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 Mar 2018
Rebel Heart
I push everyone away
Praying somebody would stay
My logic more ****** up
Than my entire existence.

I'd never want you to let go
Yet I'll do everything I can
To try to shake you off
And drive you running
Light-years away from me

Because sweetheart I'm broken
Not just bent
I'm nothing but empty space
Hallow through and through

Because I'm not just heartless
I'm scarred beyond recognition
My ghosts haunting alleys
I could never show to you
...
It's not that I don't believe in love
For I have an abundance of it to give
It's just that I don't have anyone to give it to
....
.
.
.
.
(Some of the closest people to me once told me I was a cynical romantic and I guess I didn't understand it until just now...).
(Beginning of another long-winded 'rant' from RH that really makes me think I judged her wrong in some ways. The note at the bottom was her last sentence in her last journal entry I just finished reading and it has been a roller coaster of emotions so Happy Writing and Enjoy!~ BM)
 Mar 2018
Sienna Duff
I’ll always be the poet but never the muse and very rarely is there an inkling for anybody to wonder about me as I splash ink across blank pages, amid the sheer chaos of sorrow and tranquil solitude.

For somebody to feel each character, pulsing through their veins, losing their breath as I run through their minds with heavy hands and fingers that twitch in the same way that mine do.

With emotions like an ocean that I can no longer mute or the sharp edge on the tip of my tongue that bleeds every last syllable that echoes silently, the ball-point tip that illustrates each pronunciation that slices through paper like a blade.

Nobody has ever twisted my name between metaphors in the same slight manner that I do theirs or felt the lyrics to a love song coursing through their body. I’m never the topic of choice but rather the broken genius behind hidden artifacts. Always the antagonist but never quite the protagonist.

She who shall not be named, the unmentionable mystery that crafts paragraphs from concepts, the storyteller but never the topic, building herself upon beginnings and endings.

I’ll always be the poet but never the muse, pouring out my guarded heart and offering a glass to whoever will listen.
 Mar 2018
atr
Amidst the smoke and light and laughter
Along the smiles and cheers thereafter

A sound is bled, wrung free from strings
It bounds and treads and wholly sings
Inside each song, a secret’s moved
Not right nor wrong or frequent proved
The message dances from bow to ear;
A coded trance of love and fear
From left to right the story rings
Of death and light the Cello brings
The covert tale engulfs the room
It vibrates truth to those who loom
The Cello knows for why it’s played
Its secret lost, both gone and stayed

In the smoke and light and laughter
Music lies and cries thereafter
 Mar 2018
Rebel Heart
I am of broken bones
And shattered homes
Do Not take pity on me

Because behind these walls
And an innocent smile
Lies years of scars haunting me
(Something else from the lyric wall and I'm feeling a sick today so sorry if all the poems I share of RH's are depressing ~BM)

(Front Page 3/5/2018)
 Mar 2018
Bee
It’s not about fitting it all into the car;
it’s about fitting the pieces together
against the agrestic trunk space.
It’s the way we hungrily wait
to spit up our influence It’s
the patient extraction of
a cat cornered conver
sation that is easier
to  shove  under
the innate rug
that is this
chaotic
l i f e
 Mar 2018
Bee
hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.
 Mar 2018
Rebel Heart
Are we really in Love?
Or
Are we in love
With the illusion
Of what we could be?
 Mar 2018
LN
I.

The heart is clumsy,

our thoughts provoking disaster

when pulling on the wrong strings

before the storm, and after.

II.

You

and I,

encompass the sky

that hovers above us

holding clouds that serve purpose

to embellish or destroy

waiting for the wind

to mould us into strange shapes

tugging at others’ curiosity

not knowing what we are

or where we’re going.

III.

Muffled speech,

blinding weather in his eyes,

today we are not raining together

drop by drop

He falls and changes,

beauty into anger,

I await on a lonely ground

to catch him.

IV.

We exist in all shades,

unpredictable,

beautiful,

converging into one another

calming the anxious souls

that we transport to the heavens above.

V.

I watch the sun and moon alternate,

natural occurrences, I notice

just like the thoughts

that feel like clouds in my head

when my heart reminds me

of him

at an ungodly time of night

striking me like lightening,

thunder echoing between these ears

that long for the voice of an angel instead.
 Mar 2018
Lyda M Sourne
It's 3am

I'm on the phone
No one's awake and I'm alone

It's 3am

The radio's on
Songs are played on lonely station

It's 3am

I'm in my bed
My eyes are open and sleep has fled

It's 3am

I'm on the balcony
The sky is dark and just quite scary

It's 3am

Some windows have lights
Could they also not sleep tonight

It's 3am

I'm still awake
When will life ever give me a break
Insomniac nights are the worst. And it's been going on like this for quite awhile.
 Mar 2018
r
Most nights
I reach inside
my mind
trying to unwind
those thoughts
like twist-ties
that bind
to keep the loaves
of bread
free of mold
and fresh;
un-plan the long
planned plan
of mine
to choose the time
of my demise;
and sometimes
I try to listen
closely to
the constant ringing
in my ears,
the rhythmic singing
whine and changing
tones that turn
the sadness
churning, the waves
of emotions raging
in my ocean,
blue as the bottle
kept by my bed,
sleep my quest; sleep
eternal, the rest
of death I beg, leave
me alone, leave
me one more night
of breath to breathe.
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