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Lizzy Hamato Apr 12
I’ve shown my body,
More times than I've gotten flowers.
What's crazy is,
I love flowers
And hate my body.

But you don’t,
You love my body.
It’s what pulled you in,
What made you even want me.

Not me,
Not the way I spill my dreams at midnight,
Not the way I trace constellations on fogged-up windows,
Not the sparkle in my eyes,
Not my heart.

Just the skin,
Just the shape,
Just something to hold,
Just something interesting.
Just something to ****

You may worship me,
You may make me favour my body,
You may treat me right,
And you may “love” me now.

But the beginning is just the same
And if I were to lose any charm or,
God forbid my looks.
You’d leave and never come back.

I hate my body
And yet,
I still wait for flowers.
Daniel Tucker Jan 2017
When a mountain
   I dare not climb
the ropes and tackles  
  are in abundance

In great shape
  my body and mind
Not a weak link
in the expedition

But when a mountain
  I dare to climb
the ropes and tackles
  are often misplaced

Out of shape
  my body and mind
Weakness as a
  spell does bind

Hopes and dreams
  of tireless youth can
be all but forgotten
  in the spiritually aged

Strength   the glittering
  cloak of youth can
fade in weakening
  jaded resolve

But in me common
  traits dissolve
The bucking steed
  will never be tamed

Pigeon-holed the
  misfortune of other
souls   has not been
  allowed by my resolve

But this determination
  is not without cost
The foothills of youth
  are far removed

by erosion caused by
  unstable belief systems
washed away into
  the Sea of Ambiguity

A distant mountain
  I often see
(distance   the deceiver
  of proportion)

Challenged at the foot
  of the formidable sight
halfway climbing
  only to slip and fall

Does this mountain
  need to be climbed
Do youthful dreams
  need to be fulfilled

When these dreams
  are all you ever had
you wake up falling
  or climbing higher

Driven by dreams
  and gifts and talents
that rage like a river
  in the driest desert

calling home what
  must come home
holding on to what
  must be fulfilled

Obstacles that have
  become landmarks
seem to fade
   into obscurity

like threats that
  always remain empty
laughing at what
  used to bring tears

I remain standing
  through all these trials
not unscathed
  and a bit weather beaten

halfway up another
  formidable mountain
making up for lost time
  from a major fall.
© 2017 Daniel Tucker

A poem from the living of my life.
Alice Wilde Apr 10
Sitting
Sinking
Into cloud landing

Falling through
Still sleeping
In white dust

Will my toes
Ever touch
The ground

Or will I be
Stuck - eyes closed
Forever

In a daydream
Ari Apr 8
For some reason,
I often hear girls speak this treason:
"I'm so fat"

no.
No.
nO.
NO.
NO!

You're skinny. You're in shape!
Next to me, you look like a stick.
I'M fat. I'm a big round rock.
But who cares? Why care?
Some of us are fat. Some of us are thinner.
why's must we worry and
detest our selves because of how we look?
we are more than just our bodies.
we are hearts. we are souls. we are human.
we are broken, scarred and beautiful
Seriously, I hate how insecure we all are because the beauty standards are so limited. And we all want to look a certain way because it seems 'perfect'. Well we aren't perfect. our bodies dont define us, but we've had it for our whole lives. been through everything with us. idk just suddenly felt need to write this out
When a mountain
   I dare not climb
the ropes and tackles  
  are in abundance

In great shape
  my body and mind
Not a weak link
  in the expedition

But when a mountain
  I dare to climb
the ropes and tackles
  are often misplaced

Out of shape
  my body and mind
Weakness as a
  spell does bind

Hopes and dreams
  of tireless youth can
be all but forgotten
  in the spiritually aged

Strength   the glittering
  cloak of youth can
fade in weakening
  jaded resolve

But in me common
  traits dissolve
The bucking steed
  will never be tamed

Pigeon-holed the
  misfortune of other
souls   has not been
  allowed by my resolve

But this determination
  is not without cost
The foothills of youth
  are far removed

by erosion caused by
  unstable belief systems
washed away into
  the Sea of Ambiguity

A distant mountain
  I often see
(distance   the deceiver
  of proportion)

Challenged at the foot
  of the formidable sight
halfway climbing
  only to slip and fall

Does this mountain
  need to be climbed
Do youthful dreams
  need to be fulfilled

When these dreams
  are all you ever had
you wake up falling
  or climbing higher

Driven by dreams
  and gifts and talents
that rage like a river
  in the driest desert

calling home what
  must come home
holding on to what
  must be fulfilled

Obstacles that have
  become landmarks
seem to fade
   into obscurity

like threats that
  always remain empty
laughing at what
  used to bring tears

I remain standing
  through all these trials
not unscathed
  and a bit weather beaten

halfway up another
  formidable mountain
making up for lost time
  from a major fall.
© 2025 Daniel Tucker
Juno Apr 8
I wish I was free
A spirit,
A soul,
In which to glide-
Like a gust of wind,
through the world,
Of my own pace-
Of my own feelings-
my own choice-
My rights-
My - freedom

To experience life,
Like its supposed to be,
Not trapped by dependency,
And confined to flesh,
Moving so slowly -
Living for others,
Instead of myself

To do as I wish,
Fly with the birds ,
Explore other lives,
Among the pink and orange of the sky

Of which a life I can only dream,
Full of happiness,
-Serenity,
In my dreams I will come to you,
So don’t forget me,
My place of comfort,
Forever held in my mind

-JJ
01/03/25
Julie Apr 5
To allow yourself to feel
is the strongest thing
a human can do.

When we feel,
we are raw.
They say vulnerability
makes us weak—

But the truth is:
being vulnerable
makes you even stronger.

Because you have nothing to hide,
nothing to run from.
Your body cooperates
with your mind.

In Sanskrit, they call it — sahaja —
that which is born with you.
Feelings are not a weakness,
they are our guide.

To feel is to be.
let yourself feel
Widad Apr 2
You’d sit on the couch, eyes locked on the screen, yelling at the players like they could hear your screams
And I’d sit beside you, waiting in vain, for the warmth in your touch, for you to say my name
But the whistle would blow, and your voice would rise, louder than love, sharper than lies
Still, when the TV turned dark, you’d turn around, pull me close, and call me your star
I dressed the way you wanted, tight skirts and lace, hoping I’d see admiration on your face
You told me I looked like a dream come alive, but only when I matched the ones on your phone at night
Scrolling through bodies I could never be, whispering names that were never me
And I stood there, silent, as you held me close, wondering if I was just another ghost
Was I just a shadow playing your game? A pawn on the board with no real name?
Or was I something more before you walked away? Just a memory you left to fade?
90 minutes, that’s all I was, a moment of fire that turned into dust
A game you played then left behind, another match, another night
And I still hear the echoes, still feel the pain, like a stadium screaming your name
90 minutes, that’s all we were, and when the clock ran out, you chose to disappear
) You used to pull me in, say I was your queen, but only when the world wasn’t in between
When the match was over, when the night was still, I was the trophy you held with a fleeting thrill
But when morning came and the world resumed, I faded like shadows in a crowded room
And I should have known, I should have seen, love isn’t love when it’s kept behind screens
Was I just a play, just another game? A temporary high that you’d soon replace?
Like a penalty shot, like a final score, did you ever love me, or was I just decor?
And when you screamed at the ref, when you cursed at the field, was that the only way you knew how to feel?
Was I just another season you left behind? A name on a jersey you’d never rewind?
90 minutes, that’s all I was, a moment of fire that turned into dust
A game you played then left behind, another match, another night
And I still hear the echoes, still feel the pain, like a stadium screaming your name
90 minutes, that’s all we were, and when the clock ran out, you chose to disappear
Now I walk past the fields, past the neon lights, and I see you there, lost in another fight
Another game, another crowd, another girl waiting to figure you out
And I want to warn her, I want to say, love isn’t love when it fades away
But she’ll learn like I did, when the final score’s in sight, love never lasts past 90 minutes of time
Shaun Copple Apr 1
Shrunken
Sentences into digital para
meters.
Glance at a screen forever
Stolen
Sightless birds criss-crossing
And swiping food away.
Hands full with
Thoughts
Emptied and tidied ferociously
They
Discovered.
Jury retired defendant
Launches new attack pattern
Society
Crumbles.
Again.
Syndromes and Disintegration
The life of a poet lives on
through all their poems,
but the day I do depart,
I want to be cremated.

I will entrust family
and some fellow poets
to let my ashes sink
into some deep black ink.
And I'd want them to write
the stanzas I secretly saved
just for the occasion.

That way
they can say
that I put
all my heart
and my body
into poetry.
Literally.

My soul,
on the other hand,
would live on happily
as an eternal poet
having fun rhyming
while everyone's crying.
(and I'd wish they'd stop.)
I wouldn't want my loved ones to be saddened.  I'd want them to rejoice, knowing that my dream of becoming an eternal poet finally came true.
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