Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Apr 2018 Jacob Cuadro
Bee
hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.
 Mar 2018 Jacob Cuadro
atr
Amidst the smoke and light and laughter
Along the smiles and cheers thereafter

A sound is bled, wrung free from strings
It bounds and treads and wholly sings
Inside each song, a secret’s moved
Not right nor wrong or frequent proved
The message dances from bow to ear;
A coded trance of love and fear
From left to right the story rings
Of death and light the Cello brings
The covert tale engulfs the room
It vibrates truth to those who loom
The Cello knows for why it’s played
Its secret lost, both gone and stayed

In the smoke and light and laughter
Music lies and cries thereafter
If I could turn back time
I would hit Backspace all day,
Id put on Caps Lock
and SHOUT what I say.

I'd use the whole Alphabet
To tell you hello,
Press seven Numbers
Til you picked up the phone.

I'd Tab through the comments
I didn't want to hear,
And use the Arrow Keys
To drag your body near.

I would Delete the harsh words
I didn't mean to speak,
And Insert the "I love yous"
I before couldn't leak.

I would use Ctrl to
Keep reigns over my heart,
And I would Escape lies
That tore us apart.

I'd Print out your photo
And kiss it goodnight,
Use the Calculator
To check that we were right.

I'd Paint you a picture
of us, you and me,
Then I'd hit Enter
Just so you would see.

Those are the things
I would do in my strife,
If only Backspace
worked in real life.
This is the first poem (that I have a copy of) i wrote that I actually thought was good. I was in seventh grade, twelve years old, and I wrote it for a newspaper competition. I knew it was really great but I didn't think I would beat all other applicants in the state in my age group. So you can imagine my surprise I'm sure when I DID win! That is the first time I was proud of my writing. So this one has a lot of special sentimental value. Thanks for reading.
"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."
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
Ink
I'm the author of my life,
but, unfortunately,
I'm writing in ink and can't erase my mistakes.
Flowers
Are a reminder
That without a little rain
We wouldn't be able to bloom,

Without clouds
And a little bad weather
We wouldn't be able to smell
Their divine fragrant perfume.

Flowers
Are a reminder
That we need gloomy days
So we can highly value
The sun's radiant,
Life-powering, life-giving light,

Because without
Any form of darkness
We wouldn't appreciate
The glorious clear-blue skys
And the gift of precious daylight.

By Lady R.F. (C)2017
 Aug 2017 Jacob Cuadro
Madeon
Love
 Aug 2017 Jacob Cuadro
Madeon
If Love is a disease
then I'm very sick
but incredibly happy....
there are words
hidden in trees
and growing in flowers.
there are words
between people's lips
and in songs being carried
by the summer breeze.
there are words
on our fingertips
and lingering in our ears.
there are words
left unspoken
and there are some
that were spoken
all too quickly.
there are words
in our body  
and in everything
that is alive.
because life is
a combination of words
and we're just trying
to make them rhyme.
© Copywrite Rosa Lía Elías
Next page