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 Mar 2017 Arc
Diána Bósa
My Design
 Mar 2017 Arc
Diána Bósa
Once my birth was simple:
you made me up unwillingly;
I leaped from your forehead like
Athena did from Zeus'.
You were more than just a father-figure
and back in those days
you found joy in my design.
From a glance of you
I learned the light,
from another the darkness itself.
I craved to know more
but somehow you lost the will teach me;
to finish my making real.
And now
in the embrace of
your torturing abandonment
I became my own midwife:
to learn my own creation,
to be my own design.
Lovesong for Hannibal
 Mar 2017 Arc
Sound Of Rain
I Can't
 Mar 2017 Arc
Sound Of Rain
Not just the blue river of endless desire,
but the stark redness of the burning fire,
eating up the logs; the flames swallowing them,
like what I do to get rid of the dry throat
I get just from seeing you.
You stop in front of me and let your eyes wander
and I look at you as you quietly will me to
do things I've never thought of doing.
You pull my shirt off over my head and our
arms tangle into each other as though we're playing
a two player game of knots. We try to untangle
our hands but instead our legs get involved, and our
bodies are a mess on your bed as I pull your shirt off
over your head. Our breathing flows on in rapid gasps as
if we're scared we'll somehow get so caught up in each other
that we'll forget to breathe.
Your hands on my body as it roams everywhere, stroking every
flaw on my body, and suddenly, they start to feel beautiful. And
like that fire, your touch burns my body, leaving a trail of
tingle wherever you touch, and I knew right then that the
only thing that'll make this burning better is more of that
very same touch.
And maybe I'm a ******* because I like this pain you inflict
on me and I know I can't have you but I can't stop myself
from wanting you.
And I know I might be selfish 'cause this blue river that flows
on, I don't want to share it's water with anyone in this world,
except for you.
 Dec 2016 Arc
Sarita Aditya Verma
The soul                

Unscathed is the body ,
Drifted has the soul,
Aloof to some distant plane ,
Peace it seeks,
Jeopardises... it dreads,
Shall the quest ever be complete.

Deep is the hurt ,it fails to heal.
Seeks nourishment from within ,
It has to heal ..
To look outwardly beautiful...
Because it was always beautiful !!
My first post on hello poetry, and first ever written piece by me :)
Written on 19 - 10 -2016
 Nov 2016 Arc
HRTsOnFyR
Call to Arms
 Nov 2016 Arc
HRTsOnFyR
Mother! Father!
Moon and Star!
How I wonder what you are....

By Fire's light and Earth's own pull,
You've stirred the waters of my soul.

I've felt you closer than my skin.
A dance with Death;
Life's one true kin.

But don't despair,
My Winged One;
I'd never ask you fly alone.
 Nov 2016 Arc
Kaleidoscope Prhyme
You were always online but never on line in all ways.
For days on end, my calls and messages would go ignored and unanswered.
I left my heart far away from the margin on a page that was carelessly ripped out from my book of thoughts.
Forever is a myth and the future is uncertain; the weight of all these words has gradually become a burden.
At around 2 a.m. in the morning I am usually up thinking about you with no hope of finding sleep.
I am usually up listening to a wide variety of songs that exceptionally complement my melancholic mood.
It’s hard walking away from a girl whose arms I’ve always wanted to run into.
What should I do now with the love that I’ve always wanted to give to you?
As I toss and turn, my earphones inevitably become as tangled up as the words I’ve tried to say to you.
The words that I have tried to say to you are now slowly suffocating me.
These words keep depriving me of the air that I need to breathe when I think about the greatness that we both could be.
Forever is a myth and the future is uncertain; the weight of all these words has gradually become a burden.
 Nov 2016 Arc
Pastell dichter
poem
 Nov 2016 Arc
Pastell dichter
Some poems are hard, I just don’t know what to write
the words stick in the back of my head
and refuse to form sentences and lines.
I sit and wait and hope for the words but
they are lost in the jumble that is my thoughts
like a tangled ball of yarn I have to untangle it piece by piece

and hope it is usable and not just a pile of ruined thoughts.
it reminds me of knitting a sweater
stitch by stitch, word by word, it comes together
and after work and some time it makes
a beautiful thing to be worn and showed off,
but sometimes it fails and falls apart

it unravels in my hands and the hard work
that I have put my love into is lost  
it crumbles like a cliff into the sea
making waves that crash and wreck my body
leaving it helpless and crumpled
like the ball of paper I threw on the floor.

a small white ball on a grey floor,
the beauty of it hits me and I find my inspiration
it’s something simple but isn’t all beauty simple?
the curl of hair on a lover stretched out like a cat in the sun
moonlight floating through the window
falling on a pale white limb so much like the paper

with scribbles and crossed out lines
the paper is beautiful, damaged yes
but beautiful none the less, like a body
with curves and waves and endings and beginnings
scars and stretch marks pail in the dark
shining like tears on the cheek of a girl who lost

lost a parent, or a love, or lost the part of her
that cried “you are beautiful
“you are loved, it’s okay not to be okay
“as long as you rise up again and what ever
you do, do not forget who you are”
it is beauty plain and simple

and as you read my piece of paper
with the lost poem of the girl who fell apart you’ll see
its simple the floor is the sky and the word are stars
trying a specific form of poem.
 Nov 2016 Arc
Rina
Untitled
 Nov 2016 Arc
Rina
If you love someone tell them;

If you love yourself, say that as well.
 Nov 2016 Arc
Josh
Are You Happy?
 Nov 2016 Arc
Josh
Are you happy?
Your second-hand smile wears thin like old jeans,
and once-glinting eyes drop to the floor to stare dully at my cigarette ****.
My trainers are filthy and yours are clean, protecting soft feet from the cold that we both feel inside us.
It's the start of November but it's been winter for a while.

How long have you been silent? How long will you be silent?

How do you buy new jeans when all your currency has been spent?

Maybe I could be your personal shopper... I'm really not qualified; I was fired from my last position but I think I'd enjoy working here!

I'm sorry this doesn't make sense.
Some of it is missing and some of it almost definitely isn't me.
That's the trouble with painting your face. You do it every day and you forget how you used to look under all those layers, each mask set upon the last.
But I suppose the Mona Lisa took a few attempts, and so can we.

So alone in a room, with my back against a mirror, I put pencil to paper and start to scratch my itch.
Ramblings
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