Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Apr 2017 mrmonst3r
Gidgette
To hold hope is a dangerous thing
Memories and dreams lacking colour,
living in the glint of light in tears for brief,
and painful seconds as they fall
only to be absorbed by my skirts
Each holding false hope in secret things,
bound to a twisted finger of cruel fate
I hide my face from light and sight
as I breathe life into shadow figures of
Once was, wasn't, and will never be
Undecided if reality is dreamt up by
a cruel child who derives its pleasure by
pulling legs from lady bugs and wings from
Butterflies
And being the escapist that I am
I play out my grey dreams in the fake lives of a family I seem to have imagined
And drown the rest in flowers and filth
 Apr 2017 mrmonst3r
Gidgette
I stood watching her from the left of the lights
Tiny arms and legs
She was
My little Swan!
I danced in shadows
As she danced in light
Mother and daughter
She is magnificent!
Her golden curls flying
Tights sparkling
Toes, barely touching the stage

Mother passes the light
To the dancing daughter
And all is as it should be
She caught but a glimpse of me
In my selfish shadows
Dancing in her glory
Our eyes locked for the briefest of seconds
She danced on........
Stella had her spring recital. I couldn't help but try and dance in the shadows behind the curtains. She saw me. I'm so very proud of her.
 Apr 2017 mrmonst3r
Hannah
I started writing
to get the pain out.
I needed a way
to claim a voice
in a ruthless world.
I couldn't find it
any other way.
I've tried everything,
but nothing
gives me a voice like poetry.
I've found things
that numb my pain,
like whiskey
and cigarettes.
I use them still,
even since
I've found my voice.
I'm addicted
to the way
they pair with my soul.   
It's kind of like
poets and coffee,
poets go well
with whiskey
and cigarettes too.
I think us poets,
we're addicted
to pain and suffering.
I think we like
the sting of heartbreak,
the pain of death,
the clutches of addiction.
In fact,
I know we do
because these
are the sufferings
that make up our work.
I'm a poet,
just like you.
I'm addicted
to coffee,
to whiskey and cigarettes,
to pain and suffering,
to loss and heartbreak.
I think it's why
so many of us
struggle to look
into the mirror.
It's because we know
our hearts are poison.
It's because we know
we can either
be monsters or angels.
It all depends on us,
on how we want
to roll the dice.
~ monsters or angels ~
 Apr 2017 mrmonst3r
Laci
Suzie
 Apr 2017 mrmonst3r
Laci
Barefoot dreaming
Dandelion graveyard
Wrapped in yesterday's wishes
Drowning in a Bluegrass sea

Raven black shadows
Sweet tea lips
Cast upon a field of has been
Porch of hiatus

Rooted rocking chair
Song of tomorrow
A promise that cannot be kept
Tune of a heritage soul

Black eyed susan cries
Aerial view from a robin's eye
Golden rod sunrise
Bourbon moon

Deep fried soul
Bonfire lullaby
Love song melody
Deeply rooted
 Apr 2017 mrmonst3r
Emmennarr
Br*k*n
 Apr 2017 mrmonst3r
Emmennarr
I'm broken;

Flattered,
Great to see it mattered
That a man outside his shell
Would have to witness all your hell
And kneel before the devil
Before the devil ever cared
About him;
Limited at first
Until even that dispersed
And I was alone,
Broken.
 Apr 2017 mrmonst3r
SteffyWeffy
Goodbye.
Wait.
I need to live, I need everyone to know my name.
I need people to know, how long I fought.
I need them to know, that they wounded me.
Everyone has to know my name.
Please, don't let me be gone and forgotten.
Next page