine red no-top
Stopped and parked with high beams,
Highlighting the snow,
On that Christmas Eve.

A big man in a red suit
Slid off of the trunk,
Literally carrying a sack,
And calling, Ho! Ho!
The family joined me
At the window to see
The big man's helpers
Carry a big Christmas Tree.

When they entered the house
Kevin, Sean, Gerald and I,
Cowered and crouched
Behind the second-hand couch.
We must have resembled
Three monkeys plus me;
I hadn't a clue,
I was dumb-founded and three.

In through the front door
They clattered and sang,
Unloading their boxes
Of food, clothes and toys,
Balls, bats and dolls
For two girls and four boys;
And I'm sure there was something
For the coming bundle of joy.

I don't remember their departure,
Or where he went,
But they called Merry Christmas
And left all else unsaid.

Mammy understood
Some good persons had called,
Who'd heard of our plight
And couldn't be calmed
Til they knew for certain
We'd some peace in our storm.

So, that's my first Christmas,
Since then this my creed:
The gift of giving
Isn't under the Tree.


Life is supposedly the eternal flower
That instantly wilts in your hands.
All of these efforts,
Followed by unexpected outcomes,
Messes with the mind.
The euphoric elements of our childhoods
Slip through the gaps between our fingers,
And we are introduced to reality,
Which we refer to as the things we despise,
And wish to run away from forever.
But no matter how far you run,
Or how deep you dream,
It will always find and catch you
And rid you from your happiness.

Zachary William

We went to the
humane society
to get acquainted
with some cats
and we met a cat
who was returned
after five years in
a loving home
because he was
an inconvenience
and found another
"hidden treasure"
which was an
awfully nice
way of saying
that this cat had
been abused
and would never
be a 'normal' cat
a plaything for your
a trophy for your
and in his bleary
eyes as he tried to hide
behind a scratching
post to avoid the fingers
of strangers poking through
the safety of his plexiglass
in his eyes I saw
more humanity
than I'd ever seen or felt
in my life
and I sent a silent
prayer to my intermittent god
hoping that he found a home
and happiness
because he never did anything wrong
other than be born into a world
where the value of life
is on a sliding scale
based on agenda and feeling
rather than the simple
that life needs
to flourish

And I cried in the car
on the way home
because I have no space for
him in my life
and I wept
over the pain
and panic in his eyes
that is so easily recognizable
after you've seen the same
eyes in your mirror
for too many years
and all I can do I rewrite
the narrative for my cats,
rescued from poor circumstance
and impulse
and give them life
and help them flourish
and breathe into their
very existence
a notion of security and hope
and warmth
and love

Love your pets as they love you.
Mari Uhing

There is a pain
Inside my mind
Much like a migraine
Inside my mind
The pain isn't physical, it's
Inside my mind
At least it used to be solely
Inside my mind
I cut to match the pain
Inside my mind
I now have scars to match
Inside my mind
My leg is a canvas for the thoughts
Inside my mind

Writer's block finally passed thanks to Frederick <3 Thank you for helping me and I hope we can become great friends
She Writes

I am trying to blend,
In a word filled with the opressed,
Distressed, and self-obsessed.
It leaves me a little depressed.

Authenticity is hard to come by.
Everyone is medicated.
Facades often created.
The fakery I have always hated.

I don’t belong.
All they see is skin.
Doesn’t matter what’s within.
Could care less where I’ve been.

Show me something below the surface.
Give me something more.
Let your feelings out til’ your throat is sore.
Be real, that’s all I ask for.


I like you
Words so hard to speak
Hiding in plain sight
Yet so easy to flee

I want you
Such a nice ring
The heart is fluttering
But the mind is afraid

I need you
Such simple embrace
The want of passion
In such pleasant grace

Fear of rejection
Tightens our bonds
The words we wish to say
Never finding it's way there

Words we find so simple
But hiding they do like
For when we try to speak
Our mind says no way

These words wont do

The mind is a safe place
Words get lost
Wanting to reach out
But the fear is oh so real


Thigh gaps,
Wide or narrow space,
Funny how,
The gap between your legs,
justifies whether you're
perfectly shaped or unfit

just by the distance
of your thighs.

I truly wonder how
the objectification
of women started
with a simple spread of
her beautifully shaped legs

from calling her a slut,
to calling her fat.
you seem to have
many names from
just staring at the
legs her mother gave.

if I really have to say,
who are you to
judge that anyway?

I wonder who gave people the rights to judge one another based on how they look, or how they act.

Damaged people love you like a crime scene
Before any crime had been committed
They kept their running shoes right next to their souls every night
One eye opened in case something changed whilst they were asleep

Damaged people love in the most broken way
Damaged people love in the most gentle way
Damaged people do not love
Damaged people love too much

Their backs are always too tense, too tight
Made this way from carrying too many broken things
Because we all know broken things are the heaviest
Just look the weight of a broken heart

Damaged people will love that too
Damaged people love broken things
Because they remind them of themselves

Damaged people take broken things
And love them to the end
Trying to find that one broken thing
That will fit their cracks.

Damaged people love so well

They love like this because they have already seen Hell
And they know that every evil demon
Was once an angel before they fell.

Maja S

"I'm ugly" said the ugly man,
who enjoys poetry but doesn't
feel like there are any longer,
more beautiful words put
down by dead men that would
describe him more perfectly.
And to said poets romantic
disappointment; it did not pain
him anymore. As it never did.
And thus,
he is nothing to write further about.
The poem about the ugly man ends


Jo Morris

I tried.
I tried to tell him that I wanted him. He just laughed.
I tried to tell him I needed him. He just rolled his eyes.
I tried to tell him that I loved him. He called me foolish.
I tried to love him, but I am just that girl standing in front of a guy, down on her knees, begging him to love me too.

Nat Lipstadt

Kinda fainted Friday nite,
De doctor, he come, he say,
"Son you done
give us a genuine affright."

De doctor, he come, he say,
"Son, it's the end o' day,
Get your arse in bed straightaway"

"Here's what you be needing:
twelve tablets of hourly salting, no halting
eight hours bed rest, no dreaming,
four gallons o' tap water, drinking,
no stopping,  
"and for god's sakery,
cease and desist from
this writing,
poetry nonsense fakery."

Weakly, I protested,

"My poems are the waste products,
the excretions of salt water tears,
a thousand years in the making,
dreams foretelling and retelling events disturbing.

If not removed, disinterred by their inscribing,
these poisonous emotions,
shall surely cause once more
my fainting and falling demotion."

He frowned, de doctor, he was perturbed,
his medical thinking cap was for sure disturbed!

With sighs that made my heart to be a stirring ,
De doctor, he come, he say,
held forth as following, quiet murmuring:

"Here is my prescription:
if you musting,
but with strict limitations it be enforcing:

No more than four po-ems
De doctor permit to be writ

per hour."

writ 2014 and found lying  about,
face down

I wanted to write a lovely poem..
I ended up writing your name


to my delight,
   for I was only six months away
      from letting her know
           my dreams and desires,
she asked me
    out of the blue
        to lunch with her
            sit-down, not buffet;
as she proffered
    the offer her eyes
           kind of sparkled
               and she tilted her head
to the left, touched
    her hair... now this
          was unexpected a tad urgent
               as I rewrote  
                 the novel-erased all my fears.
She touched my forearm gently
     and I saw
              sparkles and fireworks
                   and candlelit dinners
as all that
     would utter from
               my mouth agape
                     over and over again
was hells yes....hells yes


Tearing me apart
Only to ask why I can't
Put myself back together

She Writes

Yes I am clingy,
But you will never find someone
There for you like I will be.

Yes I am needy,
But when you need reassurance
I’ll be full of soothing words.

Yes I am jealous,
But you will never find someone
More loyal than me.

Yes I am possessive,
But you will never find someone
That values you like I do.

Yes I have flaws, I am human. Please don’t fault me for loving the way I do.


NOTE to the judges:

Before you judge me,

for being too thick, too thin

too manly or too feminine

too shy, too wild

too dark or too white

too simple, too fake

By no means, your piece of cake.

too short or too tall

Never enough,  giving it all.

My net worth, before you guess,

I thought I'd just let you know this.

" I wasn't born to please your eyes,

I was born to be magic in disguise."

~ Kakareikan


I can't wait to see your face
And my brain thinks that it's looking at a stranger

I can't wait to see your face
And feel nothing

I feel nothing

Don't forget, flatsound
Mike Mortensen

I saw the flames in her eyes
two small embers that raged
I felt unsure as to the
materials used for her kindling
the line is thin between
passion and loathing
and I did not know
whether I should embrace the heat
or run for water

I have absolutely loved being apart of Hellopoetry for the last few months. I love the instant feedback and the great sense of community. However, I am taking a long break from technology. Thanks for the support. Hope to see you all in a while. Hope you enjoyed the few last thoughts I have posted.

(c) Mike Mortensen

When my friends think about drinking they see parties, and wild nights, and crazy hangovers

And when I tell them I never plan on letting a sip of alcohol touch my lips, they're scandalized

Because they don't understand

How could they ever?

When I think of drinking, I think of my mom passed out underneath our Christmas tree

Or my dad swerving down side streets with the smell of whiskey wafting off of him like smoke from a campfire

I see my childhood that came crashing down in front of my eyes

I see something that they will never understand

Mari Uhing

Always message me if you ever need anything, advice, a friend, someone to rant to, anything at all, please message me!!
I've been through a lot of stuff so I'll be able to help you with a lot of stuff.
I will usually answer very quickly, within a few minutes.
I love all of you, even if I've never met you or read your poems <3

Message me anytime
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