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You found me
stuck staring
at rearview mirror reflections
of wintry, dusk intersections
of everything leaving me
all at once.
A forced exhale
of asphyxia caged
in collapsing lungs;
my mouth,
a fountain spring,
that coughed out
pools of blood.

I wish I saw myself
the way you saw me;
not a red traffic light
wounding speeding cars
on winding streets,
but an antique heirloom
priceless enough
you'd only wish
you could keep
in a heart-shaped box
you saw in dreams.

But, I'd cut my tongue,
paint my lips cherry shades
to blend with cells that'd stain
handkerchiefs you'd offer.
Make you believe
this isn't going to foster
because you are indecision,
unfinished watercolor landscapes
of summer forest fire skies,
a sun-kissed Pacific wanderer.
And I am true crime
untouched evidence of break-ins,
remains of faulty locks and lights.
I am mosaics misaligned;
static, seabed cracks
from forgotten fault lines.
Gaping fissures of sand,
and salt that won't let me stitch
frayed skin-deep fibres
barely holding me in.

Oceans would have to empty themselves
into whirring cyclones and high tides
for our selfish sense of touch to collide.
Ice caps would have to sink
deep enough to even bruise my skin.
And I wouldn't want to watch
more Shakespeare end
before it begins.

See, I am the one
with sharp edges,
but why
did you have to be the one
to clip my wings?

There is only an abyss
without a trampoline,
a safety net,
a bed of waterlilies,
I could fall in.
And I am so tired
of paradoxes
and ironies;
of always being wanted
by someone who doesn't even
want to be kept,
of always being mended
and then left
with more dislocations,
and fractures,
one after another
each taking longer to fix.

Now, in shapeless parcels,
without return addresses
sent out into the void
these words will echo
of love
I never intended to borrow,
and shadows
of false hope
you never thought yourself
capable of
giving away.
Aa Harvey May 2018
Live 8

The Black Eyed Peas and a green, Green Day;
I want this day to last forever; thank Bob for giving us Live 8.
A day of great bands, playing all their best songs;
From Bono and McCartney, through to Snoop Doggy Dogg.
All over the world, great bands play great songs;
We all know the words, so come on sing along.

Some people are pants; some become great human beings.
One day of your life, dedicated to the revolution.
Television to the world, a united way of thinking;
We must all join in, to find a solution.

A whole day of music, for a world with one feeling;
To tell your fellow man, to keep on believing.
One day we will end this and make Africa one great nation;
Sir Bob showed us the way, now we must start the revolution.

Twenty four hours of music, is a gift to the world;
It will enlighten any mind, but you can't forget the cause.
You can't have a great day and forget the dying boys and girls;
Because one moment will affect you,
It will soon change your world.

Some people are pants; some become great human beings.
One day of your life, dedicated to the revolution.
Television to the world, a united way of thinking;
We must all join in, to find a solution.

A kid gets to his feet, to not die in front of his sister;
There lays a baby, just waiting to die.
Without Bobs irate temper and the visions of Africa;
I would have felt nothing, I wouldn't have cried.

Then they showed a girl, who was so close to death;
If we all did nothing, she wouldn't be here now.
But Live Aid gave her life, helped her take a deep breath;
One vision of human beauty, as she looks out at the crowd.

This incredible woman, would not have grown to become a woman;
We would have denied the world, of such a beautiful face.
I would have never, seen such a beautiful angelic image;
Now I see her as a vision.  Human being’s saving grace.

Some people are pants; some become great human beings.
One day of your life, dedicated to the revolution.
Television to the world, a united way of thinking;
We must all join in, to find a solution.

(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Ellison Apr 2018
I want to sit and play with the greats.
I want to see myself singing songs that scream my soul.
I want to write and make history in a studio.
I want to be successful, but satisfied, too.

I want to master the JOURNEY of music.
I don’t want to or care about being the best, because
Who cares if an album goes platinum and
It isn’t written by the REAL you, not
Some cracked corporate cunning conning conundrum
Cancer-causing cannibalistic contagious canary that sings songs
More plastic than the casing on a vinyl?

No, I don’t believe and won’t believe
In your censorship and your lies
Telling me that the public will hear it
If the truth is full of flies
Would God be glad if you wrote that down?
Would your parents get angry and sue?
But I wrote them from what was hiding
In a basement filthy stew.

No, I don’t believe and can’t believe
In red stained glasses on brick
But those bullets they flew that day
To a shattered mind they stick.
Should I carry on the journey now?
Is it a burden worth to hold?
But I’ve got to keep the people happy
Cause a Grammy’s worth just like gold

Yes, I do believe and should believe
In the power of a sound-filled disc
The power of a musical drug
With no added harmful risk.
You wouldn’t believe if I got up to say
That I’m living 1984
But look all around at the artists that sing
Without a chance knowing of more.

I want to be strong and careless.
I want to learn more about learning more of myself.
I would like to be a member of the Plastic Ono Band
But the dream is over, and new bands start today.
If you are in music for the money, you are spitting on very the art form itself. Say what you want and say what you feel. Don't let others tell you what to write.
Jasmine Reid Mar 2018
A lackluster perspective of us pessimists, we create the monsters inside our brains, but we only wish to be awaken from our nightmares.
And the introverts hide behind the music to avoid the lies of others, they fear attachment because the rest of them already left,
We all want to wake up.
Short -
Inspired by "Nightmares by Set It Off"
Mimicking summer from my window
Short sleeves and shorts
The radiator heat, The blue skies and sunshine
YouTube and Trophy eyes lives
Mask and disguise the cold outside
I'll get through these months knowing that summer can be a permanent state of mind
a Dec 2017
"How can I sleep
if I don't have dreams?
I just have nightmares"
               -  The Neighbourhood, "Staying Up"
love this song. it is probably my favourite one out of that album
Hayley Rena Dec 2017
Raised by
Kurt Cobain anger,
low grunge in earbuds
make it easier to ignore the mass of loud kids in the halls,
Hope they stay away.
For me? Socializing will drain you.

Raised by
Amy Winehouse.
Big winged eyes but,
her voice was bigger.
Showed me how to close doors,
and what hides behind them.
For love is a losing game,
yet we end up addicted anyways.

Raised by
The Beatles.
60s pop and rock,
Oh! Darlin’ they are good!
Taught me to think for myself
and let some things be.

Raised by
Cage The Elephant.
Showed me the world is
cold, cold, cold.
Cause there ain’t no rest for the wicked!
I’ll always find
trouble on my left
and to my right.

Raised by
Earl St. Clair
I might not have what I want,
but I got what I need.
And some don’t have a three story home
to feel alone in.
You just gotta deal with the pain,
before it deals with you.
Written// Sept. 20th, 2017
This was a class assignment so I know this one is a little cheesy. We had to write a poem about what has raised us wether it be experiences, music, family, beliefs, etc. Still worth sharing.
jdotingham Sep 2016
This ILlUsiOn oF LovE (it's clique and robust), universal in cause
Makes you want more
Empty words aren't obscure, try to rhyme; you want lust - more.
Throw the rules out of the window, or the cliff if you prefer,
English lit is about *** and death, the two things that occur (more or less).
This illusion of love (of a ******* a BuS), history of distraught,
But it makes me want more.
I'm head over heaven for this ******* my bus to college; problem is we used to date (which was gladly reminded by a friend in front of us). But still the forbiddeness makes me want it more like a forbidden fruit (it's poetic love as she's a literature student too).
The combination of form for the poem is a metaphor btw ;)
jdotingham Aug 2016
You said I seem to have changed so much
*I'm not the same boy you used to love
I'm not the same boy you used to lust
I'm not the boy you lost...
A segment of my song of the same name.
Mallory Aug 2016
If you cut me open and turned me inside out you would find his name tangled up in my veins, and my heart would beat to the rhythms of his favorite band. I think that would be an accurate way to describe love...if my name was the oxygen in his blood, But his heart doesn't beat to the sound of me, so a more accurate thing to call it would be poison or toxicity. I don't want to love someone that lives universes away, lives forever in 17, and only touches me in 18. That person does not exist in this world, in this here and this now, he does not exist. He left me in an insane asylum and blocked all the exits. I want to stop this virus that has sprouted within me, **** myself, stop breathing, because my air is polluted with his smoke and my heart can barely hold its own. He's so different now, the way life is, but he doesn't even see me, doesn't breath near me, doesn't need me the way I need him. And I'm different now, and I wanna show him how maybe he could love this me. Maybe he'd fall in love with this me cause I want him with me, want him in my car when I listen to the bands he told me about and I wanna play him all the bands that I know now, cause he'd love them. And then maybe he would look at me again. Maybe I could tell him about a book I read, but I haven't read one since he left. The sun has gone in a full rotation around this earth and no matter how many times I've swallowed the stars and soaked up the sun, if you cut me open today his breath would still be creeping off my tongue, his favorite books would still be written inside my hands, and my heart...
would still beat to the rhythms of his favorite band.
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