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 Jan 2015 c
firexscape
I don't shine like the stars
I'm not a diamond in the rough
I am the rough patch, the fleeting enigma of this painfully current squeaky-clean suburban world
This is hardly glory
But my soul is celestial
I have ink blotted dreams in my heart
Words and prose in my mind
And your name waiting on my tongue
 Jan 2015 c
Heather Elise
You’re the meteor shower I stay awake all night for.
my love you are made of so many stars
 Jan 2015 c
Tyler Durden
I'm
Just
A
Hobby
You
Grew
Tired
Of.
 Jan 2015 c
Tyler Durden
You're the perfect thunderstorm.
 Jan 2015 c
Tyler Durden
Your name ripples across the puddle inside
of my mind everytime
You step inside.
 Jan 2015 c
ruby stains
she was like ]open doors
and [closed windows; she only
closed up the things that
let you l o o k i n .
*{only let you in with shutters drawn and lights dimmed because eyes are the win(dows to the s o ul.}
si era el número seis : if she was number six in spanish form.
 Jan 2015 c
curlygirl
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
 Jan 2015 c
r
19
 Jan 2015 c
r
19
when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.
r ~ 11/30/14

Hey, Son. :)
I knew you would forget, just as soon as the sun would rise,
But your words, cliché and hollow, came as no surprise.
I asked but one small favor, at both break and close of day,
Just to hear you say hello, but now, hope's bled away.
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