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Ember Evanescent Oct 2014
Losing something precious
Real or unreal
Alive, dead or neither
A loved one, an opportunity, someone’s trust, maybe the wedding ring you still wear even after a shattering divorce, no matter how furious you still are
The loss decorates your soul with flames the color or ink and charcoal
It burns away all that was linked to or too near to what you lost
Forgetting something precious
Hated or dearly loved
Broken or shining
A dalliance, an old friendship, or possibly even just an old worn sweater
from your first day of kindergarten
It doesn’t hurt as much as loss because you don’t realize it has happened
But there is this cracked and crumbling sense of longing
When you desperately search in your pile of thoughts for that memory
But it’s gone now
Like the panic that grips you when you drop something tiny and treasured
And it’s gone forever, lurking in the shadows
But it is so much worse to forget than to lose
It might not be an agony that is quite as blaring and ****** as loss
But it is a different kind of excruciating pain that never ever fades
Like a dull ache
Because even if you lose something
and the anguish rakes its blood-caked fingernails down your heart
Every. Single. Day.
One moment long ago, you never wanted to forget it
And now that you have,
It’s too late to recall it.

Never forget what you have lost even if it is gone
Because if you do, your heart will never lose the stinging stabbing
of what you forgot.

Here it is Creep :) Thanks so much for the collaboration invite, and accepting my earlier collab. invite! Such a thought provoking concept. Plus it was fun! I'd love to do it again anytime!
-Ember
Here it is Creep :) Thanks so much for the collaboration invite, and accepting my earlier collab. invite! Such a thought provoking concept. Plus it was fun! I'd love to do it again anytime!
-Ember
Thessa J Pickett Oct 2014
Memories and flashbacks
Childhood. . . Grandma
Spoiled
Peaceful, country meadows
Ponds
Spaghetti O's
Roast beef,  beans and cornbread
Homework
her third grade education
Finding me with n Strangers
When my mom decided to go on drug fending binges from city to city
The swingset I wanted
The mudpies she ate
The sacrifices she taught me of
The determination she instilled
The cold mornings she made fires
Warmth,  breakfast in bed
Kittens, clotheslines,  and the never ending biscuit bowl that I never understood how it remained full day after day.
The plaits I hated yet love now
The smell of her clothes
How she sashayed when she dressed up
Her anger
Sitting in the porch with our dog Spot
Princygal the cat
Late night peanut butter cookie baking
The sign in her wall that said
Life is one fool thing after another
Love is two fool things after each other
That I read over and over again until finally I understood.
Everything clean and cooked by noon

What happens tomorrow?
emily grace Oct 2014
my soul is aching
for the loss of my friend
i can't stand the hole in my chest
afflicted by this travesty
called your death
lost one of my good friends to a car accident today. the pain i feel is unreal.
ryn Aug 2014
I love you much with every ounce this heart could muster
I love you such yours is what my heart's trailing after
I'd love your touch even if it'll cause me shatter
Into a million shards yet still it does not matter
A mere breath and you will meld me back together
With every shatter and every meld makes me stronger
It's bitter sweet but I'd do it over and over
ray Oct 2014
I am told to believe in myself
look past the flaws
imperfections,
because all those things
define the uniqueness
within my body,
my soul
but what I see
when I take that
prolonged, aching glance
into a mirror
as cloudless as a
summer evening
is everything
I am told doesn’t matter
but
how do I ignore veins
crawling up my legs like
the spiders they're named after
or
fat under my skin
that seems to expand so widely
it is impossible for my
eyes not to trip upon it
and
wide hips
unfocused gaze
gaping pores
unshaped lips
rippling marks
etched on my skin
as a form of punishment
for being myself
sloping thighs
feet like
the twin towers
giant
tall
wide
deep
is that what I am?
uncertain
unknown
unloved
but in the end just
“unique”?
human
we’re all just human
but then
why
do I feel
so
mis
understood?
He has the heart of a tattered harlequin
Patched and re-patched with rags of broken times that were once good.
The cloth of its chambers is worn and threadbare
Held by the shreds of borrowed nights and comical stolen mornings.

He has the heart of a battered harlequin
And regret has turned his blood to the colour of rust
Unanswered questions congeal and clog his pulse
When he is lonely and aching, time - not isolation- is his worst enemy

He has the heart of a knackered harlequin
Kept moist by whiskey and gin, and uppers and downers that he pops like candy
He has a patchwork sack of a heart
It can never be filled and often feels empty.
Haley Tomlinson Jul 2014
Those walls,
You know, the ones everyone talks about?
They're breaking.
They're breaking for a thousand reasons,
And every single one
Is your fault.

You're so untainted.
So innocent, so free of heartbreak
That it breaks my heart just to look at you.
I want to build my walls big enough for us both,
But you'll have none of it.

As fragile as the paper flower
That lays by my bed,
I am the fire that could destroy you.

And when you throw yourself,
Oh so trusting at my feet,
I don't know whether to envy your courage
Or laugh at your naivety.

All I know is I want.
Want you to take my breath away,
Tame me enough to touch.
Want you to come too close,
So we can burn together.
Manda Clement Jun 2014
Purely my opinion
But I really have to say
I often don't understand it
And I just want to convey...
I feel lost in this world of "poetry"
Often floundering and splashing
In this ocean full of words
Against the rocks I feel I'm crashing
onto the beach that is the glossary of terms
A-Z my head I'm bashing
On the poems I often "heart"
Others I end up quietly trashing
Though I get a bit excited
when my lightning sign is flashing
That's when I start to think that maybe
poetry feels...
SMASHING!
:-)

Please tell me I'm not alone
Finding some works pretentious, some confusing, some lively, some disturbing, some wonderful. It really is very subjective. Long live poetry (in all its many forms).
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