Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jan 2019 mac
japheth
plot
 Jan 2019 mac
japheth
every year,

i've always hoped
for a plot twist.

but this time around,

i won't.

why wait for one

when you can twist fate

yourself?
here's to a year of me being in control
 Jan 2019 mac
Josh
They Are Not Me
 Jan 2019 mac
Josh
I hate everyone,
They say loneliness
Is just the inability to
Connect with others
Around you but I know
For a fact I would still
Hate them all,
Fake, stupid people,
I hate people
 Jan 2019 mac
WordsHelp
She Believed
 Jan 2019 mac
WordsHelp
But the boy told the girl,
“I will always protect you.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“You are special.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“Your soul is made of pure gold.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.

The boy told the girl,
“I love you.”
And, for the first time,
She believed him.
 May 2018 mac
japheth
monsters
 May 2018 mac
japheth
there are monsters everywhere.

no,

i’m not talking about
those under your bed,
those waiting for you in the dark,
those hanging on the branches of the trees,
those staring at you when you sleep,

no.

not those monsters.

i’m talking about
those who destroy your good mood,
those who bring you down in every mistake you make,
those who always look for a flaw in whatever you do,
those who make you feel sorry for ever being here.

those monsters.

but just like the monsters you imagine

— they are all in your head.

you can ignore them
and see that those monsters,
are ever so small;
so easy to trample,
so easy to destroy.
so live on, my friend.
 May 2018 mac
Nat Lipstadt
0 followers?

Dear New Poet:

Then I'm your man,
your very own
Northern star,
one leg up of a
3 legged stool,
upon which all,
we, enthroned poets,
the world-over,
do rule

the honor you
bequeath me  
to be,
a first follower,
your very own
first responder,

it, cannot be
disdained
nor
diminished
this instance,
this birth,
a novice revival,
heart transplant,
makes it
the sweetest blessing
to be the first—

let us be
the quencher
of a desert thirst so long
in the parching,
the throat burning,
by a desert sojourning,
of a now ending
forty times
four hundred years

so come to me!
message me a message,
find me a find,
your poem fine,
so now we vow,
our embrace will
ne’er be broken

give me this
honorific!
let us together
be terrific,
raise our glasses,
with arms entwined
toasting you and
all that mind and 
breasted chest of yours,
full bursting from
its future~contains,
of which,
its full release,
brings a fuller life
for us both

I am a father.
I am a grandfather.
I am a First Follower.
and a First Responder,
for all who need a leg up,
so step upon my heart,
it be but a first step upon a
ladder with no top, no end ensighted

my legs are as old as time, but,
measure me not by the rings and 
the metered scales of gray hair aging,
shock of white, a cain mark, wizard-wizened
but
by the muscles
of my deep affection,
the solemnity of this,
my irrevocable promise
this,
the blessing
we both make and earn, 
when you write,
and while we wait,
in quiet attendance -
for all of your good works,
your kept promises

Blessed
are You Lord our God, 
Ruler of the Universe
who has given us life, 
sustained us until now,
allowing anf alloying
treader and the writer, 
to reach,  meet, embrace
and greet this day,
this new born poem,
with hallelujahs
whispering and shoutings
together, one
love to chat & encourage new poets
lightly edited Aug. 2025
 May 2018 mac
Lucia
8:36 am
 May 2018 mac
Lucia
If it were up to me,
I'd let myself rot here
Drowned in my cotton sheets
And allow my skin to finally sink
In between the gaps of my rib cage.

Rot and
putrefy and
fester and
ooze,
Flesh dripping off bone,
So this stink of my own decay may be apparent to me alone no longer.

Senses overburdened by defeat.
can't bring myself to get out of bed
 May 2018 mac
zoie marie
i’m made of sidewalk cracks and moments i should’ve taken
i’m made of broken rings and the wrong girls i put my trust in.
because i didn’t know what love was until i kissed a girl made of thorns
and i didn’t know what happiness was until fear started sleeping without locking the door.
i’m no where near what the world makes me out to be
what it expects from me
and maybe that’s okay.
i’m made of ****** coffee and the constant pressure of being something else
i'm made of holes in the foundation and girls that kiss me just to watch me melt.
because i didn't know what lust was until i touched skin made of broken glass
and i didn't know what hope was until i fell a little too fast.
my story ends before it even starts
because forever is only real if you look like art
but i look like broken promises in an empty hallway
and maybe that's okay.
and strange what desire will make foolish people do

— The End —