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BZQ Oct 2014
do you want to know how does having feelings for you feel like? well baby, having feelings for you is like playing the piano for someone who can’t hear. having feelings for you is like that moment where you start to dance and the song ends. having feelings for you is like hitting repeat on my favorite song and forgetting the words every time it starts over. having feelings for you is like playing roulette with all the barrels loaded. having feelings for you is like having amnesia, waking up every day unable to remember why there’s a hole in my chest. having feelings for you was like finding out there’s no milk after i had already poured a bowl of cereal. having feelings for you is like drowning without the water. having feelings for you is like being locked in the dark while getting told to “look on the bright side”. having feelings for you is like knowing what a funeral feels like without ever going to one. having feelings for you was like being reminded of the first time i ever accidentally let go of a ballon as a child. having feelings for you is like unconsciously reaching to put my arm around a dead lover in my bed while asleep. having feelings for you was like spending years next to a hospital bed where you were in a coma you chose to stay asleep in.
- bejal
maybella snow May 2013
i  feel  shy,
i  feel  my  toes  curl
and  my  muscles  tighten
stomach  flutters  like  an  engine
heart  speeds  up  before  take  off
i  strap  my  mind  in  before  it  floats
it  would  get  stuck  in  the  clouds
love,  as  a  gas  would  be  light
lighter  than  helium  it  flies
with  the  combined  effort
my  heart  and  stomach
lift  off  the  ground
a  hot  air  ballon
filled with love
|            |
|            |
lit alight by you
we slowly flyaway
sharing our small
hot air ballon
THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated *******," here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
  
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
  
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.
It was the summer of my fifth year
“Papà voglio una bicicletta!”
(Papa, I want a bicycle!)
“Si avrà una bicicletta. Te lo prometto.”
(You will have a bicycle. I promise)
He held my hands with lingering hope
And promised me the world.

Then, there was one day.
Mama was in the kitchen
Cooking for Papa and I
We were going about our way.

I was waiting to eat
With my fork in my hand
Papa had the newspaper
Then Mama took her seat.

The front doors caved in.
Some men in fancy clothes
Yelled weird words at us
Papa wore the only grin

We went with the men
They said, “Come.”
We went along nicely
And followed the men.

I saw many people boarding a train
Thinking that I didn’t want a bicycle
Because I was going to see the world
When I got on the train

There were no seats on the train.
I could feel the heat of those around me
As if I was trapped inside an oven
Charring my life with pain.

The smell of death was trapped inside the train car
It crept up under my fingernails
And overcame my nose
It was branded on my heart like a permanent scar.

As the blood slowly drained from my skin
A mellow grey crept up into my face
******* the life out of me
Bleeding out, like a ballon popped with a pin

But I wan't the only one
The number of casualties reached morbid numbers
I could see the death in peoples eyes
Their hearts were put out by an invisible gun.

I asked papa what was our destination
And he said with a smile, "Camping."
But he betrayed himself
For he looked the epitome of degeneration

I tried to lean against the wood
With my hand on the wall
My knees were weak
The indication of my boyhood

I saw fears in the eyes of the old
And tears in the eyes of the young
Even though it was like an oven
It was desperately cold

I pulled my hand away from the wall
And it was splintered and smudged
The train ****** to a stop
And then began roll call

"Parisi?!" "Qui!" Papa yelled.
I said, "It must be like school here."
"Azzittire!" The men yelled.
"Be quiet," Papa said, "or you'll get expelled."

By now my spit had turned to chalk
And my eyes were moist
My stomach was like lead
And I began the sleepwalk

They gave us our "pajamas"
We wore them all day
We wore them all night
Our striped "pajamas."

One night, I didn't see Papa
I didn't see him the day after
Or the following night
"Dove ti trove Papa?"

I held on the taste of hope
For it had been ripped away from me
I stood waiting.
And swallowed.
I swallowed the overwhelming fear.
I dug my nails into my palms
until my knuckles were white
White and covered in bruises and dirt and dried blood.
Against the weakness in my knees
I tried to still my shaking body
But my shoulders sagged
My knees gave out
And I found myself on the ground.

The men came in.
"Lavarsi!"
They wanted me to walk.
Papa went on a walk before he left.
We went outside
And I saw the green grass
the first time in months

The barrel of the gun was staring me down
fixated on my chapped dry lips
and then I saw my Papa.
Allison Miles Feb 2011
When I think of you,
My Mind detaches my Heart from my Body.
It floats alone.
It teeters to the rhythm of the words you say.
It nests itself in the warmth between my legs,
When you say "I'm still hurt".
It elevates and rolls in front of me,
As if powered by hot air.
But it easily deflates like helium balloons,
To the point where it sits empty on the floor,
With its legs straight out in front,
Cracking its toes and rolling its ankles in confusion.
Sometimes my Heart stands on tip toes,
Reaches with fingertips extended,
Waiving at my Body,
Pleading for me to put it back in its place.  
But my Mind pays no mind to its advances.  
My Mind's ulterior motive is to divorce my heart,
To separate entirely.
To be completely distant entities.
They were once lovers,
Who've now found comfort in each other's pain.
Nameless  Aug 2014
Ballon
Nameless Aug 2014
at your own pace you fill yourself up with good thoughts, a gradual build leading to a much fuller space
Your unique essence being released into the world
And as you feel the returned good vibrations of those you touch on your journey, you become aware of what filling yourself does for others but also for you
A high of all highs with views you never knew existed
Flowing with life and it's exciting twists and turns
You appreciate just where you are and how far you have come
Molly  Jul 2017
Infinite Filling
Molly Jul 2017
I fill the void with hunger,
I fill the void with getting lost with people by my side who’s faces i recognize
but who’s souls i do not know.

i fill the void with you.
i fill the void with you because even though i know that we do not fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces that i wish we could be
at least
i’m not
alone.

i fill the void with consumption
i fill the void with cigarettes
i fill the void with inhale after inhale
until my belly is full with the heaviest of thoughts
and my nightmares circle around and around my skull until they come to rest exactly where you always said that i had that golden crown,
the one that i could never see.

i fill the void with madness
i fill the void with pointless anger,
seeping from my throat and drowning my tongue
tasting bitter like a rotten lemon
but the bitterness is better than tasting nothing at all
and it sticks to my chapped lips like an old friend.


i fill the void with endless calculations
meticulously measuring my emptiness clinging onto my insides
with a measuring stick
and even though i measure with repetitive precision,
it never measures up to my own highest standards

and I fill the void by hurling insults at your face
and even after you’ve closed the door, like a poignant period finally occurring at the end of a infinite infinite run on sentence.
i continue to spit, spit fiery slurs that in reality fall more like water droplets that ultimately accumulate mid air
and last a little while,
but never outlast the darkness that is fiercely stuck to the soles of my shoes.

And I breathe it back in
and I breathe it back in
just to feel a little bit more full.

I fill the void with a look of contentment that i plaster on my face because
i
i
can feel when you are looking
i fill the void with confidence
i fill the void with courage
i fill the void by carrying fear across my chest and over my shoulder like i’m going into battle and never
coming
back.

i fill the void with the hope that i can hope hard enough to fill myself up again
but no matter how much i fill

i can feel my insides draining
faster than a bottomless kitchen sink.

and regardless of how hard i clasp my hands against the gaping hole where i used to gently hold a relentless summer,

i can feel that the coldest winter has begun to replace it.
and i can almost still feel its warmth
just like I used to when i used to..
when you used to say you could feel it too.

my frigid fingers lock around my neck as i finally release that empty feeling that buries my deepest desires

and i feel my wild beating beating heart finally submitting to resolve.

and i realize
that i can never be full.
I realize
that I will never be full.

And so i float away
like an abandoned ballon

just like my mother said the others did
and when i join them there
they remind me that at least i’m not alone.
and they tell me that perhaps in the end
the point
was not to be full anyway.
fly with me.
i would do anything.
build a plane,
rent a jet,
buy a hot air ballon;
maybe even drink a nasty *** red bull.
sprout wings, and fly.
with you.
forever.
i would do anything.
Kimberly Clemens Jan 2014
Do you-
Do you know
How scared I am
Of gripping rope that will break
Just as I am about to reach the plateau?
Do you-
Do you hear
The distant echoes
Resonating within the hollow core of my ribs
Whispering within the empty mass of broken, gushing heart beats?
Do you-
Do you understand
That I am not sure how to act
When my vocal chords won't sing the way they should
Do you-
Do you see?
I am falling into a ditch of ashes
Of all the wishes I've long since burned
Do you-
Do you feel me
Slipping out of your hands
As I sway up to the sky aimlessly searching for stars in the daytime
Do you-
Do you know
How lost I feel when I look around
I cannot tell you how much I need to be wrapped in grounded arms.
Poetic T  Apr 2014
To Be A Pirate
Poetic T Apr 2014
To be a pirate the things I,d see,
the high waves as the ship goes
up and down, down and up on
the sea. Arrr I feel sick over the
side I will mostly be.

Swab the decks so they be as
clean asthey can be, **** this
boat of wood the splinters I be
getting, I  be needing tweezers
and me mummy.

I want treasure, I want to bury
it where no one can see, I,ve done
this many times but I keep forgetting
as I have a poor memory.

I want to be a pirate, the things
I would see, but I want to put my
flag on themast a smiling skull it
would be.

I,m not a normal pirate as they
seem to say, I be to nice, and
I,m not very good at sea As I,m
always over the side giving the
fish food that comes out of my tummy.

I,m a pirate all can see, I  dont
have a sword as I always  be cutting
my tummy, I dont think I,m cut out
for this life upon the high sea.

I think ill do kids parties with my
ballon sword, no more cuts for me just
out of breath, as it keeps popping in me.

My choclate coins I must remember
are not to buried or to eat, there for
the children arrr no choclate for pirate me.
hope to write a third one make them a book for the children
JES  Nov 2014
Communism Communism
JES Nov 2014
Roses are red,
Communism is also red,
Crimson like the tide,
Prickly like a pear,
Salty like lakes in Utah,
Fair like a figure skating judge during the 1998 Winter Olympics

Communism is like a warm Winter's breeze,
Like an honest politician,
Like a benign amputation,
Like a decently priced cup of coffee,
Good in theory, but seldom attained

Goodnight moon,
Hello baboon,
Farewell ballon,
I am the bafoon,
Is it too soon,
to lampoon,
to swoon,
to cocoon?

Let us fly,
high in the sky,
with some guy,
and just say bye,
to the tired old eye,
of my.
O'SIGH

Mormons are people,
Sew r da Jews,
Wat Hath we rot?
Too Soon?

Whitman
Shelley
Keats
Poe
Dickinson
Angelou
Eminem
Those giants of yesteryear

Praise be to the deity,
Of the ethereal plane,
A poem by the guy I sit next to in AP Language and Composition.

— The End —