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Danielle 27m
"It's a growing pain, like the sky watches me, as the water burdens my very life, a grotesque scene in a tranquil swamp, surrounded with all the flowers I only see as I lay there. It will be my forever lament, a maim into my soul, for the love that gets the best in me, it did the best of me, it is truly a crime."

Words told like a bestowed prayer, it vanishes through the wind as she lays there, submerged by the swamp.
I stand in this inky crucible,
Staring down the gemstones of my work,
But which of these sparkling stones,
Is beautiful enough to be brought to light?
I have blue sapphires,
The color of lonesome waters,
Made of solemn tears.
I have clear diamonds,
Cut carefully,
Each face polished delicately.
But are any of these good enough,
To be shown to the masses?
What if they don't shine as bright,
When they are brought to the light?
I'm pulling poems,
But I'm afraid,
I might set the back down anways.
I'm trying to pick some poems to read for a school event, not going too well.
The truth is,
There's no elite thinker's society,
We're all elite in our own respect.
We evolved from bent over forms,
Working for raw survival.
But as we grew, some of us split away,
Faded from simple survival,
Growing a taste for art.
So were born the sculptors,
The painters, and the poets.
Clever as they were,
The old artists.
They formed a secret society,
For elite thinkers to survive.
Can we take that idea and use it to save those who've avoided the brainwashing?
J Bjork 13h
Summer slips away
while I hide in my room
wasting time falling down
wondering if I’ll ever share
this wealth of love
I hoard on my mound
with someone besides myself:
a tragedy, curled up on the rug,
jaded by the compassion
that has been given up
and I can't get enough

I pinch in further to zoom
on the microcosm of my life
and see that it’s cropped into a frame
without resolve or anyone to blame
alone with the blinds drawn
frozen in a still shot
where I'm hiding from the moon
and it has me believing that
I might die alone
from lack of sleep
as I howl and brood

Morning breaks through
requesting me with warmth
and calling out to
wake me before noon.
I hear but don't listen,
instead I'll bask in this gloom,
listless

That surely must produce
some worthwhile art in the end
even if something will always
feel like it's missing
09/22
Ankush 21h
Words used words,
Weird that is words,
Words much words,
Where now words.

    Words that starts,
And words which end.
    Words just words,
    And stop pretdend.

Words in hands and hands,
Everywhere.
Hands that blurts,
    And anywhere.

He used words,
She used words,
They took words,
    And world look them.

Word bind word,
Wind that wend,
Worse change words,
Chained that weight.

    Words that started,
And the world which ends.
Americans
              Want
                 Less
Government
More
Freedom
Here’s                 The  Rub
Official’s
Stratagem
Have Been
At the
Trough
For.        So
Long.       They
Are.                Greedy
Rapid.                         Rats





Inspired songs

1)Money 1973
By Pink Floyd

2) nowhere to run to (nowhere to hide) 1965
By Martha and the Vandellas
BLG Word of the day challenge
March 15, 2025
Stratagem
A stratagem is a trick or plan for deceiving an enemy or for achieving a goal
jewel 3d
doors & how they swing so far wide
like the gaping shadow
of a pair of lips waiting...

i wonder if you realized i felt the grace
of your arrow -- brushing so lovingly through
the flesh of my *****
& i couldn’t help but to smile

take it away from me, the flutter in my chest, the
residuals of your golden essence
sitting on the rim of modelos
& passenger seat of my monte carlo

when i watch the neutral tones of grainy film
seep into your oily features
i wish you would smile just a bit more

two lovers draped over this canvas
cast their passionate shadows over bedsheets,
pleasurable touches & a recipe for a sickly afterglow,
burning like the delicate backs of fireflies
bursting like a pearlescent bubble
chased by bitter aftertaste of longing

how i wish you knew
how much you made me feel
how my paints drip like honey
& form the lines that become you

when i breathe again the essence has vanished
like paint thinner on acrylic. honey replaced
with a spoonful of sugar
& i cross the street to meet you

suddenly the memory leaves no trace behind
& i can’t help but to trace the spot
where you once stood
copyrighted, poemsbyjewel (2025).
Michael 4d
I wonder…
Will these words that I write
Leave my audience bored?
Will these words that I write
Be just another voice to ignore?
Will these words that I write
Be a knock at my door?
Will these words that I write
Lead away from these shores?
Will these words that I write
Put my face on the floor?
Or…will these words that I write
Mean — I can’t write anymore.
A place where I feel safe,
Where my art is noticed,
Where I am somebody.

Raise your cup for a toast,
"I love HP!"
This is a great place
I like music?
Writing is good too.
But music is the best,
I like listening to the records,
As they spin.
Art is nice too,
I like to paint.
Inspired by the awkwardness of icebreakers.
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