What's happening to hello poetry?
I don't need to know when the next soccer game is
And if I can watch for free.
Only football I know is American like the pride that's in me.
My blood doesn't boil the native sounds of my country.
Since my  motherland is the Dominican
But America my step motherland won custody and raised me, since the age of three.
Don't forget is not who made you but who you fed you, who clothed you, who saw your first shot to a basket, who saw your first catch, who kept your body warm when you got another cold, and so on.
This is "Breakfast for Champions"
Just ask Kurt Vonnegut

What's happening to hello Poetry?
Show your art
Get your due diligence
Don't sell us your dreams don't broadcast your business unless is a story, book signing or deal.
I don't need a spell to make a girl fall in love. I got these words
For and to whom I might propose
Love or an indecent occasion of lust.
Let my words be the for front on this site but they're second to my actions.
Since I don't speak much b'cause my Latin accent.

What is happening to hello poetry?
Private messages by strangers who don't write or speak words.
Claim is urgent and as a poet
You know kind hearted, love lost, And so on...
You just might want to message their Hotmail.
Sad story under prosecution
Sad story the relation is abusive
Mocking the painful truths of some of us artist.
Just wanting a piece of the pie
But when I order I even eat the crust and never leave crumbs.

Take offense or not I just don't give a ****.

The day that stars fall to the sky
That is when my love will finally die
And it will rise above all that is below
For you to see and I will bestow
Something that you've never seen
A thing that people find to be mean
They hide it, they run from it
They don't want to show it
They don't want you to know they're ******
But all I want is for you to know who I am
So that we can find each other's hearts
And have a completely fresh start.

I view my world through broken glass

it distorts everything I see.

Things that should be nice and comforting

all look dangerous to me.

Everything around me, everyone I know

is so twisted and unreal.

I’m living in this nightmare wasteland

where fear is all I feel.

I know this place is beautiful

I hear it all the time

but it just looks like a prison cell

to these broken eyes of mine.

All these strangers that surround me

I guess you’d call them family and friends

just make me feel like I’m a spy

who’s trying to act like one of them.

Is there somewhere out there I can go

that will really look like home?

or am I doomed to see only ugliness,

and to always feel alone?

Are there people out there in this world

who will truly be my friends?

who will love me and respect me

and on whom I can depend?

If I keep searching long enough

will I ever find a way

to see the beauty in this life

so I will have a reason to stay?

Or will I wander aimlessly

until the day I die?

looking for a place and a life

that I will never find?

I wish that I could see the world

for what it really is

but my corrupted vision

is a problem I don’t know how to fix.

For now I’ll keep pretending

to see things the way you do

and hope that I’m the one who’s wrong

and it’s you who sees the truth.

Well, we all probably hear voices inside,
these days,
so here's a fun game
to play with your voices,
what you could do
is to talk to them
and listen to their answers,
and goof around with them,
and play with them,
and write down
what they say,
and stuff like that,
but just keep in mind
the simple idea
that they are not exactly real
and that what they say
is not exactly true
or not exactly false,
and have fun with them,
so then
you're not crazy,
you're just fooling around
having fun,
so try talking to Napolean
or Buddha or somebody like that
and have fun.
Amen!

The first problem
that I remember encountering
in life
was restlessness,
and later on the path,
I have learned
that there are two ends
to the problem,
and that
the one that I usually have
is restlessness
when sitting
doing nothing,
but wanting
to do something,
and the problem is
that I don't have good thought,
an inspirational thought,
which will get me out
of my chair
to go and do something,
and we all know
what the other end
of restlessness is,
and that is
when you can't sit still,
you just keep going,
like a chicken
with his head cut off,
and that kind
of restlessness
leads to mania,
while my kind of restlessness
leads to depression,
so the trick is
to control the tempo
of rest and action,
so that you're not
a chicken running wildly,
or you're not
a bump on a log.

~

This love is so exclusive
That turns me too illusive

When I am in a dream
She builds the stream

When I write a poetry
She recites the piece fluently

When she sings a song
Dreams longing me too long

So my heart is under lock and key
Which could only open by she

~
@Musfiq us shaleheen