Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jeremy Betts Aug 6
Time is a funny thing
We miss the past
And dream of the future
While paying little mind to a today
That is the dream we will later miss

©2024
Lalaouna Amina Oct 2021
Do we think first or feel?
Think!
UNSUPPORTED
first
we Feel
and that is itself an act
then
we think
and that is a react
To THINK
is a react to an act:
To FEEL
life is about feelings
I S A A C Aug 2021
what if I have a little too much Bacardi
and I am stumbling around the party
would you take care of me or use me
would you pull my hair back as I spew out my regrets
watch me undress, caress my silhouette
don’t neglect, ******* like a cigarette
knew since we first met, you rev me up like a corvette
what's next, what's next
every since you step into my life its been just blessed
I confess it's been stressful trying to get a handle
or a grip on you and your fit is so cool
you make me want you, so smooth
you want me to want to do things I don’t usually do
give up the flower as you f*ck me in the shower
never thought I would be like this, you are my weakness
smiling during the fall of the tower
sundial iris Jul 2020
هر دو بی فرزند هستیم (متفاوت)/we are both childless, differently
——————————————————————————


let us not ask each other or god

the why, just how life worked out

and maybe by a choice unconfessed


~

yet we both lie.

~

you possess thousands of offspring,

tend to their every need, breast feed

them water, special nutrients, stroking

their leaves, worry about their viruses,

you, dying just, a little, when, one rooted

looks up and says, “I am dying mother,

thank you for your love.”


~

my ***** produced two men,

each now, differentially,

lost, lost to me, and daily

privately, in word and wet,

weep my losses, for what

is a man who had children,

but goes down into his grave

gray haired, with none in

attendance to refill the soil

that his grave grayed body

requires to

hide his wasted,

childless

life.
Poetic T Feb 2020
She was neve going to be in white,
              neutrality was never

going to be her hue.

She was telling the world a message..


Her gown, was onyx silk woven
                 like Cinderella had told the
arachnids  to create beauty in the night
unbridled
            it fell entrapping on any who gazed

upon its woven radiance.

She walked down the isle and with each step,
                                at least five were captivated

in the webbing of her beauty,
                       walking beyond there view.

All entombed within the elegance
             that captured them.

She was the spider weaving a web of beauty
           that captured every eye.

And the man was her prey, he smiled
          lost in the moment of her captivation.

I do, I do,  and both were entangled
within the
                             eyes of each.

This moment was silk ropes tied to each others
          wrists,
         and now they'll weave them every step
              

                          they collect together.
Vic Sep 2019
"He's either a madman or a poet."

"Can't I be both?"

"You already are."
Late night conversations are weird yee yee
Next page