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I will never
Regret being your first love
But I will always
Regret not being your last
Hortência Granair
there’s a lot for me to write
but not much for me to say
because I can never voice out loud
how much you’ve caused me pain
i don’t want you to listen to what you’ve done to me, i want you to see it
I hate them for making me hate myself
What I write doesn't give me
the opsis feeling
Also get published in books
too doesn't do that
But why I think like this
gives me
the opsis feeling.
# publication of the opsis feeling
to steal glances of you all day
to strain for every word you say
to put the stars in wonderful delight
and follow you, with every stride

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
you know you're no good
you treat me like how you say you shouldn't
venom in your veins
each word you say is acid spat fluid
contracted a stupor from you babe
goin through a super flu
on account of all you do
cause it's like a vice
curse it and the way you abuse it
i'm tellin you
you're gonna lose it
no one gets the magic


Down The Line.
Michelle Rose
floating around like bees
buzzing sounds
heavy traffic
one light flickers

sleepless cities
bouncing off the walls like birds on a tree
flying from one place to the next


in the deep deep night,

morning sun
to light the day

your eyes and mine

moving slowly from place to place


birds chirping
babies crying

around and around
among us


louder now
but oh so quiet
Chris Thomas
is the alignment of my soul
I am bitter, broken, and betrayed
by the man in my reflection

is the smile on my face
I am faded, fraught, and faithless
from all the failures in my flesh
fray narte
my wasting bones are unsettled by kisses. how your lips graze my paper skin and i am an origami crane — catching fire in waking sunlight. watch me love you terribly. kindly. fatally. watch all of my shadows burn bright for you, my darling, into the sweetest, sun-soaked surrender.
Jay eM
My hand outstretched, reaching for your closed heart
Reaching down, hoping you won’t fall apart

In your palm stands a candle burning
The warmth and light you’ve been yearning

But it’s light is abating
And it’s warmth has been excruciating.

Now the light is long gone
And I couldn’t go on,

The candle and I left you in the dark
With the remains of our spark.
Sometimes I feel like you’re holding on to things that hurt you instead of reaching for the ones that are trying to help. But time can and will run out. Eventually that helping hand will get tired of waiting for one that is too busy hurting itself.
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
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)
black void
behind the streetlight
don't walk there, don't go there
turn around, walk back
dripping from under you
heavy object inside
on top
crushes you
go back
you're lost
go back
I ran into my room,
threw my bag and jumped on my bed,
flung open the window as I realized you might still be in view.
I leaned out, full of joy.
I don't know what I was expecting,
but it definitely was not you staring back.
You were already there,
like a movie!
I waved, you waved back.
I yelled.

Frances Raeburn
You know
I don’t know
and revel in the not knowing
because the pain of knowing
would mean growing
into someone
I believe is
not worth the knowing
The feud
serves you—
a place to grind
your hate
and keep your
too sharp
to hold.
i’m numb,
no i’m not sad, not happy
maybe i’m fine

but i’m numb

when you give them your all
and you often don’t get it back
it leaves you empty


it leaves you numb
old write but sharing it and writing is how i’m choosing to cope
Cydney Something
All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing
my roots are growing in ashy
i can't stop looking at my acne scars

i taste everything good in me
and lick the sin off my fingers

but no one told me that loving myself
would be this exhausting
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
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.
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
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.
I’m afraid of the dark
I hold my breathe when I’m alone at night
I feel its hand on my shoulder
Chilling as it grips tighter
With its knife to my throat, it tells me to run
Run around corners and past open doorways
Anywhere where it’s lurking about
Uncertainty is flourishing

I see shadows painted in paranoia
Stalk me while I walk to my car
Like bad memories and college debt
All through my life

Nothing else has this grip on my life
No addiction, no disease,
Only the darkness and its vice
Have such a control over me
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Kurt Philip Behm
You can’t wash away loneliness,
it lurks and it spies
a stain on tomorrow
where destiny cries

You can’t keep what’s been stolen
or find what’s not there,
alone and deserted
—the soap of despair

(Dreamsleep: November, 2021)
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
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
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.
Ursula Wolf
I dragged my body into this void
There was nothing but
My mirrored skull.
Mercy is the soil in which heart bears fruit of love.
On the seventh day
I hear
Thunderous silence
Of everything wrong

God decided to rest
And so he created
A barren, quiet day
Made for me to ponder

With silent birds
And noisy trees
I wish he didn't rest
Because now I can't

Sunday breakfast
I wish coffee was enough.
I despise sundays

You're more beautiful
And more outstanding and bright
Than you'll ever know.

You're worth more than you'll know. Just a reminder.
We could make a disturbing
poem that people might
mistake for high art
I wish I could get you off my mind
But I can’t stop thinking about
Your beautiful smile
And dark curly hair
And the look you give me
When we’re locked in a stare

I wish I could stop thinking about you
But you’ve affected me so greatly
I need your kiss
And I need your hug
Meeting you I now know
It’s just the grave I’ve dug

Always having you in my head
Wouldn’t really be so bad
If I knew that you’d stay
And I could hold you close
And truly know inside
You’d be my blooming rose
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
Dave Robertson
Before the storm, the river had all but given up,
the guttural roar of wind and deluge
rattled all souls, except her
and in the aftermath she swelled
and bore delicious weight again
and my eye-contact
with the pageantry of the green headed drake
told all the muddy truths:
to underestimate is to lose
A Dead Poet
Close your eyes
   count to three,
it'll go away,
  it'll be okay,
four, five, six
   open your eyes
      you'll be fine
ten, eleven, twelve
when he died, I lost my sight
   I lost my purpose,
     twenty, thirty, fifty
I will never be okay. . .
       & that's okay. .  .
I decided to write a poem
To put words together
In such a way
As to express
My innermost feelings

And I lost the words
And my thoughts drifted
And my computer keys stuck
And nothing came forward

Perhaps tomorrow
I will write a poem
To express my life
And for today
I’ll just go
To play
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