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 Nov 2014 courtney
Megan H
Rain
 Nov 2014 courtney
Megan H
She loved the rain.
She loved the way it fell with purpose,
The way it changed from sprinkle to downpour.
The way it caressed her face
When she looked to the clouds
She thought it to be gentle
Beautiful.
So maybe that's why she didn't notice,
When the flood began,
That she was drowning.
In your budding years,
they said you weren't beautiful.
Little did they know,
that a day would come,
when your petals would spread gloriously,
such sweet aroma, such beauty...
That was the day you started to bloom.

And then they spoke again.  
This time they said,
That you needed to draw attention,
to gain admiration.
And that being desirable,
made you valuable.

So you wanted to stand out,
from among the crowd.
"All eyes on me,
So that the people would see,
my charm, my wit, my beauty."

But then you looked into the mirror,
and you didn't like what you saw.
You didn't look like that ******* TV.
Your flat nose, your round face,
Your eyes that aren't as deep set.
Since she was the definition of pretty,
you wallowed in self-pity,
obsessing over your own flaws.

So you got busy.
Busy putting makeup,
and covering up flaws.
Concealing, contouring.

Busy dressing up,
Trying to look ****,
Showing what you got,
so that people think you're hot.

But you got it all wrong.
For they were all wrong.

They didn't tell you,
that there is beauty in modesty.
And that drawing people with your body,
might end up leaving you lonely.

And that relying on other's validation,
would always lead to disappointment.
And that everyone out there,
really just wants someone to care.

That always drawing attention,
is a selfish expression,
and that giving attention,
may warrant more admiration.

They didn't tell you,
that you were beautiful,
even before bloom,
even before budding,
even before birth.

They didn't tell you,
that you were beautifully,
and wonderfully made by God.
And that what you thought were flaws,
God called beauty.
This is a poem on how the views of society affects young women as we grow up.  I hope this will bless many beautiful ladies out there, and that they will start focusing on the beauty they were blessed with, and not fumble in insecurity.
 Nov 2014 courtney
Grace Pickard
Constant
From the cue of entrance
Through the chaotic ink splashes
And the measures of rest
A part of us keeps this rhythm
Strung clear and precise
Mysteriously, wandering throughout
We pass around the chore
Until the final chord is drawn

But we survive
In the minds of our audience,
Forever trying to grasp hold of
Our fleeting orchestral heart beat:
Ostinato
An entrance cue in orchestra would be a breath. I like to relate music to life/the human body, in this poem my body is associated with an orchestra because orchestras preform as a single unit. Also, an ostinato is a repeated rhythm... Which in this case is my heart beating.
 Nov 2014 courtney
Austin B
You continue to exemplify everything beautiful in this world
The heavens above exalting a thousand trumpets
Symphonies hailing from the mountains,
Her intoxicating smile glistening, biting my lip in allusion.

Your eyes unimaginably delicate,
Thinking of you, a piano chorus dwindling on repeat.
Your bashful beauty,
Alway makes rainy days come to a hault.
So much wrong in this world,
Pressure, decisions and guilt,
And I am just here admiring you.


Everytime I look at you,
My lump heart skips a beat.
Clenching my sweaty hands,
I have seen you a million times before
But you mesmerize my love struck mind.
Every inch of you, impeccable and unchangeable.
 Nov 2014 courtney
jvb
Intoxicated and burnt, you looked like my past. The bruising memories and stories I tried to make last.

Rising from your ashes I have changed, threw away the narcotics and washed off the stains.

Comfortable and warm, he felt like the sun. He looks like my future and maybe the one.
but I know nothing will happen
 Nov 2014 courtney
Dark Musings
The light is on, I can see her through the window.
Like clockwork,
A shadow passes, cup in hand and hair in a bun.
The routine continues as the days melt into each other.
That shadow has become a friend,
A companion I meet on the path I walk.
She has no name and the only story is the one I have created for her in my mind.
A story of sadness,
Of a lonely silhouette the world has forgotten.
Why is that her story? Why have I not given her happiness, love, companionship?
It is in the way she walks across the lighted window.
Her head hangs down as if she lacks the strength to hold it up against the world,
Shoulders hunched as if she hugs herself because there is no one else to do so.
It is in the way her hands seem to grasp the mug,
As if it is her only anchor in this life.
It is in the way she stands, dark, against the light around her,
As if she is trying to light a fire from ashes.
A different take on my previous poem, Through the Window.
Notes passed,
Check yes,
fingers crossed,
Heart against chest,
Stomach in knots.

The note makes its way down the row,
And I recieve curious looks,
But my eyes are trained on your face,
As you grasp the note carefully,
Curiously opening the white sheet,
And reading my neat writting.

When my eyes open,
You're the last image from my dream,
And when we speak,
My heart skips,
One, two, three beats.
And right befor I go to sleep,
I think of the possibilitys,
Of You and Me.
Check:
Yes  No
Date me?


Your cherry glossed lips spread
Into the softest smile
And your bright, shinning eyes
Find mine.
And I see you blush
Shy.
Beautiful.

You grasp your pencil
Scribble something down
And send it back to me
I can feel my heart
Head to feet
Pounding.

Yes
*My sweet, sweet prince
You've gained my heart
I'll take care of yours.
Love, Your Princess.
Written because my lovely lady suggested a love poem.
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