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her split was met
with much joy
whilst in residence
she did so annoy

the tenants were
truly glad of heart
that she'd decided
to finally depart

on hearing the fading
away of her din
all being contented
in showing a grin

she'd not be missed
around the digs
long they'd endured
her rattle of twigs

happy times will be
happening for good
as she's vacated
their neighbourhood

they'll ever delight
in lodgings quiet
now she's withdrawn
her booming diet
I posted a picture you were there,
Giving me a single heart.
I dropped some stories you managed to view every of it
I know it will not going anywhere.
Maybe you were doing it because you had nothing to do.

I don’t expect you to message me.
But you know how my life runs, so when will I know about yours?

It’s my turn to tap the heart button on your picture.
Lick my lips
Cradle my face
Gaze into my eyes
And tell me I'm safe
she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.
10:02 PM 5/1/2018
I think of him less now
and it frightens me
the best artists are heart broken
and I feel myself mending
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
BJ Donovan
Fierce Womb

    From what ferocious womb did you
    emerge with such fierce edges and
    rigid rules? All angles with no
    curves to soften your demeanor?
I've known and loved some hard women. Tough upbringings and just bad breaks left some injured. Some were the chemists of their own addictions.
Do not judge lest ye be judged!
i see it in your eyes
the way they falter
as my gaze
brushes along your face
i hear the crack
in your voice

your forced smile
breaks my heart
The skin is our only layer or armor
Hard to believe
Because it is so delicate
A smile is a rebellion
From the emotions of the heart
You walk through life
Wearing a mask on the streets
And come home to a broken smile
That has been hiding behind your lips
Will your problems ever be solved?
When will your self-hatred come to an end?
No one can help you
You are alone
You are not pretty
What are you thinking?
Put on your mask
Dance among the stars
Just to come home
To cry about the scars
You are not your only enemy
As everyone wants to say
That shit is just fantasy
Everyone gets in your way
You are a reflection of the negativity to come
So prepare yourself
And cover all you have to hide
Again and again
It never goes away
Busbar Dancer
People only ever want to ask me about
the poetry -
those verses about
busted up noses in outer space;
about the pros working
way down passed
the corner of Broad and Main;
about fistfights and hard, hard drinking.
But I built a flowerbed this weekend...
Twenty two tastefully irregular stone blocks
in a crescent moon shape,
filled with the blackest of soils.
The sweat of toil.
The digging.
The planting.
Exotic grasses. Asian maybe?
Purple and yellow flowers.
Zinnias or some damn thing.
All covered in a thick blanket of brown mulch.
It's a fine thing to have dirt on your hands
instead of blood.
No one ever asks me about flowerbeds.
I'm scared to see
What lies beyond these doors
The gate to my future
Whats in store?

I'm scared to let go
Of my high school freedom
Graduation is near
Times passing like the seasons

I'm scared to know
What reality has to offer
I'm not at all prepared
I'm like a lamb to the slaughter

I'm scared to find out
Which of my friends will stay
Who are the real ones
And which ones will fade

I'm scared to hold
All the power of my life
Making such a crucial choice
Cutting through me like a knife

I dont want to be scared
Of what I have now
I want to enjoy life
I'm not exactly sure how

I'll think about my future
And all that is to come
When reality comes knocking
By then I'll be done

Change will happen
Slowly throughout time
I'll take it as it comes
Dont stress in the meantime

I won't be scared.
how do you know when (a human is too broken?)


human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save the child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed

so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
She Writes
There is too much regret
In unspoken words
The quiet thoughts
Whispered only to the moon

There is too much longing
In wishful thinking
Can quickly become a nightmare

There are too many tears
Spilled onto pillows
Over suffering and longing
From words unsaid
Path Humble
left my phone unlocked
on the taxis back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"

to which I replied,

Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"

and with an equally, beaming smile continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was

Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim

^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months

true story, poetry is there for the taking
keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.
"keep your eyes closed love. sometimes all you have to listen is to what the sound of the waves tells you to do"

When I was much younger, beaches were my second favorite places. I still love watching waves as they go by, crashing against each other and the whole process repeating all over again.
Andrew Durst
My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.


I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
dreaming and


I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
hazy realities

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,

is decide.
Thank you to anyone that reads this.
I used to write
My secrets in the sand,
Knowing they would never stay
Long enough to be told.

I used to just swim,
pulled my hair up and never
Really tasted the salt that foamed
After the crash.

I've ran in the sand,
Sure, but never have I
Ever let it smooth my
Skin into what it could be.

Before today, I've never
Let the current take me
Under and feel what it's like
To always come back to something.
devante moore
I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet
Mr Quiet
I could give you the entire universe but then i would just be giving you yourself.
but it's true tho
i am so small
compared to the mountains
i am so little
compared to the sea
i am so tiny
in comparison to the islands
and i am so large
compared to what i thought i would be
(old one)


I loved inside my head much more,

outside my dreams I loved far less-

Perfection in every heart I tore

and tossed to freedom, never found

a way to keep what lost and bound

to fears but loved so quick before,

outside my dreams far less-

June 2016
"Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes."
Carl Jung
I saw you walking down the hallway
like a flower petal in the breeze.
I couldn't help but notice you
like a rosebush between the trees

One day I heard your sweet laugh
It sounded like music to me
I turned around, gazed upon your smile,
as captivating as can be

You asked me to play a tune with you plus three
I wondered why you were asking me
But that moment is when I knew
There's something here that's meant to be

Well, darling, it's been almost six years
and you're the sun amongst the stars to me
You were my light amongst the darkness
The only light that I can see

And if you let me hold your hand
I'll never let you go
I would give you my heart forever
and I have to let you know
charles bateman
Resentment the cousin to hatred and shame
quick to point the finger,to cast all the blame
Why do we do this? Why haven't we learned?

We lay in the fire and scream God it burns

we can be better,we've the power to love
we can choose to forgive,when push comes to shove
Remember my friends,as we're running this race miracles happen if we just have some grace
Maria Monaghan
I wax and wane like crescent moon
Pulsating in the night.
Each day I further stray from You
And further from the light.

Dust gathers on the Holy Book,
The words that once brought life.
Now worldly vices bring me peace
In pleasure and in strife.

I once believed a God-shaped hole
Was buried in each man.
A vacuum only You could fill,
With Your almighty hand.

But then with wisdom and with time,
The scales fell from my eyes.
So many shapes that vacuum takes!
My sins of every size.

From sin to grace to sin again-
So many times I fell!
I wax and wane like crescent moon.
With my soul, is it well?
I have been away for too long
In a solitude, burried with remorse
For I've lost a very close loved one
And the situation got worse

I prayed to be taken away
For my life to end
As soon as possible
Coz nothing much was left to mend

Tears rolled down my cheeks
To stop the negative thoughts
Got taken back many times
To untie the invisible knots

Voices got into my ears
That ached to explode my temple
Closing my eyes eveytime
A picture painted, to resemble

It's you, O'mum...that I can't get over with
Life seems, more like a lego
Feelings that can't be put into words
Every bit pierces through the core

Your smile, your beauty, your essence
Has all been captured by this heart
Now, in troubled weak times
Another scene peeps as an art

How will I ever, comfort myself
That now I am all alone
None that are left by my side
All have fallen and gone

May your soul rest in peace
Exactly, a month today
Missing you heaps in this crowded shell
Hope to meet you, someday...

Voices from my weak heart.
tfel ot thgiR
ꓵbƨᴉdԍ doʍn
Misread signals and

a torn up note sitting at the bottom of a

It couldn’t have been me
An angsty teen,
a modern artist,
some idiot with a spray can
                                                           ­  I’ll never know
                                                            ­                      I only read
                                                                ­                        the writing on the

Late at night, I imagine
the taste of your mouth, me (i̢͢f͜͢ yò̶͢u҉͏ ̸n̡e̸v̛͏͡e͢҉r̨̨ ̴t͡ò̸͞úc̴͞h͜͡e͞d̨͢ ̵̢̕h͏͢͜e͝r̛͢͡)
counting the number of your teeth         (i̵͢f̛͝ ͞͞i͘͞ ̢͘ş͠a̶̵͜iḑ̡͘ ̶͜s͝ơm̴̕ę̀t̢̡̛h͠i̷ng͢͡)
with my tongue (i̷͝f̸͞ ̸y͏̶̕ou̷͘͜ ҉̨h̨͡a̴̧ḑ́
the way your breath would slow, down to a grumbling putter as sleep took you.                                                             ­              m̧͎͉̜̙̺͍͇̪̞̘͎̖̜͙̑̐̌̔͂̒̂̔̇̇ͦ͘͡e̷̽͒̅͊̽̅̀ͬ̿͛̋̄̔̐͂̚͠͏͇͖̪̼͙̠̙ )

And even though it isn’t me,
the tight, heady pain where your love should be
Brings me to sunrise, where I can bury
all of what should have been,
               like graffiti on a wall
                        In the place where my sleep will take me.
My best friend is leaving for college in two days. I had planned to confess my love to him with a small note before he left. During our last shift at work together, he told me a story about how he fooled around with a girl we knew. It kind of broke my heart. That day at work I got really upset and distant with him and he didn't know why. I was going to give him the note to clarify things, but eventually my managers ended up giving him a goodbye cake. He thought I had been acting weird because of the cake, so I smiled and said that was exactly why. Then I shredded up my confession and finished the shift. It made me so sad because there was a near year of me feeling like there was something between us. I could read it as clearly as if it had been written on a wall. But after that shift at work, I came home and asked myself if any of it had ever really been there. I guess this is what I came up with.
Rachna Pattnaik
She had a beautiful smile,
hiding many stories beneath.
Broken Cardinal
I found myself a spider
When I'd meant to spin a cocoon,
Tangled in my cautious web
First made to sway and soothe.
When I'd spun my silk around you,
And you writhed (why?) to break free,
My web once safe to tread on
Turned threaded trap to flee.
Though in rage, at last, I saved you
And flung the web around myself,
Eternally hugged in affection
Unrequited, in a shell.
I wanted to say "I love you", but alas now it is only a thing I can, and I must, tell myself.
I’m a little addicted
to your hand in mine
my body leaning against yours
and the soft smile you have
while staring into my eyes

I’m a little addicted
to being close to you
the sweet smell of your perfume
and the way you nudge me
when you want attention

I’m a little addicted
to holding you in my arms
your body so close to mine
and tracing words on your skin
i love you so much

I’m a little addicted
to you
maybe i’m more than a little addicted
Wk kortas
There’d been a factory here once,
Squat red brick structure
Suffused with too much noise and too little ventilation,
Built for the purpose of making typewriters,
Unwieldy, cacophonous clanking anachronisms
Whose time, like the town it occupied,
Had long since come and gone,
The only businesses on the sad little main drag
Being those shabby, tattered concerns
Which flower, improbable and cactus-like
At the intersection of the vagaries of memory
And the ascent of decay.

Nothing sits here now,
Simply an empty lot returning to Nature,
Although half-hearted attempts
To accelerate that process have not taken root,
As the soil, fouled by metal shavings, solvents,
And only God knows what else,
Has proved less than amenable
To anything save weedy shoots and scrubby boxwoods,
So it sits empty, impossible to build upon
(There is liability in every spike of crabgrass,
A potential lawsuit in every patch of clover)
And wholly impractical as parkland.
The firm which owned the site erected a fence
To keep whatever was in there in and everyone else out
(In their final addition of injury to insult,
The check they gave to the fencing company in payment
Bounced higher than a child’s rubber ball)
But a generation of winters and general inattention
Have left the chain-links a patchwork affair,
And though the “POSTED” signs remain
(Their original angry and officious red
Having faded to a benign maroon),
Enforcement of their edicts is spotty at best,
So we sit, unbothered and alone,
On an odd little mound at the back of the lot
As the dusk begins to take hold,
I, in an act of mad optimism, the peculiar positing
That there are good things yet to come,
Grab your hand, intertwining the fingers with mine.
Laura Duran
He loves me, he loves me not
We're meant to be, or so I thought
My heart is broken, the pain is real
I long for peace, from all I feel

I fake a smile, so no one knows
I mimic strength, lest weakness shows
I refuse surrender, I stand and fight
I must succeed, and so I write

The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart, and I can breathe again

Minutes into hours, hours into days
The love I held so tightly, starts to fade away
The pain begins to lessen, the tears no longer fall
Seemed misery was forever but it's not that way at all

Those nights you haunt my dreams
Are few and far between
When memories overtake me, I know I'll be alright
I know now what to do....and so I write

The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart and I can breathe again
Yes, I can breathe again.
galaxy of myths
My fingers crawl to
the loneliest place when I
want and miss you most.

V Exeter
Me: Hi, you! You're so wonderful!

Also Me: No, tis you who are the most wonderfullest.

Also, Also Me: You both are such real examples of the most fantastic, good hearted artist around. My love and God wishes.

Bystander #1: Does he/she/they know, that, we know?

Bystander #2: You know. . . I don't know. It could be 50/50.
This is the internet, after all.

Perfect place for microcosmic bubbles of grandeur.

Let's just burn it down. Who cares?

I'll set myself on fire, too.
They rate my intelligence
on a scale of 0 to 36
and decide what I deserve
for my future.
They don't care if I'm strong,
or if I can create things that cause a fire.
If I give my time to those who need me,
or if I really care about my success.
All they see is a set of numbers.
They didn't see me struggle
they didn't see how hard I worked,
they just take the number's word for it.
It doesn't matter if my friends constantly left me,
it doesn't matter if I lost myself along the way,
the number tells them the whole story.
The number shows them everything.
they never saw how many times I cried from exhaustion,
they never watched me as I fell to my knees
on the living room floor after countless long days.
They never heard me scream after feeling so much pain,
so much unbelievable pain.
Many people say, "It doesn't define you!
It's just a dumb test anyway,
and you will be fine either way."
if that's true, why does it still carry so much weight
that pushes us too many of us into this place
of insecurity and anxiety.
It doesn't seem fair
to give kids a test that's designed to point out BS.
It doesn't seem fair
that it costs so much money
in order to get the tools to succeed on a test
that "doesn't define you".
It doesn't seem fair
that a number decides your near future
of what school you're capable of going to.
It seems there is no other way
to weed out competition.
It's official.
Numbers speak louder than words.
This was kind of a rant because I hate the ACT :)
Eva Rushton
In my mind, I must walk
Alone and scared, I can not talk
About the crash that killed a kid
I tried to help, I really did
First on scene of that terrible sight
I cant forget that awful night.
People scream and yell at me
he's in the car, cant you see
The car is fully engulfed in flame
They curse at me, and me they blame
In my mind I know he's gone
But where's the driver, I must move on
I search the faces with the fires light
I yell above the horrific sight
Where's the driver is he alright
They point up towards the road
He's lying there, injured I'm told
I take to running up the hill
I know I'm moving , yet feel so still
My lungs are burning, my heart pounds hard
Of that night , my mind is scarred
I reach the driver, in pain he lays
Go help my buddy is all he can say
Unable to tell him the awful truth
for he still too is just a youth
His clothes are burnt into his skin
My tears start falling deep within
The ambulance is here , to my relief
Their time on scene is short and brief
I help them care and load this man
I try to help, I hold his hand
In my mind, I must walk
Alone and scared, I can not talk
About the crash that killed a kid
I tried to help, I really did

written by E.M.Rushton
This  fire call had left scared and now I am seeking help for what may be PTSD. Of my career in firefighting , this was the hardest call .
there are two ways of speaking.

the mother tongue of our nation of two.

we tell each other tales that all end the same,

myths of devotion,

made of words usually indistinct, incomprehensible

big cats purring

the syntax of lovers who love blindly.

the language of breathing.

spoken on my island with the rain forests

and yours with hills of pure white snow

to see you I cross the bridge blindfolded,

beneath the sea of silence

where the echoes of sound and meaning fade,

leaving two strangers

not even able to give each other names.
JL Smith
I sit down at my desk
Placing trust in these keys
My world comes alive
As blood surges through me

Every letter I punch
Each stanza I create
Transfers a piece of my heart
Across this paper--my stage

An audience who relates
Commending acts of my play,
But never a witness behind scenes
To an emotionally intoxicated Hemingway

For the performance you see
Is my truth and it takes toll,
But reliving memories while writing
Is worth touching my readers' beautiful souls

© JL Smith
                         ­    simply
Madison Smith
Not all depressed cut,
Not all sad shed tears,
Not all strong fight,
Not all monsters roar,
Not all young are innocent.
Some just work harder to maintain a mask.
We are here,
And you have reason to fear,
We are the best liars,
We can manipulate the greatest con artist without batting a single eyelash.
Watch out we are coming.
This is a dark and serious prom but that didn't change the fact that In was tempted to put "and we're queer" instead of " And you have reason to fear" lmao
Ashish Gaur
I close my eyes
To look into your eyes.
I take a deep breath
To savour your fragrance.

I dip my conscience
In the figment of your imagination.
I loose my senses
In the sparkles of your smile.

My heartbeat slows down
To the sound of your presence.
My world spins around
To be a part of your essence.

My soul resonates
With a gentle touch of your palm.
My spirit resuscitates
With a glimpse of your thought.

Tonight I swim
In the sea of your memories.
Tonight I surrender
In the world of your dreams.

Tonight I relive those moments
With you in my mind.
Tonight I let go of all doubts
With you by my side.
Another Bad Poem
it's official
it has been
a month

a whole,
wild month
but still a month

a month of
countless words
hundreds of views

though the question is
what is the point of this?
i've been here a month
and i'm still not sure

do i write here
just so
i have an outlet?
to get these feelings out?

am i here
to seek acceptance
to find people who feel like me
or who appreciate my thoughts?

am i just here
to feel wanted and understood
to hear praise and
watch my views climb?

is this a way for me
to say things to people
that i don't have the courage to say
in real life?

or am i here to help
diffuse my anger
and dull the pointed edges
of my soul
and try to put together
the shattered parts of me
by accepting them myself?
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