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My dentist sees
A cavity.
ink on an otherwise clean tooth.
Tarnished and impure.
Something to be removed and I
Regret the sugar soda that put it there.
I touch my cheek, my lips and chin.  
But I don’t feel a thing.

I’m numb, all I feel is buzzing, no pain, only discomfort.
Drills of all sizes have their own vibrations.

Scratching against my clavicle, the artist’s hand is steady.  
My chest rises, falls,  with laughter and grimaces.

My father sees
A tattoo.
Ink on an otherwise clean clavicle.
Stained and immoral
Something to be removed, as if I will ever
Regret the rebellion that put it there.
Fingers dance across raised skin,
my body, a journal, my soul’s true home.


I left the diner at 12pm.
I brushed my slightly overgrown teenage hair back,
and put on my straw hat. My pink bike rested on a
coffee-coloured wall. I pulled a carton of cigarettes
out of my pink sweatshirt pocket, watermelon flavour,
to be exact. I strolled the street, with my
bike in hand and rose-red cigarette in mouth,
the tip lighting up like a black volcano, now and then.
Leaves, curled up like dolphins dance on these
solitary streets.
I got on my pink bike
and Tokyo-drifted down the streets of solitude.
I felt like a penguin parading down deserts of ice,
delivering a holy message of nothingness,
my words are nothing,
my sentences are nothing,
my paragraphs are nothing,
my questions are nothing,
my answers are nothing,
and my poetry is nothing.
I zoomed down the silent and suffering streets
as an unimportant pink blur, a speck of existence.
Garbage bins zoom by, where my poetry sleeps,
full with wasps worshipping rotten amber apples.
The tropical tang of the watermelon cigarette faded,
I flung it from my marble mouth and
like an executioner, the bike wheels finished the flame.
The tiny black volcano lay extinct on the gravestone street.
Graffiti posed like a Playboy model on broken concrete walls,
painted by philosophical and political punks, the real heroes
who are censored by the desperate void of customs and rules.
All they want and all I want
is to be set free
by breaking the barriers
of love,
and the barriers of language and expression
and to be hidden by the eternal judgement and
distorted doubts of a non-existent closet of fear.
The dolphin leaves dance joyfully and swiftly,
like an American boy’s passionate kiss
filled with an erotic marijuana bliss.
I am with him now,
I am with him forever,
and I am with him in the grave.
I am with his lips,
I am with his hands,
I am with his stomach,
I am with his cock and balls.
I am with his legs,
I am with his heart,
and I am with his soul.
I am with Nate.
Desolate, hurt and confused in the Irish suburbanite darkness,
I dream of a warm, sunny day in North Carolina,
right outside my not-yet house and
on bright, emerald, neon green grass,
I lean in for a kiss
with Nate.

If you were alarmed by my inactivity, well don't  worry, I was only writing this, my longest poem ever... It's essentially my "Howl"

do you like her
do you want attention
shit did i forget to mention
i barely know her name
i barely know her face
i’m looking in the wrong directions
looking for a crutch that i can
use to feel the heat
a body full of heat
you think i would have learned by now
you can’t force love
you’ll find out how
to love someone and love yourself
i need someone somebody else
my heart is held in sweaty palms
use me use me
pass me on
you can’t hurt me i’ll hurt myself
you think that i’ll
forget the past
forget the pain
forget the way
my body ached
i wish i could
forgive myself
i live for me
nobody else

leave me be
and let me fly
freedom screams
your body line


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

Max Vale

Seashell shores,
Ocean blue waves.
Dancing fires,
Lustful airwaves.

We go through the woods,
We go through the river.
We go down the deepest lake,
Till we're lost and gone away.

We know we cant stay up,
The only way we can go is down.
Once your fears have gone away,
And your sitting by the sundown.

I don't care what people say,
Just survive another day.
And then once you do,

We Can Go Drowning Together

No one is going down alone. If you're going down i'm coming with you. At the end of the day guess I'll see you all in hell. I don't care at least we're together.
Pio Jasso

a near, corpse,

to float,
as a ghost haunts a city
- block to block,

to inhabit
the bodegas,
of abandoned remnants;

to prowl
the alleys,
and soak
in the slow, bloody shadows.

dogs bark, and
children cry
when forced to behold

the slashed
apparition of cracked veins
opened wide
with the scalpel
of bladed streets.

I plucked,
with work-eaten hands,
these eyes,
upon a voluntary blindness
of identity -

shifting –
teeming low
like seven thousand scorpions.
You found me

in a cardboard cave
above a beer stained sidewalk,

from the lance of lights
probing lights, leery lights,
lights that burn the skin.
You found me;

- the falcon, the storm, the wind –
sent to release me
from this secretly
chewed inferno;

sent to release
the quick,
beating wings
of a million bleeding

and to consume
dark, foul

Taylor Ott

He specifies.
You know?
Like the feeling when you wake up to a rainy morning on your day off. How your neck curls into the pillow as you pull up your fluffy duvet and you feel a special safety, certain comfort.
His words are as exact.
Choosing every syllable carefully as if laying mosaic. I'm not always good at understanding the picture. I obsess about one tile that feels out of place until he asks me to step back, the precision allows a specific illusion, but it's so easy to get lost in the cannery yellow and aqua marine.
Out of context these variants of primary colors can lead me to so many different places and I often find myself in an entirely different scene, drifting down a stream of consciousness made of letters.
Sometimes he'll come with me on this journey, indulging my imagination. But these scenes of mine are more like water color, each brush stroke bleeding into the next.
And he is different.
He is pedantic.
He can obsess over finding just the right way to say something even when I understand, even when I'm there. And while I take an anxious breath allowing us both space to grow and stretch, I take comfort in the universe he creates.
I take comfort in the exactness of the words he strings together.
I take comfort in his pedantic way because he specifically says, "I love you."


I want the kind of peace
that doesn't take me back to the island
but instead allow me to look at the ocean
that is gazing at the sky with adoration and respect.

Still, not far away, I see fear sitting in a rock, waiting for me.
Its eyes say there are still things left to burn—
last night it was as if some kind of monster
ordered me to set my house on fire
so it would not expose how many times I mourned
not for a person
but for the time wasted acquainting them
with the sea I carry within.
I was afraid burning the whole thing
would left me empty again,
so I stopped admiring the flames.

Now a wave sprouts where I am
and does not tremble when it presses its body to mine,
like a lover unafraid—I want the kind of peace that does the same way.
The kind that swims
and truly


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

Nikki Danilov

The soft pink blankets will never protect me
from their plush weight.
Every morning, is just another rivalry to face in this damned house.
Every cup I consume is just a caffeinated drink.

I slither back into my bedroom.
I curl and unfurl repeatedly until I know I have become nothing.
I want to escape, but I'm not quite sure how.
I'm just a baby, walking backwards in my small steps.

I inhale all floating particles of dust.
I invite every negative aspect into me.
I just love being bitter, envious, and jealous.
I love it when you look at me that way,
all shocked, confused, unsure of what to do.

I love every second of destruction,
Letting the bacteria multiply,
letting it grow on me.
I'm quite charming,
quite the caretaker,
quite inviting.

You sow haze in your own heart
You draw a tear on my cheek
It smooches its lyrical details
Your thirst steals a kiss from my lips
I water your greedy hubris
And while you savor love out of my wounds
I reap the pieces of my sine qua non
Fellows sail away as boats
So, I flow to them as a wave
When I reach your shore, I feel so lonely, my friend
As a night light, left in the corner of the sea
So, I throw my building from the seventh sky
And I fall in a pool, full of comfy stranger arms
Splash! Social suicide
I’m not a human, not a friendly animal
When everything disappears, my words become swords
Smashing every evil whisper
Easing the raging storm of thoughts
O sweet perdition, my beloved addiction
You are my purgatory, my paradise

Thank you for taking the time to read my first poem on this site. Any feedback would be appreciated.
Amy quinn

Empty. I would write a poem on beautiful wisdom or extravagant seas. But im empty. The words swirl around an endless abyss, meaning nothing than a lonliness cry. Lead pools through my bones, which are sharpened to a point with anguish and uncertainty, only to cascade me further into the swirl of lifeless butterflies. Butterflies.
A symbol of hope. But hope has no place in the darkened arena. Butterflies flutter up towards the very top of the cathedral, almost ready to break free but a sabered tounge lavished with molten fear takes the oxygen from the fireplace and leaves a blackened eye that closes, Only to release a sign of emptiness. A sign of lifeless butterflies. A sign of children wanting to be heard but not seen. A battleground of what will wound you and what will kill you because hurting is better than sacrificing yourself to the bitter icicles that melt into your head and release you of the pain. Release you of the barbed winged butterfly scraping against the arteries of your soul, temting you to curl and trap that butterfly in a shard of lifeless tears. Because although the wings beat for your heart and every flutter is a prick of poison, that butterfly cannot slow to a walk because a walk is too painful.

Because every one has a barbed wired butterfly. The question is, can yours still fly?

memories fade
in a wash of ink
behind lenses of
my jaded glasses

a dream of
altered memories
passions of the

revealed and re-lived

forgotten emotions
but still

look back into
the vault of darkness
the universe-
vast and outstretched

gravity spins
me- pulling
as I define
the confines of this
space and

my soul is
restless with
every sigh that
escapes from my
bloody oxygen

insanity itching
at every
edge of thought
pressed upon
the moments of

a thoughtless
pattern of hindsight
that brings
a lifeless ego
to survive and
once again
be drowned
in the depths
of silence

where moments are
and destroyed
and created
often in the

leaving the self
from this

Mike Hauser

This life I lead
Is a wide open door
You can see through me
Like a glass bottom boat

Read my inner thoughts
Like a comic book
Know what I'm about
From just one look

I'm a recipe
That's pretty simple to follow
A bit bitter to taste
Yet easy to swallow

You can write what you like
Be it right or wrong
Take what you find
You won't be too far off

A familiar tune
That's easy to sing
An under breath hum
In the key of C

In a wide open book
That begs to be read
Take just one look
You'll know me from beginning to end

Cyprian Van Dyke

You’re not my everything,
You’re my Everest;
And you’re not my world,
You’re just the top of it.

Not like the sun, that
Stoops every evening
For the children at heart.

No, you’re like the stars
On the unreachable shelf,
That lures me in, like
The fisher on the moon,
And never comes down to help.

You’re a flower among
& I’m a coward among
Like a hopeless romantic-
Walter Mitty, in, Italy,
That’s surrounded by
Walt Disney’s.

But as I climb my Everest:
I’m close enough
To see your imperfections
& I’m far enough
To see all my competition.


From the top of my world
Everything, yes everything
Is very small & I mean,
Dec 12, 2017

What made reading this worthwhile for you??

There’s one too many of these little seconds.minutes.that I wish could turn back the clock and change what has now turned into regret.

Maybe I heard too much but understood too little of what you were trying to whisper to me that night over the loud music as you spun me around and I held on to you tightly and squeezing your forearm as my eyes remained closed shut and you chuckled at how I held on and was so shy with you.

Your lips moved but no words seem to come out, I wanted to ask again but decided against it because I was afraid you’d come closer to me as if you weren’t already. If I turned too quickly I’d have bumped into you...with my lips. Not asking. Not knowing. Not understanding. It’s what leads people like us to turn into perfect strangers instead of imperfect people in love. And we live on like this...a little broken a little scared of the same things happening again. But mostly torn by the love lost.

dave legalisa

I'm an ocean.
The kind that which
its ocean floor
remains untouched.
The kind that is rich
with secrets hidden
somewhere deep
like demons dwelling -
living numerously,
animating and multiplying,
growing in immortality,
longing not for preys or food
but beauty and pride to uphold.

i know this is a bad poem but i still hope you like it :)
Alex Paczynski

A million miles may pass between
The place I sit and the place I dream.
My heart calls out; its hears no answer,
all tangled up in the twirls of the dancer.
And then when she sings, no ear can deny
Those heavenly chords, tears of joy in her eye.

Yes a million miles may pass between
You and I while I steep in my dreams
So that when I awake, alone in my bed,
At least I can still hear your voice in my head.


Just for once
I want to hold onto and be held
Guess I need a chest
To cradle my face
And the safety of an arm
Around my waist
As sleep slowly pulls me into its nest

I need somebody to wipe my tears
Someone who really cares
If not for forever
Then just once
Wanna feel what it feels to be loved


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

Ben Kaw

the iceberg sperg
used to freeze up
when hands felt her up
and kissing her
was like
licking a metal pole
a white christmas

but when she met the one
burst into flames


it's a good half rhyme and i'm reclaiming it

sexual­ assault
hate crimes

just something i thought about

In goes my heart,

Here I turn the knob-


Out goes your love,
Enveloping me with your warmth

Definitely not made during breakfast.

in big, bold letters,
i wrote
just to exhale it out of my nose
i cried
just to make the advices pass through my ear
and out of the other
i'm being sappy,
but most of all, unhappy.
from my bed i rose,
checking my phone that was on top
of a pile of dirty clothes

Read 13:25

He doesn't like me,
not even close.


We are not all bulletproof in our intentions.


It is there, we learn how grotesque a colour blue is

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.


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.


When the search for love drowned
I was happy to see loneliness float

Being alone is a dumb choice
But every choice has its downfalls

So tired, let me rest in loneliness a little bit more
I'll deal with its repercussions when we crossroads

Yara Raad

You asked,"How are you feeling?"
I remained silent in the desolate room.
You thought I was discreet,
but silent were my words
in the emptiness of my heart.

Sarah Nehring

A heart broken into two is a heart that is chipped.
And that type of chip can’t always be fixed.

But a heart that is left as a whole and new, losses its strength.
One side might die the other half will always be with them.

That half can never die because they are so strong.
Once a broken heart always a broken heart.

A broken heart can be fixed but it will never be the same.

She Writes

Your attention is my addiction,
And I need a fix.

Vikas Kaushal

He yearned to conquer her fort,
she resisted and gave a good fight
it ended with exhausted tired breathless souls
resting on messy spoiled sheets.

nadine shane

i am
a confusing person.

i may
love things
that i hate;

i may
hate things
that i love.

i adore the sun setting
and i close my eyes
as the sun drapes itself
with dust and memories.

i despise the way
the sun rises
with false anticipation
for children chasing them,
desiring to touch
even a glint of gold
and sunlight.

but i try not to love
the way your crooked smile
makes everything look

i am afraid
that i will soon learn
to hate it.

please do not make me adore you.
Sally A Bayan

(Morning Poetry with Lola)

Wednesday started with a cold, cold morning.
i wrapped myself with a thick blanket,
hid my "popsicle toes,".....seeking warmth
from recollections that played in my mind
like pleasant, joyful summer, music.

when my kids were toddlers,
i started them off with, "all things bright and
beautiful, all creatures great and small..."
but, as they grew a little older, my mother,
she woke them up each morning with,
"o captain, my captain,
our fearful trip is done..."
and then, tomorrow, we would hear,
" i shot an arrow into the air
it fell to earth...i knew not where,"
the next morning, my mother's feature could be,
"of course, i love my country,
the land in which i live,"
some days we would hear reruns....but,
the week would never be complete, without
her most favored one....which, she delivered
with a valiant voice, while pounding her chest:
"...i am  the  master  of  my  fate;
  i am  the  captain  of  my  soul!"

my kids rubbed-open their eyes in awe,
as they listened to their lola..'til they were done
with their morning rituals.

their lola kept a copy of longfellow's evangeline
but she didn't live long enough
to share it with her five great-granddaughters.
God knows...my late mother knows, i did my part,
to open the eyes...and minds of these girls,
to waken THAT awareness in them, that would
make them see, and feel...the beauty of poetry.
not everyone realizes the importance,
the necessity.....of poetry,
that life itself...........is poetry,
that, when you're a poet,
and when you're deep into it,
........you cannot just let go
for, it clings to your heart and soul,
it is like,
your second skin
it's a hard habit
to break.
the older girls read poetry...and mythology, as well,
a mix of classic and contemporary,
......but they and i, have added thoreau,
dylan thomas, teasedale, and many more
names to their lola's most favored
longfellow, henney, and whitman.

Copyright December 7, 2017

^^^Lola is the Filipino term for grandmother...
     "Popsicle Toes"an older poem i wrote in 2013..^^^

Spare me of your parting words
I don’t need another reminder
Of how we didn’t work out
Of how i am like this and you are like that
Of how i want this and you want that
I don’t need another reminder
Of how much of me i gave away
Of how much of you i intake
Of how much of us was left
Walk away, just walk away
And please don’t look back
Because you know I can’t resist
This feeling of reaching out
and wanting to comeback to you
Just walk away, out of my life
I don’t want my last memory of us
     me begging, just this once
     love me back like you used to
Walk away, just walk away
Don’t even say goodbye
Please spare me of your parting words
I don’t need a final reminder
Of how much it hurts
Of why you chose to walk away

I don't want my last memory of us to be a goodbye..

Inspired by Jensen's Maybe #playlists&footnotes

paradise isn’t
a place where the sun
never sets

it’s a place where you watch
the horizon consume
the daylight with content
because you know that the night
can only last
so long.

admire the stars while you're at it

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


My wildest dream is this
That I would mean to you
What you have always been to me

Alex Jones

to be honest....
I was never okay in the first place

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