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Jabin Jul 2018
If I wanted the freedom to
choose.
I think I’d be hard pressed
to get myself undressed
and show my naked body
to you.

That isn’t what I wanted at
all.
Are the scorched earth and trees
that some crazy man sees,
enough to convince of me
a fall?

Lip service makes me feel such a
rush.
Like my hands and my knees
can do much to please,
but **** if it don’t make
me blush.

Savior? Where are you? I’m waiting
NOW!
While science betrays you
and history flays you.
But we keep tipping the sa-
cred cow.

Punishment seems so unbecome-
ing.
If only I’d lived then,
I’d have died for my own sin
and kept you around for
loving.

I mean, *******! Don’t we need
It.
We’re lost in the forest,
our reason is porous,
and our culture is a
pit.

None of this “living” makes any
sense.
The cards that I’m holding
make me think about folding,
cause already I’ve tried to
repent.
stopdoopy Jun 2018
I like to check on you
I don't know if you notice
what I'm doing
what I'm asking
what I mean
it thrills and scares me that you might
you broke me once
but I don't want you to think of me as damaged
I don't need the sympathy
I love you and you don't feel the same
but I need to know the truth
enjoy
Jamilla Jun 2018
What if I died today?
Would anyone miss me anyway?
What if I died today?
And I never had the chance to say goodbye.
Would you hate me,
Because I just wanted to stop the pain?
What if I died today?
Would you forget me that easily?
What if I died today?
Would you say good riddance
If you saw me lying there
No heartbeat, just a cold body.
What if I died today?
Would you trap me in your arms,
Like I was trapped in my own mind?
What if I died today?
Would you cry like I did
Every single night, Alone.
Because of the demons in my head.
What if I died today?
Would you realize how much
I wanted all of this to stop
And wish to see my worth.
What if I died today?
Would you see my scars
And wish you'd have noticed
How I was in so much pain?
What if I died today?
Would you care?
Like nobody does.
What if I died today...
Lisa Jun 2018
I always wanted to be a writer.
I wanted to be able to take my thoughts and put them In words, take the Spirographs that are my thoughts and follow the constantly over lapping lines, but it’s so confusing
So messy.
You see I wanted to be a writer,
but every good writer has had a trauma, some sort of thing they went though, I thought I needed that to be a good writer,
In fact I wanted a darken past.
I wanted to be a wilted willow in sunflowers.
You see I asked for it.
You see I always wanted to be a writer,
I basically asked for it.
I traced the lines of your tattoos
While we drank wine in the living room
Mixed cigarette smoke with my perfume
We had no one else and nothing to lose

Winter comes and there you are
Coming to thaw my cold, cold heart
Warmer days kept us apart
But snow would fall and a fire would start
  
Fingertips on tattered keys
We were Gods in a world we'd never see
Painting a picture of intimacy
You made art out of little old me

Years went by that I spent waitin’
For you to be in our bed again
I checked in everyday back then
Sometimes you'd stop by but I'd never know when

The word Boston tastes like you now
I'd like to forget it but I don't know how
I remember painting the front room of our house
And making love to you when you tried to walk out

Come run your fingers through my hair
We can stay in bed all day in our underwear
Our house feels empty without you there
I still hear your footsteps coming up the stairs

I try my best not to think about us
Or how you used to get so jealous
Our story is old and covered in dust
But I promise to remember you every Christmas
Do you?
Jack Dec 2017
Is it okay to not be okay?
To feel so out of control and out of touch.

What happens if I make a mistake?
Will it affect how people see me?

Does everyone struggle to sleep?
Surrounded by the screaming voices of guilt.

What happens if I lie or cheat?
Can it ever be enough?

Does everyone feel worthless?
To have no true purpose of being here.

Is it normal to feel broken?
Scattered pieces floating in the wind.

Does everyone welcome the idea of dying?
The sweet release of nothingness.

What should someone do when they are always sad?


I’m asking for a friend.
Jean Sharlot Nov 2017
I can do anything
and I can easily adapt to it's nature
but I'm afraid
something is still missing
I was totally complete and incomplete
how can find out
what I was meant to be
how can I be somebody
if I don't know
Who Am I.
Imran Islam Nov 2017
Hey beautiful, cute Girl
Will you be my beloved?
Holding my hand
Breaking all of the obstacles
Will you elope with me?

Hey wonderful, sweet Lady
You would be a bride
Will you be mine?
Oh gorgeous, lovely Honey
Will you hold my hands?
Without any fear.

Hey adorable, shy Sultana
You are the light of my life
Do you believe me?
Who bind me over
To think about you
Will you be my wife?
pampeliška Oct 2017
Your eyes are green
my eyes are brown
I don't know what this should mean
so ***** it, do You wanna go out?
Coleccionamos canciones
en el baúl del alma,
seducimos a la vida
con una mirada,
somos actores
de nuestro guión.

¿que es poesía?
no lo se...
¿que poeta define su poesía?
¡Que lo cante el pueblo!
¡y que me cuente!

Nos enamoramos de versos,
de gente, de gestos y a veces
solo por ser bellos, pero...
¿que queremos probar?
¿que nos hace humanos?
creo... ¡hay algo!
es una atracción, natural
e instintiva hacia personas
extraordinarias, variantes
únicos, momentos lucidos
sueños vueltos realidad.

Y partimos de los surreal
de los sueños simbólicos,
de los viajes astrales
hacia ningún lugar.
Los sueños que se repiten
y se repiten sin dejar nada claro,
un mensaje olvidado,
una voz del pasado,
un recuerdo o un mal sueño.

Un beso que parece ser cierto,
tu piel desnuda contra la luna,
un hombre que se ahoga
en su propia soledad
y volvemos al mundo
para respirar, enamorarnos
jugar, aprender y vivir,
seguir filmando, seguir
escribiendo los versos
robados de tu ausencia;
contar historias
para volver a encerrarme
conmigo mismo.
Oír la canción triste
leer y llora.
Beber
café y vino.
Despertar,
correr y ver el amanecer.

Aquí estoy escuchando tu latido,
enamorándome de tus destellos imprevistos,
de los detalles que te hacen anormal
de las caricias que expulsa tu voz,
de lo que nos hace humanos
imperfectos perfectos,
por lo mismo
de ser distintos,
de cantar distinto,
de portar alma,
de temer a perderla,
de ser valientes
de fallar y tener suerte.

¡Y se me equivoco!
¡que venga el pueblo!
¡y que me lo cante!
Sunday, 1a.m. we are humans, we live in a sea of ​​emotions.
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