Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
the bear looked up and asked

have you written any thing today?



no, not much.



so then , no one will know

what has happened

today.



no.



sbm..
When you spend idyllic hours
   Taking bits of this
   And pieces of that
Moulding them into a new whole
You also mix in a piece of your soul
So when you send it out into the world
   Whether for admiration
   Or a need to tempt fate
That little bit of you remains out there
A little reminder of the spark to create
We were an inevitable looking for the right timing
An indefinite but not quite yet
 Feb 2016 Grace Pickard
m i a
please don't tell me that
i'll be okay,
i just want someone to hold me close,
i don't want you to tell me i'll
get better one day,
i would like to hear someone say,
*"Darling, we'll fight this together
no matter how long it takes,
i'll be here every step of the way."
dediticated; to the broken. youre not alone, and i'll be there every step of the way. <3
sweet
release!
finally able
to get myself off.
maybe
the depression
is waning.
maybe
I am finding light
in the dark places.
never been more thankful
for ******
in my life.

as long as I can have *******,
if nothing else,
this life is worth living.
give me back
my lust.
that is what I will
steal
back
first.
lust is passion
getting
passion
back.
I will always live
with you

you are like
the racist grandmother
who I
am forced to take care of.
can't just
get rid of you
have to wait
till you die.
wondering
how
someone
something
so negative
could be a part
of my heritage
myself
oh, well
I have finally
found a way
to shut
you up.
tune
you out.

love you
at times
for making me
aware
of my flaws.
though
I will not
be consumed
by them.
I have strengths
too.

cheers to
the shred of hope
the light
I glimpse
as I'm trying
to find
my way out
of this cave
I've been lost in
for weeks.
the cave
of depression.
******
is the light.

laughing
laughing that
something so ridiculous
could have shown me
maybe
I am getting better
maybe
it's not entirely
all bad.
laugh
with me
***
with me
we will
get out
of this mess.
Hoooooorah!!! hahaha. I share my most personal moments through poetry but boy am I thankful
Two months gone, but it feels like a year. Time moves slower without you here.

I miss you more and more each day, I wish you had chosen to stay.

You're always in my head, contemplating all the things I wish I had said.

I see you in the rising sun, but what you did cannot be undone.

The leaves are changing now, but I wish I would have told you how

much I loved you and your spirit, now when the winds blows I can hear it.

That grief you held was too much to bear, because you didn't know of all those who cared.

Free from woe and all the pain, on the day you left, all it did was rain.

The scars of the past won't fade fast, but my love for you will forever last.

You will always have a piece of my heart, for as long as we are apart.

But not for too long, I promise, my dear, because life is harder without you here.

*The pain never goes away, we just learn to deal with it.
She is comfort after a sea of dreams
Her friends and her eat clouds for breakfast
She likes espresso beans for the buzz
Buzz buzz
Sometimes I catch her dancing around the room
Folding laundry and picking up her room
To the buzz buzz
Buzz
Of acoustic symphonies
I taught her about the strings  
And she showed me the power of words
I strum and she stumbles for syntax
Metaphors come easiest to her
In the dream we meet by the shore
There's always wind blowing through her sandy blonde locks
Sometimes I catch her
But most nights
She floats away with the clouds
Buzz buzz
Buzz
 Feb 2016 Grace Pickard
Cheyenne
A Rose by any other name is said to still retain its scent:
A sweet perfume that fills the room to all of our content.
And though this little musing contains poetic form,
When truth is told, I am not sold, for I know there to be thorns.
And if known instead for these pricking fiends
--and not its aromatic petals--
Then perhaps the rose would not be love's flowered vessel.
And the fragrant sweetness we attribute to its structure
Would cease to be a welcomed whiff and the Rose would lose its luster.
Next page