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Nika J Feb 6
Blatant words of lost entirety
Gushing as the heart speaks in truth
Entity mimicked wishes
Becomes curse cue
Thumping evil desires ravishes souls hidden dire needs
A messenger of deciet falls upon lap with broken wings
Lies become truth driven and believeth one shall
As the agony of ticking no longer represents time
But a field of panicked heartbeats dodging what's heaven sent
Prayers fall on deaf tone
Leave a message after the beep
Gone like that joyous scent which held the air before
Past tense? Nothing more
A tocking opposite of happiness
Opposite of pride
Opposite of kindness
Rain trickling
Tickling ones skin with cold compressed shivers of vague comfort
Blankets becoming tight no inhale
Licking at the darkness sweltering inside
Empty eyes travel to one shade above
This is the world one resides
When one no longer believes
In Love
Ever lost the ability to love? Feeling betrayed in ways you cannot give or get back? Feels colorless and empty doesn't it? But comforting in its dull wasteland, you begin to LOVE where love doesn't exist...
Dean Russell Sep 2018
Imagine your hand is
one hundred days older
Than the hand you use now.
Look at your hand.

What will that hand hold,
in one hundred days from now?
What will that hand have push away
that changes the next one hundred days?

Your hand is younger than it is now
than it will be in one hundred days.
In one hundred days, this hand will
mould and shape and change each way.

This hand is the age you are now,
and this hand is not eternal.
This hand helps you to write and pick up
what you need; reflexes from danger, sometimes.

One hand in one hundred days may be
marked, with a burn or scar or a tattoo.
The other hand may be softer, because
you wore gloves or moisturised by choice.

Or maybe this hand in one hundred days
Will be blistered, from harm you fought with wonder.
Maybe this hand is a blessing forgotten
And you reach for another coffee.

So why are you so focused
on what happened one hundred days ago?
The hand moves, clenches, rests, changes,
like time too.
A M Ryder Aug 2018
You will be hurt,
You will recover,
And you will live.
Kalen Doleman Jul 2018
These emotions run wild.
I feel them all to a numb.
They come to exist.
Then they break away to an unknown place.

I don't really know.
It's a confusing world of response.
Jumbled partly in my inner soul.

But i don't really know what the soul is.
Or its true intentions.
Its origin is even more of an enigma.
Jackie G Jul 2018
My heart is full
So much resides there
Memories wish to stop it from beating
Scraps & unforgiveness have tried to choke it out
My heart once ached from betrayal
To stone i thought it would turn
But through all of that
I cant seem to get rid of LOVE
LOVE still lives there
Reassuring me in life I can go on!!!!
As for me & my heart we're gonna be just fine!
To all the broken hearted, I can relate but i also realized that everything will be ok. Things happen and then purpose follows behind! You got this
c n Jun 2018
I want to write.
I want to create.
But I rarely feel like I can.
I want my words to mean something.
I want them to be heard to the volume I expressed them at.
I want them to explode minds.
I want them to carry emotions.
I want what I create to be beautiful in a personal interpretational way.
I want them to educate.
I want less to be more.
I want them to make people feel.
Isn't selfish of I to hold back myself because I may not get what I want?
Isn't selfish of I to hold back one's voice because I may not get what I want?
Isn't unfair to my soul to tell it no because I may not get what I want?
Isn't cruel of I to bury my desires because I may not get what I want?
Is it not foolish of I to be thinking: I want, I want, I want...
when God has given me: You can, you can, you can.
Alexis May 2018
If I could kiss constellations against your skin, I would turn you into the night sky
So that every one could look at you with the same wonder and admiration as I
If I could kiss every color against your lips, your mouth would be a watercolor sunset on the horizon
My love,
If I my hands could mold forever into something tangible, into something you could put into your pocket, I would let my fingers trail across our bodies until we could last until the end of time
My dear,
You are marvelous
You are one of the most beautiful creatures I have every encountered
If I could pour my love into you like concrete I would. Let it harden, stay nestled in every inch of your heart.
If I could breathe life into every dream of yours, I would go breathless
Would make the world as perfect as you would like
As beautiful as you would like - a rose garden on every block
A technicolor sky
If I could condense my love for you into writing, I would be the best poet there ever was
Nayana Nair May 2018
For me, every moment of contentment
is often followed by the realization
of having a lack of either ambition
or the means or ability to achieve it.
And though I can live with the lack of both.
I often wonder
why do we feel the need to be validated
by some measure,
by some reason,
to belong in one of the circles
that the world is divided into.
When we end up questioning our self,
“Who would be actually there for me
if not for the pieces of me
that I am feeding them everyday?”
David May 2018
Power is where allowing myself to realize
that I am now and can only ever be now -

and everything else is work
and everything else is,

In between that power and me now.
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