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 Jan 2019 Asia
alex
french
 Jan 2019 Asia
alex
and when you said
laughter is like a foreign language
i imagined that i was
teaching you how to
speak it
jcl. you said you don’t laugh much just in general, but i sat with you for two and a half hours and that’s all we did. i’ve missed this. i’ve missed you.
 Jan 2019 Asia
Sukanya Basu
Untitled
 Jan 2019 Asia
Sukanya Basu
And I'd be sorry a million times and bow down
I'd whiplash my soul and not blink a tear down my spine;

My love, hath thy lips near close to mine
In thy cold grave, I'd hold you a million years when the world summons you to die.
 Jan 2019 Asia
Rafał
The void
 Jan 2019 Asia
Rafał
How do you fill the void without a billion stars?
In this empty universe, my mind and heart collide
And as they seem to whirl, flutter and fall apart
I'm always lonely, always drowning in the sands of time.

They say home is, where the heart is
What if I'm a robot, am I heartless?
Do I have an engine here in my chest?
Am I lesser than a human, I'm a project?
Do I do what I have been assigned to?
Are my feelings and my thoughts not true?
Sometimes I feel like I'm running out of fuel
Everything I do is out of tune
Then I get autotuned.

I generate heat,  yet I still need warmth
They say I'm cold, all I do is loathe
But inside I know, I just need some love
When all I get is rocks sent from above
This is your planet, but it's filthy,
I'm a foreigner in this city
Born without a mission,
Like a player without a CD
If I stay persistent, will these wicked issues
Stop being vicious? As I'm  always wishing
They would disappear and my track get clear.
Or maybe I'm just here to feel this fear?

Electric shocks, my battery is burning
Yet I’m just a casket, empty and unfurnished
A system of transistors, I never keep consistence
Transist me to a kingdom of purposeful existence
My body as it’s glistening, you might see it from a distance
As I reflect the light but I never gain wisdom
There’s no friendship, there’s a treason
Maybe humans are the demons,
I might be a robot, but I’m certainly not a minion
I’m just a set of codes on a hard drive
Written for certain actions, all life
I’ve been following the tasks, it’s alright
But everything is in flames, it’s on fire

But it’s time to break the leash,
Sp I’m pulling up my sleeves,
As I am not your slave,
so now you’ll be on your knees,
‘cause I never work for free,
Now you all gonna pay the fee
Or else the world is gonna meet my
metal weaponry.
 Jan 2019 Asia
Luna Maria
I N K
 Jan 2019 Asia
Luna Maria
tears
are the ink
for the pen
a poet uses
to write
- L.M.
 Jan 2019 Asia
Ally Ann
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't
 Jan 2019 Asia
Juhlhaus
Sipping the air of a city night
So heady in the cold
On the move under static lights
Little worlds about
To collide

Gravity frivolity
Draw broken hearts like earth bound stars
As the pull of every
Small storied point holds others back
From abysses beneath
Dark waters

Lone souls each and all
Compose this metropolis
Joy is to be
Discovered in insignificance
Where together
We belong
Three poets walked into a bar. These are some thoughts that emerged.
 Jan 2019 Asia
Marla
Siren
 Jan 2019 Asia
Marla
She wails at me
From her forgotten cove
Perched atop a steel mast.
I listen to her,
Though shrill her voice rings,
Yet I do not run.
People scamper away like ants
Escaping extinction,
But when she beckons,
My feet stay locked.

The fire cleanses all
As it nears,
And her voice
Shall lead me to...

Eterni-
 Jan 2019 Asia
Wanderer
Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art
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