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 Apr 2017 Nicole
From A Heart
Do
  raindrops
    envy tears Because
  they glide gently down
 cheeks, And aren't falling
onto concrete? Do raindrops
envy tears As they come from
   pure emotion And aren't
        equivalent to vapor?

                                                      ­                                                         Do tears
                                                                ­                             envy raindrops
                                                       ­                             Which have no say
                                                                ­              in their falling And don't  
                                                         ­                    have to feel ashamed? Do    
                                                                ­          tears envy raindrops Because
                                                                ­             they need not feel pain, Or  
                                                                ­                   fear or heartbreak?
 Dec 2016 Nicole
Corona Harris
I think the walls are judging me
I'm starting to hear murmurs
Murmuring "We seen the things you've done"
Since I was 4 years old to 17 years young
They know things about me
Things you wouldn't even tell a soulmate
The walls have been watching me
They murmur how they saw me laughing my heart out, crying rivers and oceans, even spilling puddles of blood
These walls have seen it all and now they want to judge?!
I trusted these walls with dark secrets...
God don't let them tell my secrets
Please don't let people hear them murmuring
 Nov 2016 Nicole
Glenn McCrary
Imagery
so vivid and clear
hum patterns of melodies
across the universe
fanning wildfires of euphoria
Whilst swallowing the anguish
from confounded pupils
waking in a linear paradise
 Oct 2016 Nicole
Jasmin A
Dewy grass in the morning
                                                                ­­             sun and I'm laying in it with

you.

                                                   ­    ­                            The flowers in the weeds
                                                                ­­             seem much happier than we

are.

                                                    ­       ­                  The roses have wilted in our
                                                                ­­               hearts and our love's soil is

no good.

                                                       ­    ­                       Just say that you love me
                                                              ­­                     If not truthfully then just

for me.
                                                          ­   ­                
Patience is insanity. Love is
                                                                ­­        destruction. But after all of this
                                                                ­­                            thinking and loving

you're
                                                                ­­                    
still my only. And I beg
                                                                ­­                             you, my love, don't

                                   just
                                                                ­­                      
make me wait for such
                                                                ­­                                          an exciting,

*beautiful chaos.
A poem inspired by E. Hopkins.

j.***
 Oct 2016 Nicole
The uniVerse
A girl stood before me at the supermarket
a few random items littered her basket
pink socks poked out from her sneakers
they were covered with little creatures
an inch of flesh stood between
those ankle high socks and her jeans.

Nice socks I exclaimed!
she turned around inflamed
looked at me and said
I have a boyfriend
her face now red.

Are they his I asked?
her face broke into a laugh
sorry I got so defensive
guys make me apprehensive
I don't really have a boyfriend
sometimes I just like to pretend.


*I know how you feel I replied
in embarrassment I've often lied
and whenever I'm struck by beauty
of someone new I meet
I can't look directly at them
I look towards their feet.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BzjEKe3nX0B/
 Oct 2016 Nicole
Rapunzoll
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

------------------------------------------------
my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)

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