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 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Eleanor
Poet
 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Eleanor
A poet is:
Someone who makes the ugly, beautiful.
Someone who makes the beautiful, obscure.
Someone who makes the obscure, understandable.
Someone who makes the understandable, amazing.
A poet is:
Someone who uses words, to make art.
Someone who looks at art, and sees a story.
Someone who looks at a story, and sees a purpose.
Someone who sees a purpose, and uses it.
A poet is:
Someone who sees hatred, and writes hatred.
Someone who sees love, and writes love.
Someone who feels sad, and writes sad.
Someone who sees kindness, and writes kindness.

A poet can be anyone.
A poet can write about anything.
A poet can be implicit.
A poet can be explicit.
A poet can be hidden.
A poet can be famous.

You can be a poet.
The only rule is to write.
Poems are hard to define. You can write poems to express feelings or just to appreciate the things around you. You can write a poem on some paper or on a computer or in the sand, it doesn't matter. You can show people or keep it to yourself. The important thing is that when you you write a poem it's impossible not to be good enough because that poem is for you and only you. The world is lucky if they get to read it.
 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Star BG
I Am,
 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Star BG
entangled with phrases.
They surround like golden rope
hugging to make me safe.
They loosen when poem is in process,
tickling my senses..
to anoint me with creativity
that surprises.

And when scribing self is done
I whispered my gratitude.
Gratitude for my connections to the
sacred word and who I am.
Inspired by once again branded glaciers GE thank you
 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Alex Hanna
My bones itch, marrow burns;
My skin encases unbearable yearns.
I need to escape, need to run wild;
I need to break free from your dastardly guile.

I shake, sweat, and shiver—
I bake in this blizzard.
I find no solace—
Discomfort shimmers

while fire rains down
from snow-covered clouds,
          A perfect contradiction
          in my body's restriction
of feelings that refuse to be bound.
Too tightly riled, I am to be found;
          I pray
          one day
to be unwound.
 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Star BG
Thoughts,
I own them and they own me.
encasing my mind and life.
They vibrate carrying a power that echoes. They implant in cells that perform
in a dance moving to heart.
Thoughts,
something to watch carefully
so they don't escape covering the sun.
Inspired by Sarita Aditya Verma poem called words thanks your  awesome
When man mortal with a title
Becomes vile and self righteous ,
He walks around with the Bible
Holy acts and all sacrilegious
Carrying LBGQT rainbow banners
Hailing the devil's temporal empire ..
Accomplished false pretenders
Adorned in bright priestly attire
Those revered by man mortal
Who himself discovered religion
But have lost God Himself in total
God the grandmaster of creation,
Who made everything in days
And created mankind in his image
When man transgressed in fleshly ways ,
He taped Agape love to the damage .
And for himself, God created mankind
Then by mankind , God was created
For mere control and mastermind
And to do this the world was reinvented
By man because he wants to play God
But lacks God's divine omniscience
So man can't become his own overlord
Bless the limitation of his intelligence .
Maybe God created man to worship and serve him and , maybe mankind created God to control dominate and manipulate
 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Amanda
Forever
 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Amanda
Like wine, intoxicating
I am an addict.
The look of you
The smell of you
My heat burns against ice
There is no thaw.
I give all to you
My very soul to you
I am distant in your eyes
A tracing paper image
Unknown to you
Not known to you
It is a lie, deceit bruises your lips
As they tumble in haste
I am torn from you
Restrained from you
In torturous fire I watch
As you walk away with her
She is nothing to you
She is nothing
Tomorrow, you will see
I will show her fickle heart
Then you and I, we will be
Forever
 Jan 2018 Carlie Sims
Lizzie
Barnaby hands me my daily
  cup of coffee, but this time, it's night
  time, and the coffee reminds me of the war
  but not the allies annihilating the Germans or Japanese
  but the war between me and him every time
  he confesses his love to me, the words pierce
  through my heart
  I will never love him as much as he loves
                                        me, I'm disgusting
  like the taste of the coffee
                                        just beans in water.
I wrote this for my AP Lit class about the painting, Nighthawks, based off the girl in the red dress sitting with the man.
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