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Elizabeth Kelly Nov 2021
Lord grant me the audacity.

To again be a 23 year old marshmallow
Partying every night at the campfire with a bunch of skewers.

The audacity
To feel outstanding
With an underdeveloped frontal lobe
Floating around in cherry bombs and Stroh’s

To survive being invincible and brave and strong enough to make bold and terrible decisions
And blessedly wake to another sunrise

Never grateful to be alive.
******* *****.
How does anyone survive their early 20s.

Sheer audacity.
Just reminiscing about being a *****. The marshmallow analogy makes me laugh. Early 20s were a blast and many many years later I truly can’t believe I made it through mostly unscathed.
Mrs Anybody Jul 2020
oh papa
forgive me

for the
i secretly
with friends
under bridges

oh mama
forgive me

for the
i drank
when you
told me
not to

oh please
forgive me
for being
a teenager

poor decisions
good memories
also check out my other poems! :)
Délice Apr 2020
we took the wrong turn

in turn, fate turned on us

guess we better turn back

before everything takes a turn
Ironatmosphere Mar 2020
Shouldn't someone be steering this canoe?
I am flailing in the water
tangled up in the stream

Where the hell is the captain?
I yell and I scream
Before realizing the inevitable
the captain
is me
Jay Oct 2019
I begged you to love me,
I got on my knees the first night.
I begged you to love me,
I drank for you.
I begged you to love me,
I lied for you.
I begged you to love me,
I gave you whatever you wanted when you asked.
I begged you to love me,
I walked large distances to see you.
I begged you to love me,
I changed myself for you.
I begged you to love me,
I broke promises for you.
I begged you to love me,
And you never did.
fray narte Oct 2019
she was just another poet
who wrote
late night proses
about smoking
ten cigarettes
in one sitting,
and climbing closed gates
at 1 am
and other bad ideas —
bad ideas
like him.
fray narte Jul 2019
lost souls don't end up in asphodel meadows, honey —
they end up in your apartment;
a messy, poorly-lit place.
or so i did.
our systems filled
with nicotine and other bad ideas
i will for sure regret.

well, truth be told,
you're mine to regret.

well truth be told,
you're not.

but there we were,
flung in a den of frenzied kisses —
skin next to a black hole,
a black hole next to a skin
guess we'll never know which is who.
but tonight break me —

we both know this isn't your
type of love.

so tonight stain me,
and i'll call it a pseudo-romance, darling
and maybe after,
we can smoke cigarettes
or watch the city fall asleep
or stare at each other's empty eyes;
maybe somehow that's more of our style
darling, than staring at the sunrise is.

but at this moment i know,
in this poorly-lit place,
dripping roofs,
***** sinks,
that i will waste my words writing
beautiful poetry for you,
even if i'm not that beautiful myself.

even if you're not that beautiful yourself.

even if we're not that beautiful ourselves.
fray narte Jun 2019
Our lips met
in a cosmic collision,
like the sun and the moon
in an eclipse;
we sensually nibbled,
and ******,
and licked,
and tongued,
and got a taste
of each other's sadness.
I could almost swear
kissing you felt like
drowning and yet,
never wanting
to come up for air.
Our hands were frantic,
like ballerinas
made to dance
under the tune
of insane rock music;
we fumbled
on each other's
zips and buttons,
'til they were
along with our clothes
and the masks
we wore.
Our skins grazed
in sweat and despair,
like the earth
by the sun
after an entire night
of raining;
we caressed
and clawed on backs;
I was pretty sure
I had glimpse
of your soul,
and you probably
saw a void
where mine should be,
but we let our demons
dance 'til two,
like figure skaters
gliding gracefully
over thin ice
during a winter night.

And I thought it was love.
God, I almost called it love,
I even wished it was.

But darling, it was the bottles on the floor. Probably *****.
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