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Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
Tomorrow's sunrise
is a memoir.
It remembers
an exact mirror.

Like it showed up
a thousand times earlier.
At the end of the same
veiled night.

Once again will it take
a trip to the memory lane
and lay on a sea of primulas
interpreting in colour
that’s sweet dream!

The sun is in the know
It will paint across.
But own’t touch the rose
it will sleep in its dew.
Peter Watkins  Sep 2014
Memoir
Peter Watkins Sep 2014
I can remember, I can still feel.
Your warmth against my breast.
The way your every heated breath.
Caressed my neck and cushioned my spine.
A memoir of the mind, no longer real.
A dream of a kind, but I can still feel.

It's like a ghost is trying to touch me.
Like your love's still trying to reach me.
My memoir of you when you were alive...
It seems to be powerful, enough to revive.
I feel crazy; thinking I was over your death.
Yet I can still smell your sweet breath.

It seems to stroke me when I don't look.
Support me when I find myself stuck.
This powerful memoir of your love, darling.
There's no way for me to stop it striving.
In the back of my mind it will lay; I'll forget.
But then you'll return and I'll start to regret.

Your love will be eternal; you always said that.
Even if it was me; who ended your life you brat!
But this memoir, so full of emotional debt.
Is completely wrought with my regret...
Remember, a story open to interpretation! - Peter
Anastasia Webb Sep 2014
just   hands.   just   skin.  just   tissue.   just  atoms.
just kids. just hormones. just chemicals. just atoms.
just mouths.  just  water.  just elements. just atoms.
just        young.       just     exploring.      just    open.
(justatomsjustified)
Tim Knight Aug 2013
Filaments fixed on your eyes all night
and the possibility of a chance, of an opportunity,
that I’ll be able to talk to you,
because the club lights are blue
stretched like animal hide across your own hide:
complexion clear cheeks still rouged
though tidal club glow is still blue.

It’s pathetic, worse than any diabetic
with their HumaPen Memoir insulin
length of pen, recording the time
and date
and precise amount of pain
they inject from the last 16 doses.

My pen is my keyboard and records
miserable times
and forgotten dates in cafes
and precise amounts of pain,
though this diabetic is a pathetic poet
and he knows it.
coffeeshoppoems.com
Abdul Fatir Dec 2014
Soon I'll be gone with an expeditious stream,
On a swift time torrent as flick of a dream,
How much ever you may try you won't hold,
An emotion seldom summons once sold.
All marks of my existence will flow in a drain,
But Alas!
In a nook of your heart a memoir may remain.

Each soul has a given date you were oft told,
But to my silent tears you were often cold.
My footprint on sands you may perchance find,
A sweet recollection may flicker through your mind.
Tears from your eyes will then roll out in vain,
Alas!
In a nook of your heart a memoir may remain.

The echoes of that laughter will all die off,
A cold reminiscence will remain in mind's trough,
To touch me then you will give out your heart,
‘It’s too late my friend’ will be said by the dark.
In the monsoon cloud, you'll miss me in rain,
Alas!
In a nook of your heart a memoir may remain.
arra Jun 2018
Back when I was nine
When I don't know what are beyond the line
Where everything was "just" a touch
Even when she did it at night in couch

When I turned twelve
They said dress according to yourselves
I wear a skirt that I feel
Every eyes are wanting me to peel

I remember a horrible day of fifteen
I wear shirt and pants of green
A cold sweat flush
A strange man grab my ***

I thought eighteen will be fine
Maliciousness will decline
Until someone asked
Join them in bed, I feel aghast

Now I'm twenty-one
Fear lived, doesn't gone
Every looked has a meaning
A memoir of harassing
Many people think that ****** harassment is just putting your d*ck on someone else but that's not it. ****** harassment is happening every day, everywhere. When someone's looking and talking to you in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable. Touching you in parts that makes you uneased. ****** harassment happens not only with girls but also with boys and our friends in LGBTQ Community are experiencing ****** harassment. If you are a victim of ****** harassment, don't hesitate to speak because many people are out there to help you. :)
Anastasia Webb Sep 2014
lettuce forget just for
two hours that we just
met and really you could
be anyone, and lettuce
sustain our teenage
stereotypes, nourish them
with our shared saliva
by the fire -
we are cold and soft
like snow and we are
happy to share our
lizard tongues and lizard brains,
our foolish young
emotions firework in our skulls,
ricocheting against the walls.
sparks.

earlier i watched snow drift down
the chimney,
slowly melt, while ash
was propelled back up
by hot air:
neither sustained for long
in new environments, in foreign
air;
similar up-and-down particles
which i watched while
our hot sweaty hands lay open
like flower petals,
at our sides waiting.
someone had to move
(i did),
petals clasped together and
i noticed the warmth and roughness
of your hands.

i smiled and continued
to watch the flames.
Alexandria D Feb 2015
I think I was in this mental state of bliss that I created for myself and just used him as the reason.
My Short Memoirs are words taken directly from the writings in my personal journals
Naomi Sa'Rai May 2013
Its as if
A solemn oath
To reminiscence
Had memories
Had dreams
Are you tired of me yet?
It just seems
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Explaining the simplicity of slumber
Had a memory
Your a dream
Are you gone from me yet?
It was fact
Actuality
Nirvana upon purple hills
Had memories
Haunted dreams
Are you done with me yet?
It was peaceful
A gloomy rainy day
A solemn oath
A luxury given
Fluffed pillows
Nirvana upon purple hills
Delicious night
Filled by yellow pills
Are you high off me yet?
Its as if
You were a memory
Within a dream
A haunted nightmare
So it seemed
Stuck in limbo
Or purgatory
No longer deserving your glory
Naive
Gentle
Kisses
Sweet and simple
Sent me flying high
Are you tired of me yet?
Leave me to runaway
I'm Wilson
Castaway
I am gone from you yet..
Nirvana on purple hills
Fought the fray
Are you done with me yet?
Roaming
To home im phoning
Airplanes
Night walkers
Street and sweet talkers
Getting high off me yet?
M-E Dec 2018
When I was a child, so many wonders and questions rise up to my grip-sized head
"Mommy. Where I come from?"
"Daddy. Why the sun is yellow and the sky is blue?"
"Mommy. Will I die like Grandpa? When?"
"Daddy. Why you are my dad?"
"Daddy. Why this coin can buy everything I want from the grocery store?"
Now, I just keep reminding myself that I ve got a rent to pay and a mouth to feed.

-19/06/2018-
I started few months ago writing some thoughts while going to work or wandering in the streets and I thought to share it with you guys. :)
jeanette korbel Mar 2015
I am not scared and I will be strong. I’ve been lonely for ten years and now, I can see what has been gone. I am taken to a different place, far from home. The plane took me high and soared until things got low. I walked down the hallway of doom and distress. This wouldn't be a problem if he had never left. Walk into a room thats plain yet, engaged in activity. A conveyor belt and tags that say names, scrambled in my mind going their separate ways. I tell myself to focus and find my bags from here. The voices and the noises distract me, nothing has been clear. I see my name as nauseous as I can be. My stomach has taken a turn on me.


I find my bag and look around my vision is blurred and I can not hear a sound. I see his face threw the sea of people. Wearing the same flannel sweater he had ten years ago. He dominates the atmosphere with his torn up pants and his messed up hair. He looks the same but his hair is receding. His face is drooped down like paint that just won't dry. He grew tall but skinny like a plant that has withered. His face is pale but his eyes are rich brown. He has a genuine smile with teeth that had fallen out.
  
I walk up to this man I haven't seen in years we looked at each other and, we burst out in tears. Even though I don’t know him, I remember his face. From ten years passing by I’d imagine he's changed. He use to be plump and his face well rounded now it looks like he had been beaten by thoughts and loneliness. I can tell when he seen me his life already got better. He couldn’t stop talking like he was gone for forever. I talked right back to him because, I know how it feels.

I look back on all the years without him and realized we feel the same. The difference is he made the choice of being alone ,I had no need to be left. I felt lost my whole life, until he came back. Lost from what I can’t quite figure out. I just needed to feel the feeling of him being around. We walked out the crowded place and, went on from there. No one really changes, he still smelled like beer. You think someone would give up the little things for something so big. I left a couple days after, and haven’t seen my dad since. He chooses to be lonely and, I still suffer from it.
I'm living in my mind,
walking a road I have paved.
Listening to the pounding,
of my heart that can't be saved;
an empty hole I had caved,
long before my journey started,
long before my hope strained.
Waiting for a fleeting step,
wishing for a second thought,
but still emptiness lurks,
where the love had fought,
from how the voices talked.
I'm waiting for a different place,
of what my mind is not.
A saddened memoir,
that spoke forgotten loss.
I'm falling deeper down,
where all the pain was washed,
and the guilt caught.
In a hidden valley of emotion,
of punishing thoughts.
Still I'm walking onward;
following the road.
People told me to hold caution,
for it should not be condoned.
I can't call it my own,
because this road that I am taking,
can never be my home--
An older poem fixed.
All feedback is welcome!

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