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Breath of life, it is a wild ocean
always a tide coming and going
in this place, it does not linger long
never holding on, only drifts quietly into night
into stars, into fleeting sparks of fire flies
or in the night waters, a ghostly glow
of phosphorescence, a transient trail
of luminescence that soon
fades and reappears to light
the deepest depths
of sea
to all who stop by here to read this poem, I thank you
to all poets, here and everywhere, I thank you
XO
Cyd
I hate the way you made me cry
And the way I let you in

I hate the way I thought you loved me
Even though that's no longer true

I hate the way I told you my secrets and all of my problems too

I hate the way you knew about my brave shield and still decided to knock it down

I hate the way you gave up without a fight
Even though I know that's what you wanted

I hate the way that you picked now to let it out, at the time I loved you the most

I hate the way I believed you when you'd say you love me every night
And call me perfect even though I knew it was a lie

I hate the fact that you were the reason for the smile on my face
And even worse the tears on my cheek

I hate the way the last memory I have of you is the best we ever shared
Even though your intentions were far away from mine

I hate the way I still remember your little quirks
And you claim to remember mine

And the way I can still remember how your touch felt against my skin
And the butterflies I got in the pit of my stomach when we kissed

I hate the way you accepted my faults and I did the same to you
And the fact you were my first everything

I hate how every room in my house is filled with memories of you

I hate the fact we wasted so much time and the way you didn't give it a second thought

I hate the fact I know you won't change your mind about this no matter how hard I try

And I hate the fact you left my life without any kind of warning
And the fact I didn't have an impact on your life like you did in mine

But most of all I hate the fact I don't hate you, in fact you were the first guy I loved

But you know what, *******, I'm a diamond not a rock
Just broke up after a year, inspired by the poem read in 10 things I hate about you
If you hold a seashell
Against your ear,
You will hear a tic-toc
Within the knock of your own
Heart counting down by

Each beat being
Unfathomably fainter; you
Must
Write
Now.
Write for your life.

Silence is sin. Blank pages and
Clean walls around
The dwellings of your poetic
Powers; pure
Blasphemy.

Write, poet. Write for your life.
Counter every grain
Of sand passing, with
Words.
Write prose on the wind with
Your fingers to be carried into

The Archives of All. Write as if
Your death depends
On it. Express the beauty of
Our common insignificance,
And how we are still
Held above
Angels.

Write for your lives, flee
From slumber; awake.
There's lucidity here, unlike
Any seen through the haze of a
Dreamer's eyes.

You are the voice of the
Human Race, the last line of
Defence against
Robot lives
In a cold
Machine.

Write for our lives.
Write for your lives.
Why can't you read my poetry you ask
Posted online for the world to see
Does our friendship mean nothing to me?

Well it's like this..You don't know me, well only parts
You see the flower so bright, never to droop
With bees buzzing around waiting to land
But you don't see the inner parts, the stem that can barely stand
that is slowly falling and rotting on the inside

You know only the smiles and the joy
But really i'm delicate, one chop and my beauty is destroyed
only my fellow poets see that side of me
the obsessed mess you never see

Maybe one day when I'm feeling conceited feeling good
I'll show you the feelings I write, maybe i should...?
Why is it saying conceited is spelled wrong ?
Essence in its natural form
Is a thick syrup in a glass jar,
But when it hits the air
The concentrated being sizzles
Into a mist
Taunting nearby objects,
And eventually sliding coolly
Through electrified skin.
That is, essence is a reduction,
And we feel its reflection, its gaze.

Summing you up
Is catching that mist with a butterfly net,
But some of your elements so fill your persona
That they are all too eager to embrace
Their destinations,
Boldly solidifying into tangible expressions
Of passion and drive
On my skin,
Where my own platform of energy
Prepares to retaliate.
Broken cherry lips
Bitten beyond recognition and swollen with inhibitions foregone
In favor of simpler incisions,
Cuts on the egos of cherry picker demons,
Puckering with bloodlust, suctioning drugs from
Her mouth and pulling out things from between her front teeth,
Strings of slippery doubt (but throw that out,
‘Cause) Here we cherish the cowardice
On the main screen, and rather receive the attention instead,
Unadulterated affection of the head, the best parts filtered and the rest
In the ***** pink cave,
Left to be swallowed following
Any hint of recognition
Sinking so they can fester faster
In her stomach grave, made of acid.
How do I reply
When asked the question
Of what is true beauty?

I can't seem to answer
It's not because I don't know
Nor that I'm unsure.

How can you put words to real beauty?
Real beauty is a feeling.
An emotion that dwells in the heart.

Like the music notes to musicians.
Like paint to an artist.
Or words to a poet.

As well as that smile of a partner.
The laugh of a small child.
Or the joyous tears of a precious moment.

True beauty is based on one's desires.
Like my desire to make my world,
Built out of words and poems.

Coloring the world
With the black and white hues
Of letters typed out on a screen.

So when asked what is true beauty,
There's only one true answer...

Just look into your heart.
So I wrote this mainly out of my love of poetry /.< It's one I'm rather proud of :) and it's on the happier side so yay!
 Apr 2014 Kabelo Maverick
J
Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so *viveamus per camenam nostram.
^^^let us live through our poetry
 Apr 2014 Kabelo Maverick
Chloé
No more, screaming and fighting
No more, making up and kissing
No more, repeating stories
No more, you and me ..
The love is gone
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