Want to submit your work? Request an invite

Mirror mirror keep me young
I’m not through having fun
Time won’t heal all the damage done

Generation: Live just once
But once was not enough
A tired soul needs a pick-me-up

The sun comes up while I’m still out
I’m running out of lines
The conversation always seems to die

If growing up is compromise
I never got it right
You can’t burn something out that isn’t bright

I’m not looking for salvation
I’m looking for a crutch
Give me my drugs

I don’t mean to stare at such a pretty face like yours
It takes me to a place when I was more
Give me my drugs

James Court

I gave my girl a gift -
a dandy wee device:
a piece of string! A marv'lous thing!
But yet, she weren't at ease.
She was, I must admit,
a little... well... let down by it,
so this is what I said to her,
in order to appease:

"You see," I said, "my sweet,
if you take your end, yes,
and tie it to your wrist, and I
tie mine to mine in kind,
we'll never be apart.
Just think, and listen to your heart -
entangled thus, the two of us
will always be entwined!

This single strand of string
can be the bond between
the two of us, no matter where
we go or what we do -
for if you go astray,
or I grow far too far away,
this piece of twine will be divine
to guide me home to you."

Her laugh was long and loud.
She held her hand up high.
"That's great," she said, "but I'm not sure,
and yes, I could be wrong -
but if I am so bold,
I think it's time that you were told:
in case you hadn't noticed,
this string's barely one foot long!"

"You got me good," I grinned.
"It's all part of the plan.
You see, if I connect us two,
and tether heart to heart,
I'll always be in reach.
I do beseech you heed my speech.
A foot's the furthest I would ever
want to be from you."

She frowned her furrowed brow.
She eyed me, eye to eye.
"I'm not your dog, you wacko!
Leave me well enough alone!
You visit me each day;
each time I tell you, 'go away',
but somehow you still think I'm keen
to be a thing you own."

She soundly slammed the door.
I walked my way back home.
I so wish she would smile at me
and lead me to her room.
But I can heal the rift.
She's sure to love tomorrow's gift:
a teddy bear, with fluffy hair,
and eyes that I can zoom!

She Writes

Something felt wrong
I told you no
But you were so strong
I had no choice

I was only five years old
When all this began
How could you be so cold
You were supposed to protect me

Let’s play a game, hide and seek
I was to hide
I wasn’t to speak
You always found me

Hunted me like prey
Ripped off my clothes
As I began to pray
Clenching my eyes

Singing songs in my brain
Keeping my mouth shut
Pretending not to feel any pain
To scared to do anything more

For years you abused me
Until one day you were caught
I was finally free
Or so I thought

The memories of what you’ve done
Haunt me every time darkness replaces the sun


Left of hope lies, love.
The prowling lion,
The snowy dove.
Drawing near my way,
To light ahead,
The bird of prey.
But I'm caught
The candle burns,
But blind to light
Is hope of sight.

Z Trista Davis

His messy hands make magic pencil
Like holy Gods make worlds
And I know he will someday draw my universe--
My universe
All stars and no suns,
Always so far-- too far
Too cold
My cold hands on his warm chest
Cold hands, warm heart
But my love keeps me warm
Warmer than goose-down coats and wool socks
So much static
So much friction
So many sparks--electricity, zapping
And I am patchwork-quilted memories in his creators' hands


It comes in waves

Not my love for you or the idea of you in my life

But the pain, the hurt, the anger

That I have worked so hard to get through

And then it comes up and I am reminded that is, truly, embedded within me.

Its okay to feel

Its okay for your heart to have the weight of the heaviest anvil

Its okay for that burden to sit with you.

Just don’t let it crush you.

You are strong and that is beautiful.

Feeling pain means being able to feel happiness.

You must move on knowing that the pain you carry will never effect him the way it did you.


you were built to part the ocean
your golden skin
stopped walls from crumbling
under these ancient bridges
but you understood me.
drawn slowly through your tides
i only wanted to fold into your ocean
but you
you came back to me
on a shimmer moon
as a black hopeful rose
in dreams.
you were the softer one
and i only wanted to
melt into your ocean.
you came back to me in my dreams
and with your smile
   my whole body opened


Bottled up emotions;
Shards of a broken heart;
Cans full of empty words;
Expired faith.
Cracked jars filled with a mixture of sadness, hurt and grief leaking out every second.
Packets of crumbled hope;
Sweet wrappers torn and crumpled;
Half eaten dreams...

Robert van Lingen

Who are you?
Not a name,

Tell me your soul.

~Robert van Lingen


i said "i'm glad you're happy"
you said "i hope you're happy, too"

i said "i am"
because i couldn't say the truth.
i'm not happy,
my happiest was with you.


the dead bird

I wake
from dreams of you
like ocean waves
that crash
upon the shore

a second
before I remember
no longer mine

I don't want
to be


if I
keep my eyes shut
these waves will swallow me again,
drowning me
in memories of you

but memories
become regrets -
and my mind is a hurricane
with rain like
a storm of thoughts

thoughts like

this could have
been avoided
if I didn't let my emotions
play me
like a puppet

how now
our days together
will be replaced
with somebody else
and the sun will set
all the same

no longer
a person
in your life
but a story
you tell

trying to say,
I’m sorry and
you're right
it’s my fault
I was wrong

I'll be here
when you want me

i didn't mean what i said when i was drunk and i'm sorry i acted the way i did towards you
J Arturo

it's the morning of Tuesday
June twenty fifth, and the fog, again
rolls in against lima and listlessly scales the escarpment
and Dana (like I) high on cocaine and circumstance
has gone with Chris and Cameron, to watch from the cliffs
(this time something loose has shifted, and I hope they kiss).
and Corey is here
asleep to my left
tired from a whole day of travel and
Dana calls her an insomniac but
I think she's at rest.

And an empire is how she took off her shirt
and gold is the way she doesn't object
when I trace maps in her back and put an ear to her chest.

because I don't know who this is or why
my fantasies fixated here, but they work, unbidden
behind purposed eyes
buena vida es buena ficion y
good fiction is impossible to expect.
like when under your skin, New England, dunes
drift and dance to the hand at your neck.

because I have everything I could ever want and for
me in my figured out life, these flighty daydreams aren't problems but
more like preproduction films to maybe see, to get lost in, given breath and a bit of sunlight.
because I have never heard Corey complain or object and until I do I
will continue to give to her everything I have, will continue to
try to understand the invisible hairs at the base of her spine.
try to reward what goes unrecognized.

because we're all bent up patchwork machines, and
I'm sure Corey crumbles inside as much as I, but
when you fly to peru and lay with certainty your head against mine,
into a stranger's neck, and lie still
when you could struggle to explain but don't even try
when you are beautiful, but keep on going still...

the cocaine can't what my hands will,
in walking the staircase of her spine.
keep me watchful, and up all night,
to try in fingertips to recognize,
that you are beautiful and someone needs
to see you to sleep. to feel you to fly.

Julian Delia

A bleak, black, endless expanse
A shifting mass of sand and tar.
It sits there, always there,
never far.

It is inside all of us; it swallows everything
like a black hole devours even light.
A well that can never be filled
A hunger that leads to our plight.

We see it everyday, governing our world
from the shadows - watching and waiting.
It stalks us like a lion stalks a deer,
ready to pounce as soon as we give way.

We give way when our hearts let in the darkness,
the refusal to believe in other human beings as kind and real people.
It is like a grave we have dug
for ourselves, a grave made
out of forgotten but unforgiven heartbreaks and amply overused ashtrays.

It is that armour which we wear to
ward off emotions, that misusage of
our soul akin to mending a bullet wound
with a bandaid.

It is the hunger felt by the stress-eater,
It is the feeling of disgust felt by the bulimic.
It is the beatings from parents or siblings,
It is the rationalisations and the excuses by the victims.
It is the space which is left
After a part of us dies along with someone else.
It is the trauma, the fear - the void
IS, and always will be, here.

And it's terrifying.

Sunday hangover poetry.
Brianna Love

A Christmas gift for you
wrapped in a hundred red bows,
open this gift slowly
for you don’t want to miss the show.

With each little bow, you take off
you start to see the light,
for the beautiful flesh underneath
is all you see in your sight.

As this gift lays upon your bed
it trembles by your touch,
the expertise of your hands
is a little too much.

As your fingers move slowly
to remove each small bow,
detours they do take
as the flesh of your gift begins to glow.

This Christmas gift you uncover
aims to please all your needs,
as the bows fall to the floor
it’s time for your gift to please.

Kerrie Short

I used to think you and I were like a faded photograph.
Or, perhaps we never made it that far.
I guess you could say that we were more like a negative that simply just failed to develop properly so we were left there in the dark room. Locked away. Forgotten.
But, as imperfect as the image of us appeared, i'd hung our picture up in my heart hoping one day that film would develop and I watched as slowly the dark areas gave way to light.
But the exposure wasn't enough and we were destined to stay in that dark room forever. Our story untold.

Sarah Garcia

I was so good for so long

I was good when I was 10
I was good when they would fight about the other woman
I was good when I pretended I didn't know the truth

I was good when I was 13
I was good when they were stressed from work
I was good when they said it was my fault
I was good when I believed it was my fault

I was good when I was 15
I wasn't top of my class
I couldn’t get the scholarship
they couldn't pay the bills
but I was good
I was good when I let it be my fault

I was good when I was 17
I was good when they fought about the other man
I was good because I was a punching bag
I was good because I didn’t scream
I was good because I didn’t tell anyone

I was good until I was 18

When I realized I didn't want to be good anymore
because the bruises on my body
and the scratches on my face
and the nights I spent drowning my screams in the overflowing tub
and the blood seeping through my pajama sleeves
and the empty prescription bottles
and the Christmas morning I woke up with a headache
because I didn't take enough pills to not wake up at all

were never going to be good enough.


And there is too little
Not enough softness

And the world may
One day do me in

And cause me to turn
To stone or nothing at all

And yet I am too strong to
Submit to these fears

And life may be hard but
So am I in my softness, my love

And my compassion that comes so
Easily to me that I may care for all

And while I may hurt and feel weak still
Now I know I may overcome all

it's been over a year figured i might as well come back lol, things have changed and i am doing better in my life, and i'm not so depressed anymore and i hope that changes will happen with everyone else for the better, and this isn't the best i've ever written but it certainly does sound pretty right? yeah i think so ^^ so hellopoetry i've missed you

Does time really matter,
to be infatuated or love someone?

I met this seductive woman
about 3 month ago,
and our chemistry exploded instantly;
she's has been in my mind ever since.
When she just says "Hello,"
she has ways with words
and sensual appeals,
for she sends fire through my feet
like a child, who's given a sweet candy.

But, she mostly makes me upset,
for she vanishes without a trace,
and in a blink of an eye,
she turns cold like ice.
The more she keeps her distant,
the more I long her presence;
and her distance won't remotely utter
her presence from my imagination.

I think about her whole being.
I long to know her sanity,
because I wonder
if she has laughed, or had a bad day.
I cannot truly justify to her
if my motive is passion or lust;
but she is always in my heart.

I am curious for myself,
is this obsession or true feelings
that’s burning my soul for her?
does the length of time really matter
to be drowning in the river of
infatuation or passion love of someone?

@jobiranyc (12/16/2017)

Inspired by Erica Carrillo's

I wish I knew the answer
Salvatore Ala

Gaetano Ala played guitar
Gaetano juggled grenades
And gardened in mustard gas
Gaetano smoked Gauloises
Got lost in the gaze
Of a Greek beauty in Algiers
Gained passage to Paraguay
Growing homesick again
For mother Mediterranean
Gaetano Ala played guitar
Gaetano smoked Gauloises
Immigrant and migrant
A grave in every ground
Great-great-grandparent ghost
Gaetano of ancient Gaeta
Gaetano Ala Gaetano
The margins of a designation
Grammarians agree
Wings of time and nothingness


Through the rivers of my brain
flow the  memories of pain
that sometimes become an ocean
of a silly numb devotion.

If I went to California,
I’d be happy every morning;
I’d be luminous, I bet,
but I’d end up being dead
at the bottom of the ocean
of the ocean of regret.

So I peel my itchy feet
to one day become complete
with no fuel for my grief  
but a quiet soft relief
that I finally forgot
that it’s you I haven’t got.


I want you to dig a hole into yourself
I want you to go down
Down to the deepest parts
To the forefathers of your secrets
Dig to the
Fears of men
fears like first step in a day
Droughts of hope
droughts as punishing
like cold bed during the night
No flesh will stop you
Once you get there
I want you to stop
cause' down there
you don't want any chaos
just observe, listen and feel
it will remind you of your roots
how you fell from tree asa child
how you planted your first seed in a garden
how you mourned the loss of your dog
how you loved just to lay in bed next to your beloved
Do you feel it?
it will guide you eventually
Don't ask
Of course you are ready
You have always been
You just forgot how to dig
for things you always knew

Start diggin'
It's time.

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?

Anize Orona

My soil is intertwined
With hope and hatred
There are either two sides-
No In the middle

Where the Truth is denied
And people go back to their bubbles of politics & emotions
Where we are all divided
By labels, ignorance & arrogance

People sing in choruses
Not willing to find common ground
Just wanting to prove whose wrong

Trying to win & dominate
The cultural world & ethics
Where honesty is shamed
And everyone asks themselves,
How did this happen?


nico papayiannis

To write, is to ignite, to infuse, and perhaps refuse
To deny the reason of the powers that be
To define the reason of you and me
To inspire
And maybe even douse the fire

Words of wisdom, words of rhyme
Words that speak of our current time
The problems of humanity
The problems of control
Words of insanity
Words of profanity

Profound rage
Incarcerated onto the page
Your soul it is not up for sale
Break the spell
With words of your own tale
Write to incite, to excite, to rejuvenate
Write forever to diminish the perpetuation  of hate,

Write to cripple, paralyze and maim
Write to pacify, protect and tame
A language of love of peace and not war
A language to unite and take no more

I know I made you
Than you've ever been
For both of us
You played at love to win
The thought that you can win at love
Surely is a lie
The best you can hope for
Is to bring it to a tie

Anora Emporium

Let's eat
bite tongues
empty lungs
and practice speaking
the languages of love.

On my way home

That sound was almost therapeutic.
The sound of silence could heal those wounds she caries on her body and her precious soul.
When she took her final breath
she knew she was cured.


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

I wanted to write you into a love poem,
But all I can conjure
Is a picture of a girl crying off her mascara
On a stoop in the south of Chicago,
Smeared burgundy lips wrapped around
Thin cigarette,
And the man she used to love
Entering the scene upon his exit
From the doorway with it’s crumbling yellow paint,
Pale, now, in the rising moonlight,
Faded from
Decades of wind and rain,
And the gun he’s hiding behind his back –
“Come in,” he says to her –
Voice shaking in the cold December night,
And she says
Words in return,
Breath rising like a halo around her lips,
But it’s lost to the wicked wind,
And he raises his hand and puts
Slim, flattening bullets
Into her, and the
Children they had together
Come running
Just as the church bells ring,
Announcing the arrival of the hour

You can find more of my poetry at caitlincacciatore.wordpress.com


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.

Scarlet M

Blinding lights
in chilly nights,
a soft gleam dust
in silver bites,
carols sing
upon thy dream
in praise and love
for Christ our King.


losing you was like
a novel ending in the middle
of a sentence,

like thinking an extra step
was there in front of you
in the dark.

like falling
over and
over and
over again.

Samantha Rene

is an addiction

holding me back
my courage
and inner strength

my internal fire
dark visions
of anguish
on the deepest
shadows of my soul

I battle myself
to reach out
and find joy

I step back to focus
with quiet prayer
yet I only find
tears and
more questions

am I
giving up too much
of myself
am I
in a cycle of
is my
fire lost
dwelling in guilt

I am your dream
I am broken

Dream Fixer

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


To my knight in shining armor,
Hello again,
For the one nights in many nights that I have lain my heart by yours
I think it's quite beautiful that even the trees know my uneven beating is caused by the depths in your eyes
The same eyes that run to the mind that strays from mine
The same eyes that run through the same blood, to the same heart that does not beat for me
The heart that keeps mine at a safe distance aware of the ignorance of my foolish longing

How comical that one who leaves me to the snow, gives me a cover that makes me feel warm

Tyler Owen Cox

When I saw other children fall to the floor
They handled most of the pressure
You fall and your skin rips even more
Blood trickles down the oldest wounds wet and fresher

You fell
and again
and again

And you won't stop trembling
But if I hold you together
Will it keep your skin from dissembling?
I could never admit you weren't meant to last forever

If I scream my voice away
Will you finally be saved
Or will you fall apart in my arms?
Will I fall apart when her face is melting in my palms?
When all the rain and blood and feelings evaporate
And all the flesh falls from the bone anyway


I regret what I did
And what I see
In my mind
That’s a dark sea
I regret a lot
Sometimes every moment
Can someone stop me
From regretting things

I didn’t do anything really wrong. I just find myself laying in bed nickpicking all I did wrong. Usually just a little thing like saying “Hey” instead of “Hi” because it would’ve sounded better. I know it’s stupid and foolish and really is a waste but I can’t help it.
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.

Madhav Mehra

And slowly I Die
But a little less with You.

Courtney Pruitt

every                boy
time                    it
   I                    splits
sleep                 my
with                 soul
   a                       .

Next page