Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
the pieces fall into place
&
sometimes
the place falls into pieces
 Jun 2016 Laura Gee
Loveless
Unheard
 Jun 2016 Laura Gee
Loveless
I was born with love, from my poet's heart
From his thoughts, he gathered my parts

I couldn't bring him praise, for his shining words
Silent without glory, I was left unheard
This is my tribute to all those poems which had beautiful words inscribed in them but they still failed to reach many of the readers it should have.
I know many of the poets in here could know for what I was trying to say in this short poem of mine.
I can feel, the poem too feels bad for it!
I still live with my parents
and at 2am I walk around
the house with ***
stained boxers and drink
caffeinated drinks,
when I drink, I drink,
when I run out of money
I drink my parents *****,
I smoke and my dad
******* hates it,
I can barely afford it,
I work 3 times a week if I’m lucky,
and buy clothes I dont need,
and food I shouldn’t eat,
I ***** about religion
on social networking
sites, and I dropped out
of going to university,
I want to be a writer,
I still live at home with
my parents,
are the two synonymous?
my sister is 17,
18 in December,
and she’s going to school
for the love of GOD
stick with it
dont be like your brother,
I know I have a kind heart
and cry when my tire eats roadkill
but compassion doesn’t pay the bills,
I can sit here and personify my life
as dragging a worn sock full of pebbles
down the street and giving a sock to myself
as a gift for someone who wanted pebbles

but I’m not,
factuality’s sanded down
into some form of actualities  
that resemble anthology,
I am by no means dumb,
my comprehensive abilities
are above average, I know I could
have gone through school
with ease, for christ’s sake
I was taking english literature,
I sure use a lot of religious expletives
for a sickened nihilist,
regardless of the fact,
my boxers are dry now.
 Jun 2016 Laura Gee
Stephan
Your ink
 Jun 2016 Laura Gee
Stephan
.

Your ink,
sadly spilling
on fresh tablecloths
with torn lace trim
beyond paper napkins
absorbing the smiles
you should be smiling

Darkened tear drops
drenching emotions,
free flowing sorrows
collected in fractured phrases,
penned stanzas now
erasing happiness
in dull pink smudges

When just outside
the sun sits behind heavy drapes
drawn tightly closed
on panoramic picture windows
waiting to frame the beauty
of spring for your eyes
in nature’s poetry

So open them,
(your eyes and the drapes)
behold the wonder
where small children play
and laughter scents the air
allowing light to enter that ink,
your ink
Next page