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Madisen Kuhn Sep 18
i could be that girl
whose voice is low and melodic
and coats your mouth with
acacia honey
whose eyes are the color
and depth of
whose presence is thick like
new york summers
rosy like
los angeles in early spring
if i braid flowers into my hair
if i write enough poems
if i learn to show the skin of my essence
but remain an abyss—
i will stop making art
when i become it
RJP Shanahan Aug 20
Trampling through their city paths,
Hunting ground, mean street.
They perch aloft towers of oak;
Dripping with prestige vine, wrapped
With silk leaves, soft to touch
And hard to climb.

The Sun sets over the seven lakes
Of spring kissed, freshly mown
Fields of scorn blessed by
Solitudal and beady eyes.
Gates keeping out the world that
Wishes them harm.

They sit so high peering down,
At our destitution, our self-prohetised Might!
And think:
“Pfft you all wish you could fly
Freddie Ruiz Jul 30
Face your life and its pain.
Enjoy the pleasure it brings in the end.
Leave no path untaken
and find your real name.
Written on March 3, 2013
Composition number: 444
Ooolywoo Jul 10
Hope is my companion today
we hold hands while humming a song from "Cabaret"
we hug, we smile, dancing to infinity
it's a short opening, but it is worth praising our ditty
i have to hold on tightly to you before it ends
you come, you go, causing my heart to distend
this time i will take something from you
your warmth for cold days ahead
your potential of a newborn baby
your armor to keep away adversity
i want this moment to linger eternally
you perch in my soul and your whispering became a roar
you fill my body to the core
making me fall in love
in love with life,
in love with love,
in love with you
pk tunuri Jun 17
I left my home in the name of education
I left my hometown in the name of higher education
I left my state in the name of graduation
I left my family in the name of aspiration

At times, I miss my childhood
Although, the fun & friends weren't the same in my adulthood
In order to get rid of their falsehood
I left them too, for my own good

I have traveled so far away from home
Now, When I let my thoughts to roam
All they bring back is sadness and pain
And then, I left my tears to drain

I lost myself in this whole journey of life
There were times when I often looked for a knife
Not just to **** me but to end the pain
I left everything and I'm waiting for a magical rain
O' paragon of my dreams
My aspirations given wings
Our tales tailor you as a foolish boy
Yet who succeeds, he who does not strive
Regardless of fear
Towards thine highest height?
Poetic T Mar 21
To honour
      we must exist.

For without
       of being we are empty.

But life is the
       for we only endure one.

Live it without
               the shackles
        of others, we alone are free.
Jeff Gaines Mar 18
There is this place I love to go,
some would call it a dream.
I smile and laugh with all who're there,
no one is ever mean.

It's not one place I drift off to …
It changes all the time.
The same location, night and day,
would truly dull the mind.

Exploring the seas
and mountains
and caves.
Zooming low
over high tree tops
and skimming across the waves.

It's not a delusion of grandeur
nor a proclamation of emancipation …
It's really more like a form of
therapeutic anticipation.

It's not that I hate being here,
I simply aspire to do more.
I have so much to share with the world
and places I wish to explore.

Share is the watchword here.
I want something back.
I wish to see and do and learn …
To gain the things that I lack.

But somewhere here along the way, something's bogged me down.
I find myself spinning my wheels and often wearing frowns.

I close my eyes and off I go, to the place I've told you about …
I see it more like a vacation … not a desperate way out.

I'm sure one morning that I'll wake up
and I'll be there for real.
Then no more moments of my day,
on this journey will I have to steal.
This was written a very long time ago at a moment in my life when I was feeling exasperated and frustrated about all my efforts seeming to end up fruitless. We all go there sooner or later, don't we?

I think I was in my early 30's and getting a lot of rejection emails on my first Novel. My writing was doing great online, my poetry winning awards ...

My favorite part of it is the multi-syllable words strung together. I was just beginning to stretch my wings with whimsy and word-smithing.

But, without a degree, the "Literati" in the publishing world will usually have little or nothing to do with you. To them, I guess ... without that paper, how could you POSSIBLY have something to write about?

This is just simply one of things we write as a form of "self-medication" as-it-were. It did make me feel better ... and as it always does ... things got better.

Such a Roller Coaster we are all riding, huh?!
Like bees to honey
are my anxieties to me
In subtle matresses
with sunken eyes
I percieve my neurotic dreams
my desperate aspirations
my misconstrued qualities
my blinded prophecies
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