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Aaron Elswick Sep 14
So many words.
Which to choose.

Which to use.




Simple smooth ambivalence



Hellenistic rhetoric.


Nikki nashon Jul 14
Tall blonde man
Curls draping shoulders
I am beautiful
I know I am beautiful
Rosy pink cheeks and a soft pale complexion
Scars and Self perception
The petals of the rose i kiss,
Remind me of your lips,
Soft and tender and sweet,
like the forbidden whiskey in the moonlit,
which seduces me to sip,
In the dreams of my romance,
The taste of raspberry, the scent inflicts,
As i burn like a crimson rose,
With petals akin to the one i kiss,
It's wild, it's frenzy, it's illicit
Neither vibrant nor pastel;
Dull nor neon;
It never does seem
To work with the fabrics I wear

Colors, dearly loved and undiscovered
Drape, fit, and paint onto us
they are selfish

I belong to color

I recognize what I cannot improve,
because I love what could not be

I judge what follows through
because I hate what can improve,

Despite all these colors,
that have conditioned me
I cherish what I need
Despite the impermanence,
of what I want
Cece Feb 8
The sunset girls with warm smiles and sweet laughter. With ice cream, diamond earrings, diaries, romance movies under fluffy blankets, strawberry shortcake, lemonade made slightly too sour with a pink paper straw and perfect ice cubes.

The midnight girls with a wild side and messy hair. With perfect eyeliner, surprising laughs, black sketchbooks, late night ramen runs, stolen oversized sweatshirts, black cherries, fluffy socks under polished black combat boots tied in a neat little bow.

The sunrise girls with addicting voices and perfect high ponytails. With slogan t shirts, velvet scrunchies, red lip gloss, chocolate covered bananas, paintbrushes and easels, early morning hikes, coffee with creamer, foam, and probably too much sugar.

The sunshine girls with bright grins and  kind eyes. With light blushes, sweatpants, rainbow sprinkles, nails painted, flower tattoos, peaches and cream, messy bangs, sketchbooks probably covered in stickers and crop tops just short enough to tease, paired with cute bralettes.
Finnick Nov 2018
Get someone you love!
Get someone you need?

**** that, Get money.
I can’t give you my soul, because we’re never alone.
Finnick Nov 2018
You make me sober in ways I don't understand.
The way you kiss me,
The way you hold my hand.

It makes me feel like I have purpose.
Like I can finally breathe,
As if the weight upon my shoulders has left.

Every single time that I feel hazy,
buzzed and gone,
I think of you and I can see clearly.

But I'm sorry that I didn't think of you that night...
When I clearly wasn't in my right state of mind.
The way I yelled at you, and left...

I was intoxicated with the monster.
I decided to drive away.

Little did I know,
I wouldn't return,
and the men in blue would show up at your house.
A tragic story of how alcohol can ruin someone's life and how it effects others...
Drink responsibly and safely.
Afia Nov 2018
I am dying.
With the crimson gentle stroll,
of the parched winter glow.

I am dying.
Of the thorns dwelling within the whisper's den,
and the menacing spikes of my broken pen.

I am dying.
From the agonizing tempest that pervaded my soul,
it is no more a riddle; an Apocalypse is born.
Haifsa Oct 2018
Fading sunlight in the horizon
Falling leaves in breezy autumn
While nature paves way for hope
I wish this self to be lost and forgotten
Similar to tides, uncontrolled and heightened
A lone wolf yowling at her sight
Adjoined by the constant urge to be isolated
Fervent to cut loose the rope of gloom
Like a lost traveler in search of dwelling
A barren land thirsty for rain
Tired of this skin and mind
To devastation this heart is intertwined
What is lost darkens my soul
Your voice and memories cut deep through
Your brown hair blowing in wind
Hazel eyes sparkling in the sun
Echoes of your footsteps,
Deepness of your voice
Still surrounded by your existence
Harmed and scarred, I want to leave
Fragile lives and untamed hearts
Filled with fiery of desert storm
I want to run, away from your hue
Before I turn into an emotional massacre
Did I really deserve? Did you really want?
Let the leaves of our memory fall
And the blossoming florets wilt
Clinging to hope with intemperate self
Permit yourself to grow vines by own
Ashen and burnt, bury us in ground
Let youraelf grow either as roses or thorns
Amongst all this I realize what Rumi said
Nostalgia is a powerful witch indeed.
To new beginnings and old life, memories i have made and all the people i have loved, when the decision of moving on hits you feel nostalgic, a little hope that your past could have been better dies hard
Afia Sep 2018
I'm sorry
If I woke you up last night
My pen told me secrets in whispers
And I carved scars and tales
Of silly incantations and
old fallen trees
Of silver days in summer breeze
and tattered amber sundresses
Of apple bites and ripe grapes
near the broken glass on the carpet; they decayed
Ashes danced on my lips; sculpting poems on my skin
and flicking cigarette on my wounds
Smudged mascara and dulcet memories
Leather fabricated journals of vintage times
hiding crisp carcasses of yellow daises
Euphonious chortles and
early morning smiles
Forgotten tea leaves in the teapot
and ****** bread turning cold
Sun rays, like gold dust, sparkling in the air
Through the tall trees of a forest
hanging on the clouds in despair
First day of Spring, magical it is
like a caterpillar's fate
Silky cocoon, shiny chrysalis,
emerging out as a butterfly
Leaving as old and embracing the new
Igniting the sky over my purple roof
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