Tdaaries - Hello Poetry

am i the only one that feels that hellopoetry is no longer the platform I fell in love with some years ago....

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Apr 8, 2017

Apr 8, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC

am i the only one that feels that hellopoetry is no longer the platform I fell in love with some years ago....

Strike Gently on these Anvil-lips of mine, my Love. For I am not an easy metal to craft. Strike my lips with intent, my Love. For the soul of my being is fickle and difficult to grasp. Be Gentle with my lips, my Love. For the belong to you, Yet be cautious of them For they are not to be as jewels; put on display in your possession. Be soft with my lips, my Love. For they will not respond truly to the brutal touch of pure lust. Be passionate with my lips, my Love. For my soul is broken and earns to be reminded of beauty. Be yourself with my lips, my Love. For they enjoy the thrill-ride to being broken. Be True to my lips Love..... For their addiction to idealism has left me brokem before..... Be Cold to my lips, my Love. For my confidence is shattered and my insecurity demands incentive. Be kind to my lips, my Love. For they may have accumulated frost in the absence of yours. Be wary of my lips, my Love.. For they may wound you still! Be understanding of them, Love... For they love yours Strike Gently on these fragile lips of mine, my Love.... For they seek to be your Anvil

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Mar 19, 2017

Mar 19, 2017 at 3:05 AM UTC

Strike Gently, Love.

Strike Gently on these Anvil-lips of mine, my Love. For I am not an easy metal to craft. Strike my lips with intent, my Love. For the soul of my being is fickle and difficult to grasp. Be Gentle with my lips, my Love. For the belong to you, Yet be cautious of them For they are not to be as jewels; put on display in your possession. Be soft with my lips, my Love. For they will not respond truly to the brutal touch of pure lust. Be passionate with my lips, my Love. For my soul is broken and earns to be reminded of beauty. Be yourself with my lips, my Love. For they enjoy the thrill-ride to being broken. Be True to my lips Love..... For their addiction to idealism has left me brokem before..... Be Cold to my lips, my Love. For my confidence is shattered and my insecurity demands incentive. Be kind to my lips, my Love. For they may have accumulated frost in the absence of yours. Be wary of my lips, my Love.. For they may wound you still! Be understanding of them, Love... For they love yours Strike Gently on these fragile lips of mine, my Love.... For they seek to be your Anvil

26

It's raining And I Want You The rain makes me overly sentimental, adding its ten drops worth to my ocean... Nostalgia swells up; a monolithic wave of sadness and fractured memories The borders imposed on my heart rebounds the lapping tongues of melancholy and send them back towards the centre towards Me Me; the centre of my own world The Centre of my ocean Frail ratty rafts of values drift brokenly across my ocean The cracks in my character screech like strained metal; shouting at me that I'm sinking them I'm sinking the morals and values that merge to form Me Me; the centre of my own world The Centre of my ocean The aquatic depths house the monsters of my mind The Subconscious apparitions so large that a stirring of their serrated spines change the flow of my polluted basement of an ocean The flow of my subconcious stinks stagnantly It results in the drifting away of me from Me Me; the centre of my world The Centre of my ocean It's drizzling And I want you

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Nov 2, 2016

Nov 2, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC

Me; The Centre of my madness

It's raining And I Want You The rain makes me overly sentimental, adding its ten drops worth to my ocean... Nostalgia swells up; a monolithic wave of sadness and fractured memories The borders imposed on my heart rebounds the lapping tongues of melancholy and send them back towards the centre towards Me Me; the centre of my own world The Centre of my ocean Frail ratty rafts of values drift brokenly across my ocean The cracks in my character screech like strained metal; shouting at me that I'm sinking them I'm sinking the morals and values that merge to form Me Me; the centre of my own world The Centre of my ocean The aquatic depths house the monsters of my mind The Subconscious apparitions so large that a stirring of their serrated spines change the flow of my polluted basement of an ocean The flow of my subconcious stinks stagnantly It results in the drifting away of me from Me Me; the centre of my world The Centre of my ocean It's drizzling And I want you

23

There is always somebody taller...somebody darker, more mysterious, better body, better kisser... "Where do I fall short?" You ask yourself a hundred times. "Wherr is it that I was not good enough for you?" You shout to the Angels, to heaven, to God, to nothingness. You shput because 1: you hope that maybe she will hear you and 2: Emotions such as this just aren't compatible with a calm quite and civil voice. You shout because a whisper cannot properly contain the pain you feel. A cup cannot hold the water destined for a jug. Then, when nothing shouts back, you liquify your pain...condense your emotions into tears and pour them into a chamber in your heart labelled: Heartache. Unfortunately that room is broken...Unfortunately that room leaks. And despite all your 'manly' efforts to not let your emotions betray you, the tears leak out of your hands and onto a page, into a poem, onto a painting, interwoven into a drawing. Art depicting the day you heal; a distant dream... And as long as your hands are more porous than your eyes you shall never heal. As long as your eyes remain painfully Dry and your smile sincerely deceptive you shall never heal. So you wait...You wait till your pencils become blunt and your brushes obsolete. You wait until the emotion pushes against your being do violently a smile seems to tear into your very reasons for living. You wait until happiness seems a dream. And you know that these emotions are not meant to be within you... a cup cannot hold the water destined for a jug yet you hold what you know is not meant for you. So you collapse... physically, emotionally, mentally and in every conceivable way...You collapse. You break. You become a shell, a shdow of the man you used to be as the sluices in your eyes finally open and you cry. Your pain cascades down your face and mixed in between the heartwrenching sobs and the muffled choking you find a new emotion. One you've never felt before. Yet you know that it was there all along, waiting to be released. And as the personified memory of her swaying figure walking away from you appears so does the emotion. Written, nay, Burned in big red letters above her shrinking figure. ABANDONED! And you snap! A broken man snaps. He cries now more viciously than ever before. He stumbles to the cupboard to get a drink and proceeds to drink until those painful red letters disappear in a haze of inebriation. In a drunken stupour you grab the word and wrestle it into submission. You chuck the cursed word into another chamber in your heart labelled: Latet. Meanwhile the jagged A split your skin. The pitiless B ripped open your muscles. The cursed word is subdued, but not defeated. The cursed word left you with wounds and they are clear to the world around you. They expose/subject you to humiliation...To cruelty...To despair...... And all of this caused by a single girl. A girl who...Did not mean to hurt you. She did not mean to break you. Yet you sit on the floor, the wine mixing with angry mutterings of how much you miss her. Then you cry. Again. But this time you heal. This time the tears flow into the cracks in your soul and convince you that you'll be okay. They convince you that there will be a better day after this...That one day you will find the girl that will have another word burned above her head as she walks towards you.... LOVE

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Sep 7, 2016

Sep 7, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC

To Elize.... You broke my heart

There is always somebody taller...somebody darker, more mysterious, better body, better kisser... "Where do I fall short?" You ask yourself a hundred times. "Wherr is it that I was not good enough for you?" You shout to the Angels, to heaven, to God, to nothingness. You shput because 1: you hope that maybe she will hear you and 2: Emotions such as this just aren't compatible with a calm quite and civil voice. You shout because a whisper cannot properly contain the pain you feel. A cup cannot hold the water destined for a jug. Then, when nothing shouts back, you liquify your pain...condense your emotions into tears and pour them into a chamber in your heart labelled: Heartache. Unfortunately that room is broken...Unfortunately that room leaks. And despite all your 'manly' efforts to not let your emotions betray you, the tears leak out of your hands and onto a page, into a poem, onto a painting, interwoven into a drawing. Art depicting the day you heal; a distant dream... And as long as your hands are more porous than your eyes you shall never heal. As long as your eyes remain painfully Dry and your smile sincerely deceptive you shall never heal. So you wait...You wait till your pencils become blunt and your brushes obsolete. You wait until the emotion pushes against your being do violently a smile seems to tear into your very reasons for living. You wait until happiness seems a dream. And you know that these emotions are not meant to be within you... a cup cannot hold the water destined for a jug yet you hold what you know is not meant for you. So you collapse... physically, emotionally, mentally and in every conceivable way...You collapse. You break. You become a shell, a shdow of the man you used to be as the sluices in your eyes finally open and you cry. Your pain cascades down your face and mixed in between the heartwrenching sobs and the muffled choking you find a new emotion. One you've never felt before. Yet you know that it was there all along, waiting to be released. And as the personified memory of her swaying figure walking away from you appears so does the emotion. Written, nay, Burned in big red letters above her shrinking figure. ABANDONED! And you snap! A broken man snaps. He cries now more viciously than ever before. He stumbles to the cupboard to get a drink and proceeds to drink until those painful red letters disappear in a haze of inebriation. In a drunken stupour you grab the word and wrestle it into submission. You chuck the cursed word into another chamber in your heart labelled: Latet. Meanwhile the jagged A split your skin. The pitiless B ripped open your muscles. The cursed word is subdued, but not defeated. The cursed word left you with wounds and they are clear to the world around you. They expose/subject you to humiliation...To cruelty...To despair...... And all of this caused by a single girl. A girl who...Did not mean to hurt you. She did not mean to break you. Yet you sit on the floor, the wine mixing with angry mutterings of how much you miss her. Then you cry. Again. But this time you heal. This time the tears flow into the cracks in your soul and convince you that you'll be okay. They convince you that there will be a better day after this...That one day you will find the girl that will have another word burned above her head as she walks towards you.... LOVE

8

She choose the wrong ******* guy.. And the right guy is sitting right here....his hands cut and sliced from the shattered pieces of his heart that crumble in his palms He doesn't seem to comprehend yet....that his heart is broken That his pitiful attempts to put it back together only results in his blood spilling His soul spilling His life spilling

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Aug 27, 2016

Aug 27, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC

the right guy

She choose the wrong ******* guy.. And the right guy is sitting right here....his hands cut and sliced from the shattered pieces of his heart that crumble in his palms He doesn't seem to comprehend yet....that his heart is broken That his pitiful attempts to put it back together only results in his blood spilling His soul spilling His life spilling

6

If you were any other girl I wouldn't be sitting on the floor Beating my emotions till their blood forms the body of my writings If you were any other girl These drunk thoughts that stumble around my head wouldn't **** on my dignity because I wouldn't hate myself for not being good enough for you Never being good enough For you If you were any other girl my heart's wrist wouldn't bleed after I embarrassed myself in my eyes in front of yours If you were any other girl The chamber in my heart labelled "later" wouldn't be overflowing Each twisted emotion screaming for my blood...your love If you were any other girl I would be drunk now But I am not because you...I cannot understand you when I've drunken myself into pitiful inebriation

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Aug 20, 2016

Aug 20, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC

If you were Any... other girl

If you were any other girl I wouldn't be sitting on the floor Beating my emotions till their blood forms the body of my writings If you were any other girl These drunk thoughts that stumble around my head wouldn't **** on my dignity because I wouldn't hate myself for not being good enough for you Never being good enough For you If you were any other girl my heart's wrist wouldn't bleed after I embarrassed myself in my eyes in front of yours If you were any other girl The chamber in my heart labelled "later" wouldn't be overflowing Each twisted emotion screaming for my blood...your love If you were any other girl I would be drunk now But I am not because you...I cannot understand you when I've drunken myself into pitiful inebriation

13

Our little forest still stands. That day...You told me that the best way to make a decision was to flip a coin....because in mid air you know exactly what you want. So I took that ten cent and I said that if it was heads then I'd kiss you...and that tails would leave us sitting there awkwardly I flipped it and as the coin spun recklessly the racing airborne revolutions synchronised with my insistent heartbeat....and I kissed you, I swear I saw bright explosions as I experienced the softness of your lips on mine You took the 10 cent coin and we Both kissed it then despite my disbelieving protests you threw it into the slithering undergrowth....never to be seen again From that day on....we called it 10 cent Forest And if I could go back I wouldn't change a thing...except maybe.......use a 5 Rand coin....Maybe if i did that then it would have been worth more than a single ******* kiss Maybe then it would have meant more than a pitiful...fucking kiss Maybe then you wouldn't have ******* discarded what it meant, like a failed artwork, for a luckier-than-he-knows 'Player'

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Aug 18, 2016

Aug 18, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC

10 cent forest

Our little forest still stands. That day...You told me that the best way to make a decision was to flip a coin....because in mid air you know exactly what you want. So I took that ten cent and I said that if it was heads then I'd kiss you...and that tails would leave us sitting there awkwardly I flipped it and as the coin spun recklessly the racing airborne revolutions synchronised with my insistent heartbeat....and I kissed you, I swear I saw bright explosions as I experienced the softness of your lips on mine You took the 10 cent coin and we Both kissed it then despite my disbelieving protests you threw it into the slithering undergrowth....never to be seen again From that day on....we called it 10 cent Forest And if I could go back I wouldn't change a thing...except maybe.......use a 5 Rand coin....Maybe if i did that then it would have been worth more than a single ******* kiss Maybe then it would have meant more than a pitiful...fucking kiss Maybe then you wouldn't have ******* discarded what it meant, like a failed artwork, for a luckier-than-he-knows 'Player'

9

And as I attempt to adjust to breathing without air I realize that it was never about me. For you... It was all about you. Just like my art

0

Aug 18, 2016

Aug 18, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC

learning to live without you

And as I attempt to adjust to breathing without air I realize that it was never about me. For you... It was all about you. Just like my art

1

I'm sitting alone The half dead fire struggling to breath again a half empty bottle of water; not enough to **** it... It's flames start once again...but small Like tiny faeries dancing across the face of the embers hoping to let their passion ignite the memories of past The faeries grow and as their brilliant vibrant life comes to an abrupt but equally gorgeous end they are consumed by young saplings of fire Their children consume them as roots of coal give rise to stems of life..... Fire-like life Vicious...short...abrupt...extreme Each flame- when slowed to accommodate our laborious minds- lives a life more vibrant than ours A sizzle from the evaporating water heralds the arrival of a beautiful spire of intense heat It burns....brighter than the sun but only for a millisecond... Then...It dies... And so does its comrades... Until now... one solitary veteran remains... He will not die He will not wink out of eternal existence He ensures that his memory is maintained by the life he leaves behind for new flame to arise Like a phoenix incarnate the fire Roars! but only in a whisper For this fire has seen it's end Now Only the sad memories of orange-red embers remain hidden amongst the ashes Soon the ashes will smother the remnanats of a once brilliant life The fire: destroyed by its own product It is no more It's brilliance....eradicated... I remember. I rember your Brilliance.

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Aug 7, 2016

Aug 7, 2016 at 9:31 AM UTC

burn bright... nothing remains in this desolate heart

I'm sitting alone The half dead fire struggling to breath again a half empty bottle of water; not enough to **** it... It's flames start once again...but small Like tiny faeries dancing across the face of the embers hoping to let their passion ignite the memories of past The faeries grow and as their brilliant vibrant life comes to an abrupt but equally gorgeous end they are consumed by young saplings of fire Their children consume them as roots of coal give rise to stems of life..... Fire-like life Vicious...short...abrupt...extreme Each flame- when slowed to accommodate our laborious minds- lives a life more vibrant than ours A sizzle from the evaporating water heralds the arrival of a beautiful spire of intense heat It burns....brighter than the sun but only for a millisecond... Then...It dies... And so does its comrades... Until now... one solitary veteran remains... He will not die He will not wink out of eternal existence He ensures that his memory is maintained by the life he leaves behind for new flame to arise Like a phoenix incarnate the fire Roars! but only in a whisper For this fire has seen it's end Now Only the sad memories of orange-red embers remain hidden amongst the ashes Soon the ashes will smother the remnanats of a once brilliant life The fire: destroyed by its own product It is no more It's brilliance....eradicated... I remember. I rember your Brilliance.

26

A memory of a man Suspended from the coarse necklace; a punishment for his sin. Motionless weight, dead weight. Silky tufts of trembling silvery hair; The only sign of life's abandonment. Gently as the blissful breeze blows it's protest- An empty gesture of grace- His once young locks...revitalised. A thought; even a pitiful gale would fail to summon but the swaying of a blue headed pale bodied dead man.

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Jun 27, 2016

Jun 27, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC

The Futility of Attachment

A memory of a man Suspended from the coarse necklace; a punishment for his sin. Motionless weight, dead weight. Silky tufts of trembling silvery hair; The only sign of life's abandonment. Gently as the blissful breeze blows it's protest- An empty gesture of grace- His once young locks...revitalised. A thought; even a pitiful gale would fail to summon but the swaying of a blue headed pale bodied dead man.

9