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Anastasia Jun 27
Raindrops, water plops, let’s go see the ocean.
Let’s go skip a stone 14 and 11. Let’s go find a way so we could go to heaven.
Raindrops, falling on my face.
Raindrops mixing with my tears.
Tears falling into the water well.
Rose gardens, little girls picking them carefully.
But the rain is falling, and the girls are crying and the roses are wilting.
The wind is crying and I am crying and the well is crying and the roses are crying.
Raindrops, water plops, let’s go see the ocean.
Let’s go skip a stone, 14 and 11
another old poem that i like
I don't think I can smile, when I look into your eye,
knowing that you're no longer with me all the time.

Muhammed Emin KUŞASLAN
Thank you everyone for reading.

To see "#14" and my other poetries you can check this link. It is my poetry blog.

My instagram: @eminkusaslan

Take care -E

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I'm S low ly

I'm writing a small poem every day about how I feel, or the world around me. This is #14
Kayla Hardy Feb 3
I know you’re scared,
What is it, the 4th school now?
Time to make new friends just to probably leave them again.

You’ll be mad about it soon,
I mean, why wouldn’t you be?
Soon you’ll be overcome with dread each time the alarm rings.

For the first time, you’re shy,
How can you be shy after all this time?
You’ve had to do this more times than most this isn’t hard.

So you’re the new kid,
It’s a nickname you know well, right?
Trust me, it’s better than nicknames you’ll be called later.

I’m not trying to scare you,
Isn’t it obvious I only want the best for me?
Don’t forget how strong you are and what you’ve already accomplished.

Keep your head up, kid,
Do you really think life won’t get better?
Well, I can tell you first hand that this isn’t even that bad.

But it will shape you,
Just remember that at least, okay?
This 14-year-old hell won’t be nearly as tragic 9 years later.
The prompt for this poem was to write a letter to your 14-year-old self.
ollie Oct 2018
It lingers in the empty spaces I used to share with him
A heartache unfixed by bandaids or poetry
Humble jokes and sunshine
The disgust in the voice of someone who longs not to be disgusted
A child’s laughter
It is a highway destined for nowhere when I drive it
Memory lane
Speed limit 12
Cause I was twelve when I met the guy
A monster nicknamed “R.W.” for runaway
Signing papers in print with a hesitation only found in the heart of anxiety
It is a tsunami
It is a cancer
It has been both and neither and everything at once to lose him
If it is a tsunami I am the ocean
Taking out my anger on his home and destroying his life on my own terms
If it is a cancer I am the cells dividing cells dividing cells
I am the cancerous gene
I am terminal
I did this to him
I did this to me
I did this to us
And it’s not like it really matters
That’s what I tell myself
When he laughs
And he talks
And he thinks he is right
It’s when I remember he isn’t that it catches me all over again
I remember he’s angry
I remember he thought it fine to call me every name in the book as long as he apologized
I remember he had no respect for the things I found offensive
For the things others found offensive
And I want to be away from him
It’s not worth it to be that close to someone all for them to betray you all over again
But if I’m a slow cancer then give me some chemo
Cause I’d give anything to have just the boy who laughed
He’s gone
If chemotherapy kills the cancer give me some of that
Dead and united with the boy who laughed
Leaving behind traces of a suit and tie
And a boy who yells so loud my ears can’t tell the difference between his scream and an aeroplane taking off
Is it worth it?
Despertar con la misma cara
despertar y verte la espalda
una luz calida que entra por la puerta
la sombra que enmarca la silueta del alma.

Despertar con tonos azules
donde los gorriones cantan
Aroma a manzana
tu cuerpo desnudo
mi mente divaga
sueños, vida y llanto.

Despertar y mirarme de frente
un hombre más joven que ayer
levantarme y verte pequeña
delicada, tierna como doncella
en un cielo de luz y color.

Despertar con un beso
olor a rosas, miel y café.
anotherken Jan 2018
I walked upon the sunny shore, on an afternoon in April 10th.
It's always that happy, joyful mood there.
People, animals, even the vehicles.
The horizon looked beautiful, the sand was beautiful.
I sat down on the beach, listening to the raging ocean and looking,
Looking at it dwell upon my toes, my feet.
And I kept thinking.
A silence.
Inevitably watching over the sunset. Over the rotation of the earth.
That evening, no one was around to sing songs about love or anything else.
No one was there to walk his or her dog.
I sat there, alone.
And I kept thinking.
A wave of voices.
A shadow full of thoughts.
A body full of doubts.
A hand filled with determination.
And the horizon.
Filled with stars.
I slowly walked through the starry horizon on an evening in April 10th.
I stumbled upon a pile of rocks, I picked them up, I looked at it.
And I kept thinking.
I can't destroy it.
I don't know how or even why are they here.
Watching over the floating things above the sky.
An airplane flashing its lights.
The purple-ish clouds of stars above.
As I closed my eyes. Listening.

I woke up with sand on my face at April 11th.
Written at 43.
Liora Jensen Apr 2017
I only wish to see the artist play
a game that does not interfere with this.
A portrait of a mind that doesn’t stay
in line with what is taught to all our kids.
A nuclear weapon set to self destruct
a tiny tear in threadless high design
an addict who is honest to the rug
to which he whispers into every night.
I want to see the artist make a dent,
to smash the frame until it’s fine enough
to form into a line he might regret
and breathe it in until he can’t stand up.
How obvious the stakes become, at last
when every perfect piece is printed fast.
Athena Bennett Apr 2017
For fourteen years I have listened to your shouting...

...yet you say it's out of love.
     "Do this! Do that! No no no its all wrong!" You say.

   Little do you know that she'll do anything just to make you smile!

  Even I can tell that it's been missing for quite a while...

...but maybe you like it this way.
    Maybe you like it when your voice reaches a higher octave.
     Maybe you like the damage caused by the words you've been spouting!

You've shouted for fourteen years and I'm tempted to show you the door

...because I fear you'll scream for fourteen more.
I wrote this a while ago
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