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 Feb 2018 Ammar
Simoné
Seven Years
 Feb 2018 Ammar
Simoné
It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived
 Feb 2018 Ammar
alexa
you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.
 Feb 2018 Ammar
jess
i feel like time is
s
  l
    i
       p
          p
           i
               n
                    g.

i feel like there is more i could have done yesterday. 
 
i regret not kissing you enough yesterday,
because now i realize i can't tomorrow.

today i missed you,
it came in waves like water clashing against rocks.

yesterday i said "tomorrow you'll be okay."
and again i will tell myself, tomorrow.

yesterday wasn't as bad as today is or will be,

yesterday and tomorrow.
does it make a difference if i feel the same?  
-j.p.
i kinda fixed this one up a bit but it's pretty old - think i'll edit it again later to actually mean something because i really like the ending. sorry if my stuff doesn't make sense.
 Feb 2018 Ammar
Kartikeya Jain
"She was an
unusual dresser.
Every night,
she wore bruises
on her heart,
love on her lips,
pain in her eyes,
and ink on her fingers.
They called her poetry."
 Feb 2018 Ammar
kathryn anne
roses are red
night is dark
writing this poem
hurts my heart

shaky sobs
like violets, i'm blue
i'm wondering
why i ever loved you
to ends and beginnings
 Feb 2018 Ammar
Isabelle
February 12
 Feb 2018 Ammar
Isabelle
steady,
you told me you want
a steady love
sorry i couldn’t give you one
for my love for you
will never be still
it glows, it grows
it’s overflowing, oh darling
my love for you, i can’t contain
it overflows..
Feb 12 prompt
follow my valentine series @isay_scribbles (instagram)
 Feb 2018 Ammar
Ananya Kalahasti
You pick me up at 8.

Nobody’s home, you’re dressed nicely
after a long day,

skin tight red dress.

You bring me close to your face,
put your lips to me, clasp mine in between yours,

your tongue rolls around my delicate glassy edges,
soft curves.

bright red lipstick leaves a stain.

you curl your fingers around me,
we tilt back together.

Tonight, you’re sad, lonely
looking to unwind, let go,

today’s been long, tiring, you need a distraction,

your hand trembles as you hold me, but

you won’t let go of me.
this poem is not about lust, it is about a wine glass.
 Feb 2018 Ammar
mikhaila
Untitled
 Feb 2018 Ammar
mikhaila
do you still love me
do you still love m
do you still love
do you still lov
do you still lo
do you still l
do you still
do you stil
do you sti
do you st
do you s
do you
do yo
do y
do
d
di
did
did y
did yo
did you
did you e
did you ev
did you eve
did you ever
did you ever l
did you ever lo
did you ever lov
did you ever love
did you ever love m
did you ever love me
 Jan 2018 Ammar
imperfectwords
"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am      
        still
        alive.
When you call a suicide prevention hotline, they will often ask you to describe to them 5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste to help ease anxiety. I hope this poem helps someone struggling to look forward, because believe me, it does get better.
 Jan 2018 Ammar
Mitch Prax
You are a novel
gathering dust on my shelf
but not because I don’t want to read
but because I’m afraid
to turn the page,
afraid of how you’ll end
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