Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Dec 2014 Farida Salem
Natalie
do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
 Dec 2014 Farida Salem
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.
Magnetic eyes revealing her dark soul
Mysterious mind with secrets to unfold

Abandoned creature wandering the desert
Psychic intuitions make her a beautiful predator

A death stalker she would **** to survive
Seeking experiences and glory in her life

Once i saw her crawling by my bed
Mezmerized by fear or passion
I couldnt tell
I should have ran but decided to stay
I should have remembered that her sting would take my life away


Words Of Harfouchism
Scorpions are dangerous
It's in moments like these
where the universe is revealed
I find myself wandering the infinite land
searching for a lover and a friend

The moments of peace
where freedom is revealed
tales of Gods and Goddesses

New music my last hope
my first trip away from home
I am me ! can't you see?
i'm real not a normal human
i'm just meat

Why am i here?
dazed chasing desires and dreams
i could shake the ground beneath your feet
but things don't look always as they seem

Lets sail this ship to escape our past
Sins that killed the innocence while the demons laughed

It's in moments like these i fly high and dance with the stars
where i'm back to the womb

but for others it's just the tomb..


Words Of Harfouchism.
If you can relate to that, i admire you
There are days
when the rain seems
like nothing more
than inconvenience,
and puddles, messes,
and noise.

More often than not, though,
the rain has been a friend,
a companion of sorts.

It has lessened the
loneliness in moments
of grief and despair,
as it shared in
inconsolable
and silent tears.

It has covered me
like a warm blanket,
as it washed away
the fears.

More often than not,
the rain has been
a path to renewal,
a baptism most sacred.

Even the melody
and timber of the rain
has often soothed me,
like white noise
can comfort a
restless child.

The rain can consume
and wash out
and drown,
pushing unwanted
memories and dreams
down an any-named road,
for miles and miles.

For me, more often
than not,
it provides shroud
and cover from the sun’s
intense heat,
inspiring gratitude
and most joyful
smiles.



~ by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
 Aug 2014 Farida Salem
a gale
“Am I worth wasting
Your Friday nights with?”
I asked so nervously
As a smile crept up
Your thin lips
“Darling,”
You said
“I’ve already wasted
So many nights
With just thoughts of you.”


*a. gale
 May 2014 Farida Salem
J
I wrote I love you in the sand at the beach
Tide swallowed the words and drowned them
But the waves were not the reason for impeding speech
My awkward asocial character is the one to condemn
  Now the words are gone like the tearstains on my sheets that I have just  bleached.
Next page