Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Nothing can compare
To a soul as beautiful
as yours.

Not all of the stars
in the endless universes
towering above our reach.

Not every flower bursting
with a life so pure
beneath our feet.

Not a single golden ring
or a diamond or jewel
buried in the dirt.

Not even all of the love
gathered in every friend I've known
combined as one.

Not a single word
read in any book
taken from every library on this earth.

Not a song, nor a bird
A story, a kiss
A place, a jump
A lover, or a home.

Not one magnificence
I have ever laid eyes upon
Will ever compare to you.
For anyone who's ever felt like they're nothing
"come down the country with me tomorrow,
we can drive for hours and only hear the open road"
his hat on his head, the only hat he had.

"come down the country with me tomorrow,
ill show ye the land and tell you stories unknown"
his shoulders shrugging, the way they always do.
 Aug 2014 A C Leuavacant
aar505n
I told you not to worry,
emotions can be blurry.
But telling you to be positive,
isn't effective.
If I want to be supportive,
I need to see from your perspective
But that is easier said than done.

Maybe we could meditate,
concentrate and exfoliate our minds.
Isolate the bad,
separate it from the good.
Don't let it suffocate us,
but learn to tolerate it.
Let it educate us,
so we my learn to appreciate again.
But that is easier said than done.
interpret what you will!
comments/criticism welcomed
O come and sing,
Sing with me.
Sing with me,
Our age old plea:

"Tomorrow I will be free,
Tomorrow I will be
Me".
I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
    oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with
    themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,
    neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer
    of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be
    hid—I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and
    prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who
    shall be ****’d, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
    laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these—All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out
    upon,
See, hear, and am silent.
Homophobia is not funny.

Care to hear what is?

The wrenching fear boring holes in your best friend’s once bright eyes
every Thursday afternoon, when she must enter a changing room filled with hostile glares

The violent purple bruise re-emerging beneath your brother’s left eye
the same bruise he told your mother about three weeks ago
that he’d “gotten in a rugby accident”

The gnawing feeling of loneliness in your classmate’s stomach as she lies in an otherwise empty bed
no longer able to hold her girlfriend’s hand in public
following a run-in with her mother at the supermarket

The boy next door who can’t bring himself to leave his bed
Immobilized with anxiety and wrapped up in the sheets
(it’s been six days, nine hours, and forty-two minutes since he told his best friend.)

The young woman who serves you your coffee on Saturdays
living on less than minimum wage for three years now
Since her mother left her to the streets

The kind boy you used to date, he’s been single for years
Caught and confused between miserable safety
and endless happiness

- - -


I lied before.
Not an ounce of wit lies within these words.
This is simply
an open letter to homophobes:

Find some ******* ******* originality for your jokes.
The poem says it all, really.
High in the sky
And we’re coming down
we drink again
in our glasses we drown

it’s curious, isn’t it?
The escapes that we have found

This bliss is
temporary
But at the very least
It will dull
the sound
Our love is like
An exaggerated metaphor-
Good, but I can't take it anymore.

I love you,
You don't love me too.
You love me,
I am free.
(Rhyming scheme AA, BB)

Time to rehash that metaphor,
now that you are sleeping on my floor;
Each day I love you more and more.

Please stop writing things like this?
You terrible bore.
Inspired by amateur love poetry.
Next page