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into my bleak early Spring
this mist of sticky juice
my normally clogged nose
inundated with bold proof
of   lurid promises
from citrus groves
bathed by sunlight
on a foreign soil
while my entire body
sanguinely sings
your praises
and my fingers
continue to peel
away until every morsel
is revealed
and devoured
I bought a bag of  blood oranges the other week, and every other day I eat one with my fiancée. The smell and texture is divine.
Anthony Emmi
Pitter patter, heart beats faster.
Laying alone again.
Time drags on, time has past her.
From a long ago sin.

Anxiety grows stronger.
A feeling of deep dispair.
A love may be lost.
Am I the only one to care?

In the end it was me.
My faults are mine to bare.
Could I have helped them.
Would she even care?

An illness within me.
Has ruined quite a lot.
Without it would I be me?
That, I think not.

A cure there is none.
But now I understand.
The work has begun.
With Gods helping hand.

A.Emmi 03/10/18
Dear EA,

I cry because I want to see you,
I cry because I don't want to see you.
I cry because I want to hear you talk,
I cry because I don't want to hear you.
I cry because I like you
I cry because I maybe don't like you.
I cry because you're praising me,
I cry because you didn't notice me.
I cry because I'm not answering to your greeting,
I cry because I walk past you.
I cry because of you,
You're the cause I cry.
And you who mean nothing and everything to me,
Just walk on by.
Not Applicable
I wish something was the matter with me
That way I'd have something to blame for my insanity
I wish so badly cause how can it be
That all my issue stem from mentality
These dark fantasies of fatalities
Overlaying canopies of fallacies.  
I get way to panicky
And my mind's telling me plans of anarchy.


To the status quo
Each thought gets darker the deeper I go
Degrade and hating rise and grow
And yet I'm only sinking deeper and deeper
Down below
Silently thinking
Oh no
Oh no
Oh no.
Watching things change
Thought it was just a phase
"It'll be ok , one day ... one day"

Hope got blurrier as life were sinking down
Swam to the surface but ran out of breath & drowned

Anchored deep down in the dark surrounded by fears
Mourning the death of my dreams
Watching all my nightmares become real

Hello,  HP Fashion Designers

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Amazing lines

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One is sure to find

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The designs that make trends
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Followed by many
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Love all styles
Trends or not
Certainly, check them all
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Creativity a zest
At its best
Never put it to rest

Happy World Poetry Day

Wrote this a few days back , only recently got to know that ,
Today 21st March is World Poetry Day .
So sharing it here .
Thank you all , The HP designers, am happy to be one too:))♥️
Helene Marie
goes the leaky faucet
her hot tears hit the cold linoleum
fall the lies from your lips
their broken heart lays in pieces
the space between them grows
though neither have moved an inch
how do i stop the leak
Ashley Somebody

Don't feel bad for yourself.
You have it so good.
You have a house
to live in
You have clothes to wear
You have
a family
who loves you.

You have a boyfriend
who wants to spend the rest of his life with you.
Everything is going to be okay.

Bad things suck.
Good things are hard.
Life takes a long time to get right.
The voice
I stand in the middle of the room
My classmates are commanded to listen to me
I am the 14th person to present and so far, everyone has done a good job

I stand in the middle of the room
I begin to saw the name of my project
“My Poem”
I cannot remember what it was about
I do remember, what I felt

I stand in the room,
Hoping that everyone feels what I felt when I was writing it
I felt excited, my stomach had ‘butterflies’ I think
I felt the heat in my heart and the cold on my shoulders.
I felt the tingles all over my body, and the air escaping me

I stood in the middle of the room
I stand in the middle of the room
I was in the middle of the room and said
“My poem”
I heard a chuckle.

I ignored it because the ‘in love’ heart in my chest was more excited than It should have been
I continues and my voice began to play tricks on me
And the r’s rolled and the words were suddenly in another language
My mind still ignored it and continues
Because I felt I could write, and read this and everyone could love it

I stood in the middle of the room,
I waited for the, applause, the smiles, the congrats, or even a simple ‘good job’ like everyone else
My teacher said, work on pronunciation. She said it again. Pro-noun-ci-a-tion
Ok. ‘Work on grammar.’ ‘Work on sentence structure’
“Work on being American” the chuckle said
Or the person who chuckled?

It didn’t mean much, you know
I loved writing so much that it did not matter
I would be a writer, I would continue to
STAND in the middle of the room and share my talent
And when I did, he chuckled
She chuckled, I was Mexican

Not a writer. Writers can’t be Mexican
Unless you write in Spanish and in Mexico
But I was too American for that at this point…

SO the next time I wrote I was ashamed,
Maybe if someone else wrote my writing?
But it didn’t matter,
When the teacher began reading,
The chuckle reminded the class it was the ‘Mexican’ who wrote it

“Mi nina” My mom would say
She reminded me that no only was I Mexican
I was a woman,
Only men thrive in this world
I believed it
And that is why my name is ‘The Voice’
Not my actually name,
Disclosure: I accept criticism on how to better my writing
NOT on what to write or on my background
Thanks, for a lesson I will never forget:

I make my own destiny!
You begged me to make you whole but you left me empty.
When I was nine
My mother asked, “What do you want to do when you’re older”
And I told her
With my nine-year-old smile
As wide as an ocean
My nine-year-old heart
As deep as infinity
I told her, “mama, I wanna touch the stars, I wanna find pirate treasure, I wanna climb mountains and live in the treetops”
My mother,
She looked at my nine-year-old smile
She held my nine-year-old heart in her hands
and she whispered,
“Baby, how are you gonna do all that?”
I didn’t have an answer
You see,
At age nine,
I didn’t think about practicality
Or actuality
Or logicality
Or any big word with an -ality stuck to it
At age nine I had aspirations that I rode like angel wings
Dreams that would carry me to the stars I longed to hold
I was nine years old with a mind full of colors
And a mouth made to love
My heartbeat was the drum I marched to
The melody to my song
I told my mother once again “mama I wanna touch the stars”
I am a freshman in high school now
I stand before you,
Age 15
A year and a half away from driving
3 years from applying
4 years from finding what I’m gonna do with my life
Since then
My nine-year-old smile has dwindled
My nine-year-old heart has shriveled
These dreamers shoulders have hunched
Under the weight of textbooks and GPA's
The fingers that spewed color like a 64 pack of Crayola crayons
Aimlessly type out the final paragraph of an essay
The cavern in my chest, that was filled with infinite possibilities and wonders and questions that I longed to answer
Now sits
Instead of looking for mountains to climb
My aged nine-year-old mind
Searches for the college that will accept me
Not even the real me
Not the seeker of possibility
Not the tree climber
Not the wannabe fingerprint artist
They will take prim and proper not-nine-year-old me
the one who tells her mom she’s gonna major in finance but she hates math
The one who’ll have a steady 9-5 that’ll numb her skull and make her contemplate if death can come from boredom
A coffee tainted room of pencil skirts and high heels
Instead of her favorite blue jeans and Chuck Taylors
A nice job that’ll pay well but only for the price of her nine-year-old originality
But she only tells her mom that because it sounds like a real job
A not nine-year-old treehouse living
Cave exploring fantasy
I mean, I have to move on from that dream.
It's time to be practical
Now instead of making up new words
I learn definitions of the ones that already exist
Instead of painting with my own colors
I use the ones handed to me
Because its practical
Its how it should be.
I am no longer nine years old
Far from it at that
And yet,
I still long to touch the stars,
just a little less
I still want to search for treasure
But just as an afterthought
My eyes are still glowing with wonder
Just a little bit duller
Nine-year-old me isn’t dead
She just
grew up
Adam Schmitt
(I can't type a capital s with my keyboard for some reason)

The moon shines down with a crooked smile
onto the streets below
The Drunken crowds, the smoke haze
The empty stores, the neon blaze
All awash in a blue-white glow
The clouds gather in the darkness
The ships reinforce their hull
The sky above is starless
In the Kingdoms of the skull

You're driving home on the same road
You've taken every day before
You curse the truck that cut you off
With an American flag pasted to its door
At a glance you know the driver, inside and out.
A fool, no doubt...hateful, witless, and dull...
You're judge, jury and executioner
In the Kingdoms of the skull
I am so perfect
That's what you said
But one day I wake
You suddenly left

I want us to last long
Tell me what I did wrong
But you wanna be alone
So who am I to say No

Yes I did everything
To keep us working
Thought you did same thing
That's what I'm thinking

Now that you are gone
I guess now I am done
Done with one sided love
The love I always have
Mystic Ink

Don’t see just with those eyes
Heart sees more than,
Eyes do

Don’t hear just with those ears
Heart hears more than,
Ears do

If Wondered,
Where is the 6th sense

feel everything  with
Your Heart

My dear.
Theme: Exploring sense. Theme based on one of Peter Lim poetry.
Nicole Ann
It's funny how someone who made you the happiest,
can also make you the saddest.
Cliché, but it's true.
I've loved you through hell
But fuck, it felt like heaven.
Five is the witching hour.
Filled with thick fog, or
Perhaps vivid hallucinations.
Desperate with the need to dream,
Or desperate to wake and stand in the light,
Just creeping up into the inky blue of the sky.
I have a love hate relationship with time and thought about a small series relating to how each hour of the night makes me feel. I've gotten lots of nice feedback about this series and so I figured I'd keep going.
Jasleen kalra
And if you are to love,
Love as the moon loves.
It doesn't steal the night,
It only unveils the beauty of the dark.

And if you are to love,
Love as the rain loves.
It doesn't wet the bodies,
It only washes the sad dirt of the souls.

And it you are to love,
Love as the wind loves.
It doesn't drift away,
It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore.

And if you are to love,
Love as the sun loves.
It doesn't radiates heat,
It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way.

And if you are to love,
Love as the star loves.
It doesn't delightfully twinkles,
It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts.

And so forth,
if you are to love
Love as the whole universe
& not just a part of it.
Peter Balkus
If love doesn't exist,
then what I'm doing here,
sitting in the park,
waiting for you to come
and to let your lips be kissed?

If love doesn't exist,
what's making me write those words?
Who's sitting on my shoulder
and whispering in my ear
the sweetest things?

If love doesn't exist,
why my heart is beating fast,
minutes away from seeing your face
and a hair stroke away from being
all over the place?

If love doesn't exist, why I always cry,
listening to the song reminding me
the very first time I met you -
it was the last time I ever felt alone.

(Love is not blind,
blind are those, who never loved.)
in this raw
and simple
i set forth
the notion
our children
need us
and upcoming
we will see
a parade
of some of our
smartest, most
and sweetest
youth marching
united, shoots of
grass roots
who know shots
from assault
i feel
called upon
to pause
at a moment
in time such as this,
challenge myself
to consider
simply the logistics
involved in safely
delivering home
to the nation's
Capitol our most
statistic: our babies
under 18
setting forth
across our aging
bridges and highways
and on airplanes
and charter
buses, away from
their studies, dates
and fun times.
i am ashamed
it has gotten
to this stage

in this raw
and simple
space, i wonder
why i write where
the majority
of us
wander off
from poems about
the most egregious
in our world.
i know politics
is a hot-button
issue and i fall prey
to self-absorption,
but not today.
not this time

this poem
is for the kids.
they're sick
of being shot at.
they're sick
of this shit.
within your soul,
can you feel
how frighteningly
creepy this


if all electricity was to pause
all machinery turned off

if nothing is distracting,
would we finally en masse

globally take responsibility-
feel them, hear them,

hold them, still them-
the world's crying children?
Saturday, March 24.
March For Our Lives,
a name picked
by our babies,
reaching the back of you

not sure I could.      not sure i would.
       scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered

the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
         pleasured mercy
                                         the remaindered searchingly
                                                                ­                                 suffices

you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize

playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time

no exit. no back of you.  stuck in a longingly heaven

this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM
happy international poetry day!!
As if, I am sinking into these pair of blues… is it You?

As if, I am learning to lose my grumpy skin hide out… is it You?

As if, I am smiling and being kind to strangers … is it You?

As if, my senses are not in a right place… is it You?

As if, my stubborn emotions keep on painting a beautiful portrayed…

As if, it is YOU
Jasmine Roper
I adore you
I adore the way you speak
so soft, so slow, so sweet
I adore the way you think
so deep, so true, so concrete

The way your heart races,
your pulse pounds through every vein
the way you calm me down
comfort me through the pain

The way you lick your lips
when they get so close to mine
The way you run your hands
up and down my spine

I adore the way you giggle
at all my corny jokes
The way you make wiggle
with every single stroke

I adore the way you make me feel
How you open every door
The way you make my toes curl  
on the bed and on the floor.

I adore the way treat me
How you make me feel like a queen
The way you make me relax
when I'm scared of everything

I adore the way you make the world
bow down at my feet
With you I feel so powerful
No one else can compete

I adore you with everything
my inside and out
I could honestly give my all to you
I adore you
i'm not impervious to the fact that
if the universe allows
i will grow old and die one day
i know that my skin will draw back from itself
the way picasso drew on canvas
and vines and creases will work their way
into my once fair and smooth skin
but when i go i want long flowing white hair
that brushes my back gentle as a feather
and lingers behind me like a second goodbye
hair that i can twirl into knots absentmindedly
an braid while bored in church
i want ink stains on my hand from the spilled
ink of writing poetry and stories
notebooks filled with the words that came
out of the sharp movements of my hands
and my hands
i want hands soft but worn
like my mother's favorite winter coat
i want hands that have held and let go
i want hands that know what the hell they're doing
i want toenails painted the most obnoxious
shade of red and mascara packed on like a
suitcase going on a trip to heaven
i want to be that old lady with the cats
because, let's face it, we all know i'm already
that old lady with the cats
they'll be named names from literature and plays
and i'll hope their names match their counterparts
but if they don't i'll love them anyways and
hold them with these hands that will have held
onto so many things before
when i go i want to have lived
and i want to have lived really really good
Ann Beaver
If I could love
the limping
part of me
That I drag through the mud
and thorns

If I could let
the transparent
silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it
into the basement

If I could put
my deepest human essence
onto paper
for everyone to see

Then, I could be free.
We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Please don't ever become a stranger,
whose laugh I can recognize anywhere.
i want to get high in foreign cities
travel to places i have yet to lay my eyes on
pack a bag and take off, my only motive to feel free
i want to kiss lovers on pavement my toes have never touched
beneath trees rooted with legends in their leaves
ensuring everlasting love
and i want to feel light, rather than weighed down
anchored to one small town
i want to drop everything and get away
to places where time is altered
and the stars are always present
whether it be in the night sky or people's eyes
i want to fall in love with strangers, cities, and scenes
i crave so deeply to feel free
to start anew

but at the same time
i want you to come too

E McNamara
Funny how
You meant so much to me
I would lose my breath
When I only saw you
And now
I swallow air easily
You mean nothing to me
Funny how
I’m still writing poetry for you.
Some part of me
Must still love you.
Why do I still write poetry for you?
is what i asked people in my grade today, including teachers.

what i got surprised me.

i got a lot of " you're a sarcastic little bitch, love you though"
i would just laugh it off. even though i wished that they knew that do that for a reason. it's all an act.

i got a " you're really cool and i wish i hung out with you more."
i didn't really respond to that one since i didn't like the person. i just told her " i don't like you, please don't hang out more." i'm blunt, sorry.

i got a " your sense of humor is extremely distinctive and that's rare. i wish i had that at your age." from my reading teacher.

but i think the most important one was from my best friend.

" you saved me before you even knew i was suicidal, just by calling me and asking i was okay because you knew something was off. truth is, i was writing my suicide notes that day, you stopped me. i love you, alexa marie."

i cried and hugged her with everything in me.

i love that girl and if she went through with it i think i would've died myself.
i've had multiple bestfriends in my life that have been nice but my current one is so real and i don't know what i'd d without her.
if you read this, i love you too and you've saved me from things that i never thought i'd be saved from.
anyone would be lucky to have you
as you are the light amongst the darkness
the good in the midst of all the evil
and the diamond surrounded by stones

you may think you’re a speck in the crowd
but you are one in a million
a rose dripping with traces of gold
a sun radiating warmth and serenity

no one could ever replace you
because the space you occupy would not be the same
without you there is no rain in the drought
and no order in the neverending chaos

you may think you’re an ordinary one
but you are one in a million
the best of the best
and i just want you to remember that
to the boy who lights up my world
No one can know your pain
Not nearly as well as yourself
But the rope won't take it away
It just gives it to someone else
If I die today,
Would tears flow,
like a rushing river?
Or the clouds weep,
screaming in thunder?
Would the earth break,
shaking in anger?
Will the world care?
And for a moment,
forget laughter?

If I'm down
to my final heartbeat.
Will anyone be there,
sitting beside me?
When I draw,
the very last breath.
Will you hold my hand,
and feel upset?

If I go,
without saying goodbye.
I want you to know,
that I really tried.
To live and love,
to endure and smile.
To find the truth,
in this realm of lies.

If I'm fated
of leaving soon
to talk with God,
in his glowing room.
I'll be rejoicing,
when I face my doom.
Even I end like a flower,
that withered,
before it blooms.

If inside the casket I lay,
Would there any heaven for me to stay?
Or will my sins, demand me to pay?
Don't even know, how much this life has weighed.

If it's my time, to step on the scale.
Done of my part, in this play.
A lot of regrets,
but nothing more to say.
Wish me luck.
If I die today.
Ciel Noir
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
Tiana Marie
She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.
This is not a love poem
this is an I love you do you love me like
I love you poem
do you know me like
you think you do poem
this is a would you be disappointed
if you did poem
an I have been feeling the chilling of the air
and I cant tell if it is just the fault of the season
or if you, too, are cooling
whatever heat you had for me
browning and falling and
crumbling between my fingers
like the leaves of these oak trees
in november poem
a what would I need to do to keep us warm poem
and this is also
an I may be completely mistaken poem
an it was seventy degrees today poem
this is a show me I am completely mistaken poem
JJsbdksndkkdmxmjshJustletmediemmmkbhbxjdnxnbdjxbdnxnnxnxnImsotire­dofthisnsjs nkksbdndnbdthese tears wontstopjdjdnn znjsnndudndkdknfkdmssnfnjdndnndbdbdbdnWhythepainstilllivesin myheartjjxnxjxjdn mykdjdvjsndjcjndndncnxkxnkxndkdkjdnskxhjshdjddndeImsofuckingtired­msnndksnxonshxidnkxndjsjdbjdkslmsndjjdbdisbdjjdksndjdhbsndnndjdjd­ndnd

Youllneverunderstand me
She Writes
I’ve found comfort in knowing
No matter where you are
The many miles between
We lie under the same stars

Sometimes I try to guess
which one you’d see
If you were looking up at them
Same as me

I look to the skies
When I’m lost and blue
Trying to find myself
But all I see is you

what do you see when you look to the stars
Do you see me, or just mercury and mars
the moment a poet
falls in love with you

is the moment
you live

f o r e v e r
It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived
Your naked body
Pressed on mine
We kissed

I thought that
I should feel

Thrill, euphoria
Lust, love
Or bliss

But no
I felt
And I'm very sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me.  You are everything I have ever wanted, but for some reason touching you leaves me blank.  I feel nothing.  And I am sorry.
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