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 Oct 2016
Moonsocket
I took this ride down to the vacant mind

Hoping I could sit and watch the time

Life left me hysterical you see
Life left me irrational

So I denied my nature
I embraced the strongest emotion
A thing called hate
I've found it exhausting

After all
Hatred stems from fear
I've seen fear in all organisms
Built into a disposition
Like DNA
Revision
 Oct 2016
Moonsocket
He never littered so his pockets smelled of cigarettes and sweets

This caused a poor reaction from the ladies

But mother nature loved him dearly  

He made songs out of junk
Rusted melodies played
A poet of high caliber
A mind of high grade brain work

A bottle and a sniff
A word and a smoke
out comes the guilt

I often ask him why he needed these calamity riddled confines

Sometimes he would whisper his replies

Because he worried the gods could hear him

He lost his mind inside a ghost town

Time stained structures watched the regression

A soul needing silence

Instead he found childhood fear and crumbled

I went to visit him on the fifth floor

Psych wards terrify me
not because of it's inhabitants
But the fear they won't let me leave

I found him playing connect four

He claimed his competitor was a monster

nobody in sight

He said he was writing a novel

The pages he showed me contained
beautiful images and hysterical assumptions

Yet they made my soup filled stanzas seem reasonable

Only his circle could decipher his words and symbols

The final product was too mad for the casual observer

It's pages made scenes of unspeakable horrors and unlimited joy

We buried him next to his dog

He always claimed she was the only one who gets it


"Great poets die in steaming pots of sh*t." (Charles Bukowski)
For a dear friend. Maybe the best writer I ever had the pleasure of getting to know...he was also completely mad which is usually how it goes
 Oct 2016
Just Melz
It's dark tonight
And I cannot breathe
The hands of time
Are slowly choking me
Tick Tick
Watch the color
Fade from my face
Tick Tock
Watch my body
Fall through space
Caught inside
These hands of time
Losing my grip
Losing my mind
Tick Tick
Why can't I see
What these hands
Want from me
Tick Tock
I'm fading fast
This life is just a memory
That can never last
 Oct 2016
curlygirl
why let them all in
if
none of them stay?
 Oct 2016
Abdallah Sadiq
will my endeavor be fruitless ?
did I neglect slumber,
live in solitary for days,  
numb my sorrow with alcohol
trap myself within the same walls I get lonely in
being only distracted by the scribbling of this pen on a paper
just to leave thou with discontentment ?
a poets worst nightmare;
(an underappreciated piece)

I am writing a poem for one who has words in the palm of her hands
like God has the earth
I am writing to one whom words bow down to her feet
like prophets to God while on his throne he seats.
Is my piece profound enough to make thy beautiful brown eyes water
or make your skin prickle with goosebumps ?
will my words speak to you in ways no one ever has that my piece becomes your drug when you want to flee from all that chastises you ?
I can only hope the first stanza grasps your attention
and you get lost in poetic bliss
and the last leaves you breathless
to the point you crave my kiss
to restore air to your dying lungs.
But that's probably just wishful thinking
your least liked piece is probably more breathtaking than my most cherished  
you leave your readers satiated by your words and rhythm that they now worship you.
they yearn to ease their angst by reading what you vent.
how intimidating it is to write a poem to a poet
great anxiety as they fixate their eyes on the paper
you hope, you just hope they don't roll their eyes in disdain at the last full stop.
 Oct 2016
WickedHope
Today is the day you last said hello
I wonder how long it will last
I'm turning my back to the sunrise
If I don't see it how will I know it has passed
But of course you're the sun
And you're not nearly done
But your light is dripping out of sight as you hurt
Tomorrow I'll wake and wonder if the days will still remain
Or if we will ever be the same
Yet 'till then I'll lay down my head
In my dreams you still shine
And I have to squint tight my eyes
Upon waking it is for you I pray
I pray your rays may glow and you I might behold
As the sun greets the day
Sunshine and tired eyes.
- - - - -
This is so bad, I apologize. I had an idea and just typed it out and posted without really editing.
 Oct 2016
okayindigo
My mother was a writer.
I remember her,
papers spread out upon a bed sheet in the sand,
stacked pebbles protecting her work from the wind
as I made drip-castles at the water's edge
and braided crowns from wild poppies.
I would run to her so she could
rub grape sunscreen into my sandy shoulders
and I asked her once,
“Mama,
is that poetry?”
and she said “No little one,
you are poetry,
this only tries to be.”
and I thanked her,
and ran back to the water
to search for flat stones to skip,
and thought no more of poetry.
 Sep 2016
Michelle Garcia
The first time you mentioned forever,
I attempted to measure it.

Just how far can heartstrings stretch
when tugged by the blur of passing seasons,
extended arms, and miles of uncharted tomorrows?

No matter how many times I have watched
hands embrace the seconds of fleeting time
I still wonder if a moment exists                                                                                              
when they will finally tire of spinning, trying to find
salvation in the rotation of infinity

if it even exists.

Forever
making pit stops at sixteen at seventeen
in yesterdays expired and the blood red rush
of exhausted mistake.
Forever
smoke seeping through door cracks,
fires of promise, of passion, of fading
Forever
we will love
Forever
until our names run dry of meaning.

Just how many heartbeats does it take
to shelter an angel,
how many words exchanged does it take
to ****** the demons that wish to place
years and age and affliction
between the two who have painted
a thousand forevers between hands
held so tightly that minds forget how to change?

I am still trying to measure even now,
as we glide toward moments whose horizons
we will always be searching for.
 Sep 2016
Lila Valentine
There--she's standing right there.
Just do it. Just say it.
Deep breath. It's okay.
"Hey so I know we've talked and stuff and I know we're just friends and I KNOW we're really different but....I like you and...I...I mean....forget it."

No. The nerves come again and
I leave her standing there.

And another day will pass, and a week, and a month
And even if I've recited it so many times in my head
I never tell her because it feels so wrong

Because every time I've done it before in the past
We grow more distant than
before.

So I'll leave her be and wait quietly on the side
Hoping....that, for once, she'll come for me.
So I wrote this in like 15 minutes about the girl I like lel
Don't judge to harshly
I laugh at the sound
    of the wind
As it echoes through my mind
Telling me stories of memories
     I had previously left behind
  with caricatures of faces
I can no longer remember in reality
      And songs from past places
That bring me down
         with the emotional gravity
And I was my thoughts spin around
                 and around
    I get dizzy from the intensity
                and my sanity
        Can no longer be found
                 Yet
I can still hear the wind
      And I laugh at the sound
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