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 Sep 2017
nivek
ease some suffering
especially the pain you are perchance causing
 Sep 2017
Akira Chinen
Don't waste your days away
write bad poetry
I mean absolute garbage
and draw stick figures
with squiggly lines
and paint with your fingers
and laugh when you ****
and blame someone else
for the terrible smell
and sing and scream
whenever your driving
to wherever you may be driving to
and stay up too late
and get up tired
and nap
and sleep through church
or at church
and snore really loud
and day dream
and live dreams
and when the nightmares come
enjoy the fear and the rush
and the pouring sweat
on your forward
as you wake up screaming
but don't look out the window
because there isn't anything
out there that is more scary
than your imagination
and make a deal with the devil
and cheat him his dues
and leave a rubber corpse
on your death bed
and live another day
and out run the sun
and give a butterfly the moon
in exchange for
the hidden treasure map
painted on its wings
and hang that map in the sky
to cover the hole
where the moon used to be
and don't worry
no one will notice
because they look exactly the same
and ask the stars politely
not to tell anyone
and don't forget to say please
and thank you
for stars never ignore a request
for a favor that is asked
with a manner of grace and kindness
and build sandcastles
to close to the shoreline
and watch the waves
wash the towers and walls away
and listen to the mist giggle
at the mischief it has done
and fold a boat
out of the song
no one else can hear
and give your hopes and prayers
to the wind
and sail away
and find yourself
and lose yourself
and give time and love
your full attention
and no matter
how bad things may ever get
or how good things may ever be
I will always be a fool
and a dreamer
and a magic bean believer
and I'll write you bad poetry
really bad
absolute garbage
whenever you need
because I can't think
of any better way
to waste my days away
 Sep 2017
rained-on parade
You fall out of love like a habit.
Nobody told you that even when they say
'there are no wrong answers',
there's always one that rings all the wrong bells.
You say, 'Maybe strawberry ice cream is my favourite',
and suddenly alarms go off in his head
'How? What? Nobody likes strawberry icecream!
This one is defective! Return to Sender!'


This one is defective.
You were mass produced
on a supply line for antsy, lonely nineteen-year olds.
This was their best year yet; the whole world is aching
but we're sorry to inform you but
Models made after 1995 are no longer supported.

To the scrapyard, then.
You fall and tumble and crawl out of love
like it's out to get you.
Like it's got its teeth in you,
nails tearing into flesh,
holding your ankles and begging you
to stay.
4/25/17

I don't quite remember myself, or you, anymore.
 Aug 2017
Gaby Comprés
this is more than a song.
this is more than poetry.
this is my heart.
every day i break it
turn its pieces into words
that will make the pieces of your broken heart
put themselves back together.
 Aug 2017
Mohd Arshad
F
Think of your choice........
Pencils draw only sketches............
 Aug 2017
Seema
He was a lonely boy
Always fixing a broken toy
Dirt covered his face
Old shoes with no lace
But he wore them today
It was his sisters birthday
And he was fixing her doll
Someone gave a sudden call
Which left him in tears
Then came his darkest fears
His mother's voice shouting
Crying, his sense undoubting
He pretended not to hear
It was a special day of the year
He was going to see her
At the foot of the hill, afar
She lived there alone
In the cold, under a tombstone
Last year, he planted flowers
When bloomed, he sat there for hours
Today he's got her another gift
Her favorite doll that came adrift
By a narrow creek nearby
He always wondered why
His beautiful sister got taken away
Far to be buried, where she lay
Alone, along the plain meadows
Where lived now the shadows
Of those dead, buried in ground
Where huge raintrees surround
He picked her favorite flowers
And walked towards the stone towers
There a flowery grave waited
To be visited and weeded
After done with clearing
He sat there grieving and tearing
Telling her stories of his life
How often he's threatened with a knife
But with a smile, he promised to be brave
As he curled up, beside his sisters grave...

©sim
Can you picture this :)
 Jul 2017
Mohd Arshad
Walking is wisdom
People go out
Abandoning their
Comfort unstitched
Each step is
pulling the yoke
It is sunrise
What drives them out
And keep them running
Pushing each rock
That hinders their way
I am sure it is an invisible
Spirit that breathes inside
A special gift
Of God to them
Not for women
A message for those
Shouting for equality
Yesterday the rain
Hit hard like strip on the fur
And the man,
with his umbrella
Like a broken sieve,
Staggering fast
Due to his twisted leg
Crossed the road
Where ditches were the rungs
I made a good comeback
Though in the morning
My mind had been
The kettle on the fire
And like him crossed
The subway to reach my point
Coming back is the best harvest
After sowing seeds of going out
And Walking is their water to grow
Pushing
 Jul 2017
Gaby Comprés
i’ll live in a yellow house
painted by the sun itself
a house that stands on the corner of
Joy Street and Sunshine Avenue
and in my house a garden will grow
with flowers watered with hope, rooted in love.
my yellow house will be the talk of the town
and children will come on their bikes
to meet the woman that keeps flowers in her hair
and a few stars in her eyes,
the woman that wears dresses with pockets
filled with honey and cinnamon.
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