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sarah s

its almost that time
packing up my bags and changing the pace that life has
naturally chosen just
for me
i do not move with the wind
instead i create it
and hope that another soul
will someday
feel it

Still Crazy

you cannot amend reality by passing a law.
if we could, then we should have one requiring society to
guarantee a happy childhood.

every damn time I propose to myself a resolution
that I am an ok poet, I stumble on to a poet here
of whom I was unaware, and you were, correctly aware,
that brings a good light into the world,
vowing to throw in the towel,
the I'm ok resolution never passes,
voted down 2 - 1;
Against:  Myself, I
In Favor: Me
which necessitates try try again
Einstein's Insanity Theorem fool

Exclaim! what a goodly word.  
If we ex'd our claims (need, due, want) more,
walking in quiet contemplation,
we could climb on our roof (I can) and proclaim (silently)
glory glory hallelujah and it would not matter to
whom  (which diety)
we are

Outstanding! what a goodly word.
If I could satisfy the claims against me outstanding,
still unsatisfied, while I am yet among the living,
especially the one that are self-propelled,
that would be

I would rather the simple monetary motived corruption
of a dishonest businessman, than the cowardly silence
of the fools we elect to govern us, and gravely pretend
to know what is good for us. I call this,
My Theory of the Greater Corruption.

Word Salad: making crazy combinations of words,
i.e. eggplant smile,  vegteable sunrise etc.
hell, I just can't make any up,
it is
cheap and lazy crafty no craftsmanship, craftwomanship
but very self/satisfying and tasty too,  I'm sure,
and authentic 100%  b.s.

The apocalypse is always nigh.
Ironically, very true.
Let's keep it that way.
neigh neigh neigh.

I write many more words than I speak;  
by a very wide margin;
this pleases me,
by a very wide margin.

(yes, it is a real word) and
rhyme because they both end in

In heaven, the following are outlawed:
yoga, exercise, dieting, crying; denying and lying.  
the latter obviate the former.
glory glory hallelujah and hot damn

4/18/17 2:43am

Wren Myers

When life get tough,
and times get hard,
there's just one thing to do.
Take a breath, do not stress.
Put your faith in the Lord.
And he will help you.

You are the king who broke my chains.
You are the one who reigns.
You find the lost and make them found.
There is no cost, just trust in him.


A friend helped me with this one. Bunches you of love!! ❤️❤️

Theres a reason I hate
And every damn living
On this damn planet
Fck you for playing me
Fck you for wasting my
And fck you for existing
Today I choose to die
Because "I lost it all".
But I think the better
Term is
"I never had anything"

I don't carry hope
On my shoulders.
I carry the reality.
David Boff

words at most
are sign posts
never touching
what's real
minds watching
yearning to feel
and at least
the beasts
of burden
I'm sorry
i beg your pardon
i didn't mean those words
that cut to the bone
the words said in anguish
the words that you moan
love has its own language
that communicates by touch
you speak to me
you tell me so much
the words I weave
are a cry for help
please don't leave
this is what I felt
fault lines through and through
cracks in my sentences
words no longer the glue
the endless relentlessness
of thoughts
circling like sharks
they haunt
my deepest parts
the weakest heart
pumping out words
of dread
this is what I said
you said
the words that line our bed
sleeping on novels
we are apostles
of language
tell me how you manage
all your words
how do you discard them
with such ease
no gratitude
no need
your smile
sells more
empty words
than I could ever write
I'm never right
how could I be
when words are all I see
so please
use your lips
to silence my sentences
wrap your tongue
around my words
i promise you some
you've never heard.

words words words
what are they for
I don't want words
I want something more
Keith Faherty

sharing a subway car with neonazis
i hesitate-
having gotten out of work early for the first time
in a long time;
one ear left uncovered by the wireless headphones. on
the opposite side
the old man in the body cast and crutches
the young man., ,fat and bald.
talking about sin.
and what its like to be irish-catholic
in a boston that doesn't recognize them as god any more.

,covers the other ear after a few minutes to hear the full sound profile of my song/
i have decided that they have forfeit
their privilege to live

Nat Lipstadt

grew my hair too long, watched it get cut and
all the snippets
fell to the floor,
decided my hair had not been
long enough
started all over again,
longer longer deeper longer,
pasting the snippets together
hoping the parts are greater than the
hole I am forever filling with
Haagen Daz vanilla buttermilk,
wise choices of words,
the satisfactory completion
of finishing and the joyous anticipatory
of starting all over again

undecided if today will be
a day where I tend my love, or,
need more being attended to

every poem I every writ
is just a
snip snip snip
of instant instances seconds capsulated
that run on into one long sentence my
gorgeous blonde 5th grade teacher, who had a crush on me,
(and vice versa)
would red ink wink critique as a
run on sentence and I could not agree more

snip snip snip
becomes a life
of one run on sentence to living larger and longer,
want a becoming life,
life becoming comely,
only commas and no periods,

exhausting the indecision of living
so pasting snippets seems more manageable
but not so much fun, indeed, in deed,
too much damn work, this cutting and pasting,
so gonna give you the rough and tumble of my words
as they pour out and as long as they keep coming back,
I'll keep on pouring and goddamn and godpraise
this word well that runs dry never

my poems are not too long -
if you have learned to taste wisely -
how to taste gloriously languorously language

my poems are not too long,
life is too short to leave all these
demoted spaces of empty,
in between the raging and the loving,
the aching, fretting and the heaven sending thrills
of thanking the powers to be for everything
I got blessed with,
even my curses are just the flip side of

snip snip snip

so much from just one cup of coffee

six minutes of Aug 13, 2016 life, something you might call a
snip snip snip


If Love is a disease
then I'm very sick
but incredibly happy....

Noddy Ueland

I've always loved apples.
The thrill of a fresh one
Tickling my taste buds
Waking me up
Making me moan.

But I've always been weak
Falling for temptation
and whispers of proposals;
maybe you should try that one

Foolish like women of ivory skin
And ebony hair
My red lips touch the flesh  
Fueling my body with it's poison
Turning everything dark.

I awoke today
Turned around
And faced the pip of forbidden fruit
The snakes are laughing
And I'm waiting to be locked out of Paradise.

I've always loved apples.

Amanda Shelton

I am not heartless,
life just taught me
to use my heart less.

I don’t always allow my heart
to make choices for me.

Life is saddened by love,
because when those
you care about die,
it hurts more than
if they were a stranger.

That’s why I always say,
love is not a happy journey
where the sun always shines.

It can be a barren landscape
wasting away with fattened pigs,
and chickens who lost their feathers.

Love can burn like the hot sun
in the Mojave Desert.

It can drink your blood
until you’re ready to pop.
Leaving you to die
from a broken heart.

© 2017 Amanda Shelton


when i fall,
i don't just fall in love.
clumsily, i stumble
down and then i land

awkwardly and graceless,
stuttering utterly at the foot
of a handsome man,

blundering an apology
out of breath, ineptly
embarrassed about
my shaky hands,

to dust myself off,
all the while, i try,
desperately, to stand

wishing i could disappear,
i rise as quickly as i can
waving off any helping hand

so he doesn't see
how incredibly stupid
i must be


The moment when
you stopped saying
"I love you"
is the moment when
I stopped sleeping.

And I've never been this sleepless before.
Farah Hanani

A guy like Chris Martin
Whom express the beautiful words about life
When you tried your best but you didn't succeed
Life is like a gambling
You failed, you fail.
You succeeded, you succeed
A guy like Ed Sheeran
Whom write about love song
Like nobody is perfect
But at least when you have met the love of your life
Find a soft spot that never ages
Which is heart
Truly genuine heart that can mingle with your heart
Cause when nothing is left around you, you will always his/heart
And you can set it into a photograph ---

Just lil about how chris martin and ed effected in my life. And i thank them for those beautiful words cause it calmed my heart whenever i have troubles.
Joshua Haines

Conservatives cannot admit
that the White Nationalists were wrong
"But what about Black Lives Matter.
But what about the Alt-Left.
But what about what Fox News said.
But what about what our fucking cartoon of a president said."

Think for yourself.
You are feeling bad for Neo-Nazis.
They killed people.
They have a history of killing people.
They would kill everyone that isn't white.

This country has become disgusting.
A large portion is defending the actions of terrorists.
White Nationalists, ISIS--
They are, literally, the same.

You cannot be peaceful
when it comes to Nazis.
By sympathizing with them,
you are condoning them and creating more.
The only good Nazi is a dead Nazi.
Be a fucking person,
think for yourself,
recognize true evil
when you see it,
you brainwashed fucks.

Suraja chauthi

she was runnin'  out of luck
and then he happened to her..



I remember the bed I laid beside you in,.
You slept like an angel on a cloud,.
I lie awake, restless and enthralled,.
Your beauty and love I can't afford to miss,.
Every sleeping moment is a moment without you,.
Now irony grasps me and I only see you in my dreams,.
Tracing your cheeks with my fingers,.
Etching memories into my mind,.
In case you choose to leave me behind,.
Soon the sun will rise and we must impart graces,.
Until we embrace again,.
or I could fuck it all up,.
Tear the bed into shreds,.
And lie in the aftermath,.
Tears and fear stream the contours of your beautiful woeful face,.
Embed themselves onto your dimples,.
When history repeats itself and remains true,.
To break the cycle is paramount,.
The apex of my life,.
Let me get it right,.
Ill stay awake,.
When you go to sleep in the annals of the night,.,.,.,


He was the moon
She was the sun
Yet they both waited patiently
when they might see each other


my sheets know your secrets
my pillows, your thoughts
my blanket misses your warmth
and i,
i miss your touch

Silver Dye

You are the love that came without warning.
It was almost pure
the way you unfolded my mind,
an origami flower
frozen in winter.

You left wrinkles
in my paper heart.
And I am softer from having loved you.

Máteùš Izydor

when it rains,
i sometimes stick my
arm outside
the confines of my room,
close my eyes,
and try counting
the number of kisses
the rain makes
with my outstreched arm;
i never keep count,
i just keep thinking
of the attiring
trees and other plants
with my own,
inverted set of lungs.

Debbie Chelsea

You walked into the room
and now my heart's been stolen.
You smiled at her and now
my heart is broken.

But, you're still the one I want..
and I knew it from the very first moment.
You were the one I talk about
in all my stories.

I wish you knew me first
and maybe we would have been.
I know I should let you go
but it's hard to open these clenched hands.

Can I be her?

inspired by James Arthur's song , Can I Be Him

I wished
I could look into your mesmerizing eyes
and see your bright warm smile in person
instead of interpreting it in a text message.
To hear the words uttered from your soft lips, unfiltered.
And not as a digital voice through my phone that I'm trying to listen to with my headphones to intensify the sound.
To feel your presence, to touch your body with my own hands
Instead of plainly touching you with my words.
To smell your perfume on you
Instead of keeping a bottle with the liquid in my closet.
I wished my senses were attuned to you in distance...


To Whom It May Concern:

Don't you hate when letters start that way?  
It's so impersonal, almost insulting
that the person writing wouldn't bother to address it to you personally.


To my friends:

I didn't leave you.  I simply don't write very much anymore.
Most of my posts are re-posts.  I post to keep the likes coming in;
and sometimes an older poem becomes relevant again, but I don't think older poets do, at least not in my case.  And, relevance is something a writer should strive to be.

Whatever motivation I started with is gone and has been for quite some time.  It has been fun, though and I've learned a lot from each of you.  Life, I guess just gets in the way and right now life is blocking all of my pathways.

If I can offer any advice it would be just this, write as long as you love it, then find something else and love it just as much.

Hopefully, I will find some inspiration from time to time. And, please, if I'm not here very much, don't think I've abandoned you.

See you in the funny papers.

Not gone, just trying to get organized

Lately I've been homesick
For the girl I used to be
Im in the same place with the same people
But the loneliness lays in me
I'm a hopeless romantic who's found love
Yet my heart has been ripped from my sleeve
Deep down, all the things I used to cherish have been shoved
The crazy, tea-drinking, book-reading girl is who I grieve
I'm a mere skeleton of the free spirit I was
I've been chasing a warm cozy feeling but it was never retrieved
For the home I've been feeling for is inside of me
My life may be onto better things but still I reminisce
For the girl who would so simply find bliss
My problems have been solved
So why does it hurt?
Maybe it's time
I put my heart back out onto my shirt

Stu Harley

Origami clouds
Paper moon

w y n n e

is it okay to miss him the moment he looked away?


I've always been a hot ass mess

Since a little girl, I could go in between
Worlds, it seemed, I could
Come and be.
And then be gone.
Lost on some distant thought,
Some memory.
Some place other than where I should be.
Places other than here.
Dreaming of how those places would feel,
How they should feel.
Because those places were real.
Painful places, where I can barely see through
My tears.
My own painful past.
Those moments that make looking at
Myself in the mirror a task.
Each time I ask, how much of a fraud
Are you still being?
How much will be seen through your
How many will know the secrets,
The pain. Those moments
Where you wonder if it's worth it.

We all have it.
This fraudulence.
It's why we struggle to trust someone new.
Why after so many days of living
In fraudulent ways, we become leary
Of the depths of another's secrets.

We feel it.
We feel the pain.
It lingers above us.
I can see it up there.
The new world explorers truth,
This digging in of this blackened sac,
The massaging of the cramps.
Digging in, releasing some pain,
Massaging the gaps away.

I smile during it, embrace the Orgasmic birth.
My smile has lasted it.
My own fraudulence.
It persisted it.
Overgrew it.
Proved it untrue.
Proved to my self I am worthy of my smile.
Proved it feels good.
It feels good to embrace my whole self,
And honestly
There'll always be some parts I must
I drop in gratitude for the chance
To grow.
To search farther in my self,
And discover more.
Confirm to my soul I am up for this.

Press out from within.
My own healing additions,
The steps I see through my
Own hot ass messiness. ..
It helps me see it in you.
In all of us... across stretches of land
And beliefs and whatever is between us.
I can see, we're all
Just in a hot ass mess,
Bubbling with the opportunity
To heal.
It's what created us.
A new ripple of time, manifested to serve us,
To walk us home, back to that loving breast.
Kneeling to our Self.

To our hot mess selves,
Bleeding on the toilet,
Wondering when this stops.


My eyes don’t shut
It’s as if they are glued open 24 hours a day
My brain doesn’t shut up
If it was a person, it would speak all day
I try to count some sheep
But my eyes never seem to sleep
So ill just sit back, relax
and stay an insomniac


If poetry is art
I am a fake
cutting pieces of my thoughts
into spaced stanzas

that isn't art
it is anarchy
without a cause
but then,
who is going to stop me
from calling them poems.


Alexa Sangren

can't fight
your only
is your
and you
have no
for your


Sitting silently
by the
old willow tree,
I heard a knocking
through the thick,
rustic bark.

My thoughts drifted,
thawing the frigid
quiet in my mind.
For there was naught behind,
nor in front,
of the old willow tree.

"What could it be,"
my mind asked me.
"And from where is it coming from?"
And then, from above,
there was a deep, low hum.
A light flashed, and I was

Sophia Sacal

Tell me, love—

How many more poems
Do I have to write before
you realize that it is
you I write about?

How many more lines
Describing your stormy gray eyes,
Your heart-shaped lips—
Those lips my body is aching
To kiss?  

How many more meaningful looks and
Stolen sidelong glances
Before you look into my eyes
And see the love that has glazed them over?  

How many more times
Do I have to see your hand
Interlaced with someone else’s
Before you realize mine has been open,
Waiting for yours all along?

How many more unsent texts
At midnight when I can’t sleep
And all I need is you?

How much more, my love?
I’m afraid I cannot wait any longer.
Love is a monster tearing at my heart,
Soon to destroy me if I have to see you
With him once more.

William Marr

I don't know why I write poetry
all I know is that writing poetry makes me rich
enjoying -- not possessing
the ever-expanding universe
without fear of inflation

in the sky --
white clouds
singing larks
whispering wind
the tender moon and twinkling stars

on the ground--
mountains hills plains gullies
lush green red brown yellow
oceans streams lakes ponds
splashing gurgling burbling
the blooming flowers
the vacillating leaves
children's innocent laughter
cats dogs chickens ducks birds
jumping chasing croaking singing
all are parts of my life's fortune

of course, there too are
ferocious dark clouds
harrying eagles
howling storms
withering flowers
roaring guns
and piercing screams
the shadows that lend dimension
to poetry and life

In fact, I don't write poetry
poetry writes me

Donna Bella

The cleansing of my soul
The cleansing of my heart
Water pure as light
Cleansed my hurt today
I submitted my demons to the shrine today
I bowed to surrender them all
To be clean again
To live free again
To not feel the hurt that I felt yesterday
The cleansing of my soul


I want to meet the world
Travel it without holding bars
I want to be free of fear
Walk without worrying of a single tear

I want to be in places I've never been
For once, I want to think that I can win
I want to get rid of my sense of responsibility
To just be out there embracing uncertainty

I know that life should be fun
and I feel depressed and tired, sometimes
Caressed by anxiety
I guess, it's my destiny

I feel so old but unaccomplished
I feel so tired for everything in my life feels unfinished
I feel cold and lonely
Those two things that are clear in my destiny

I, sometimes, want to be someone else
Just to get rid of the routinary
I wish to feel nothing
I hope to have something else that is soothing

What else do I need to do?
What else is there for me?
Many things I want to do
Always hindered by so many dues

I want to go outside
Meet new people
Be in places where no one knows me
Just, maybe, for once, I could be me

I want to be playful
I want to be free
I want to be out of responsibilities
Life is tiring, and the world is domineering

What do I need to do to fulfill it?
I feel nothing, but loneliness.
When was the last time I felt happy?
My life has been nothing, but lonely.

Will I die just like this?
Everything that life has to offer is missed.
Every chance I get is nothing more than a regret
Every chance I take is nothing by hardships and consequences

I should be happy that I'm not in the shoes of someone else
But my version of loneliness is this
I don't want to care so much of the world anymore
I, for once, want to walk with no purpose

My life has always been with a goal
I get frustrated because everything has been so hard to achieve
I get so tired of living with a purpose
Why do I care so much of everything that surrounds me?

If I have a choice, I want to be careless
Leave everything and everyone in my life helpless
Tactless of all the people around me
Maybe, that's the reason, why I feel stressed and left out.

August 17 2017
Rebel Heart

You say I'm running from myself
I guess you're right
Maybe I am
All I know is that the reason
I hear my heartbeat so clearly
Is because my chest is hollow

I am made up of layers
Too many layers
As if my skin
Was preparing to survive
Out in dead winter at the South Pole

I'm a coward
  I'm distrustful

    I'm stubborn
       And I'm doubtful

           And secretive

Maybe downright manipulative

   But most of all I'm exhausted

Exhausted of the nothingness
   That I float around in
Exhausted of everything
  That comes and goes
    Ensuring chaos
Exhausted of everything and nothing
  And all things in between
         Exhausted of

Too tired to live too important to die, guess the story keeps repeating doesn't it? Even if you don't think you're important. Well this may be my last week helping RH upload more of her poetry on here and this poetry community has been amazing. Maybe I'll look into opening my own account.... I can only hope my words touch as many lives as RH's words do. Until then, enjoy ~BM

(You guys helped do it again! Front page 8/14/17)

Have crossed so many imaginations
But never had this

Why I had that today ??

As a mother of 21 yr girl
Who feels proud about herself
For her motherly love !!

Ha ha !! Unique
Not to me
But its me

Could you trace
What I mean ??
Kay Ireland

There's piss on the floor of the Blue Line.
It's one in the afternoon,

This is the poetry
I don't like writing.

About the Fight Club anarchism
without the sense of purpose.

I watch a man cry
over a woman's leftover Chipotle.

Eight feet away:
the passage of pills between palms.
I don't know the contents
any better than they do.

I keep my blind eye
and loose change.

I keep my middle class pride
safe for another day.


I told you I would die
Just to keep you alive
But you kissed me goodbye
And died so I'd survive

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)


Why did you
message me
call me
meet me
fuck me
if you had another
waiting for you
yearning for you
caring for you
loving you

We were done
We were the past
Not the present
Not the future

Why did you
make up lies
distort the view
paint a false picture
your "man"
unclaimed man
poor man
innocent man
for over a year?

That gentle creature didn't deserve this.
Because of you, guilt won't silence its rage in me.

He worshiped your essence. He dreamt of today's and tomorrow's with you. You lied about him, as if he was a terrible guy. You pretended to be single just because you were ignoring him while he fought for you. You cheated on him with me. I feel like filth.
Shibu Varkey

When my heart hears, what for it longs
It would know, tho' I know not.
The words in which it yearns to hear
It would know, tho' I know not.
Ask it I do, so often when lone
Yet reveals it not it's long desire,
Tells me be still, some day you'll know.

When my heart feels, what for it longs
It would know, tho' I know not.
The sense in which it yearns to feel
It sure would know, tho' I know not.
Scent from your hair so near my face,
Yet heart tells be still, some day you'll know.

When my heart longs for what it longs
It sure does know, and I know too.
The searing heat of love's desire
It sure does know and so do I
Prisoner of hope, me, my heart calls,
Her words, her Scent, her feelings all,
Be still for, that day you'll know.

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