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A poet
doesn't make poetry
to feed the imagination
It makes it
to speak like air
In reality, poetry can mean anything to anyone, but in order to make poetry as incredible as your idol, you must stop holding yourself towards those standards. Speak with your heart, not your mind, you're better than any idol out there.
Hannah 2d
I’ve been wondering when the trees will grow me shelter.
I’ve been wondering when the waves will turn me over.
I’ve been wondering when I’ll finally find a friend.
I’ve been wondering when I’ll find a place to live.
I’m finally standing on my feet.
Breathing in the air.
Lying on the beach.
Sitting there,
Thinking to myself,
I don’t know what happened,
but I’ll find out in the end.
Outside it rages
blusters and blows
away with the cobwebs
enough of those
the air so fresh
flows down my throat
a cleansing purity
had ever I hoped

hair pulled and clothes tugged
this way and that
A dance with nature
though it feels like combat
unforgiving and powerful
the wind at sea
a wake-up call, a reminder
of how thankful I must be
After some weeks of clouded mentality, here is a poem about how a blustery day can whip me back into shape.
You are proud to remember,
while I forget it all.
You know how and when to pick
while I barely depict
that getting lost is not an option.
You hate seeing balloons
floating in the sky,
"ones beyond its limits,
will break into small pieces.
Look how confident I am!”,  
waiting to pat you on the shoulders.
“Great, I can just watch tv”

I didn’t know I was punished.

Well,

an easy one for you to remember puffy.
i am not an overnight oat to make your morning easy.
i am seafoam, whisked by smashed whitecaps and breaking waves blown inland. When you are hardly sea spray ejected in the air.
The air that drifts in through my window
Has come as the wind from afar for me to breathe;
Past mountain tops and river valleys;
From the mouth of my beloved.
It has rustled the leaves of trees along the way
And has skimmed the crests of waves in vast oceans.
We breathe the world with every breath.
June, 2004
air
You've become the air I breathe,
yet you manage to leave me,
breathless everytime
Erian Rose May 20
seasons pass
months fly by
crisp November air
trembles bittersweet
changes go past
from streetlights on main
to budding riverbanks
a love lost
for something and somewhere
far out from grasp
Poetic T May 17
The moment were surrounded
          by deep breaths of nothingness.

But we swear we
                    can feel it touching our neck..

                               was that you..

                               wait no ones here..
oh' ****...
                                         silence....
Mansi Patel May 17
Why do people describe tranquility
As stillness?
There is no stillness
It's just a concept
Your mind concocted

Look around:
The nature is busy
Do you see ants stop?
Do you see birds stand still?
Do you think air stops moving?

If you wait for stillness
You'll be waiting a long time
Find peace in the busyness
It exists trust me
You just need to look for it
Haruharu May 15
Waves, like hands comforting the dry rocks.

My stone cold heart.

He promised me to always be my wave.

Everytime I'm about to dry out he's there.

Washing away all fear.

When I'm about to suffocate, he changes direction.

Allowing me to breathe.

Exposing me to the sun.

Like clockwork he's there again, soaking me.
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