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Lost May 15
The same Bright Eyes album
With the same feeling
In the same bed
Looking at a different ceiling

Some things stay the same
And some things will change
But it all feels old
Musty, dusty,
Stained with mold

Water damage on the walls of my room in the double wide
Are like the new stretch marks on my stomach
My plaster skin, my sheetrock hide

If I pick
The paint
Comes off
Rubbery in slippery fingers
Little round fingertip
Jagged cuticle I bit

I can’t remember much
But nothing feels new
My optic nerves receive stimuli
With no brain to register to

I am not blind
I think I might just choose
To leave my mind places
I won’t go back to
I already have a poem titled “VACANT” but tbh after writing over 100 poems it’s getting quite difficult to come up with new titles each time lol.

I hope you’re all doing alright during these uncertain times. Much love to all of you wonderful members of this community :)
vera Jan 2018
there is beauty in every person
like a seed perfectly sown
by planters with years of life experience

time passes and the seed is watered
with waste, and humiliation
pain, and sorrow

but somehow
it still finds the sweet nectar
of creativity and love

slowly, the seed will
sprout into a beautiful flower
a different one to match every soul

there is beauty in every person

but beauty does not grow
through happy life experiences
beauty comes from the spirit
that transforms the wrongs its been dealt
into flowers for those who hurt them
- a failed attempt at optimism
Jackie Mead Aug 2017
Eyes to the left
Eyes to the right
Looking to read you with all their might
Looking deep under your skin
Studying to work out where you begin

Eyes to the left
Eyes to the right
Learning your inner secrets and keeping them tight
Learning how you think; with the slightest nod, wink, and blink.

Eyes to the left
Eyes to the right
Looking deep through to your soul
Reflecting the feelings of your inner portal

Eyes to the left
Eyes to the right
Never letting you out of their sight
With you to the very end, keeping your secrets like your very best friend
inspired by street art
Olivia McCann Oct 2014
I've found a poet
Who sings
A boy
Who feels
And let's his voice
Shake in songs
About airplanes crashing
Who tells me
He loves me
Very very very very much
Happy Birthday darlin'

He has dark hair
And walks on a bridge
To watch a
Bowl of oranges
Float away.

The Calendar Hung Itself-
He says.
He'll visit the band in the morning.

God he strums smiling-
In pain
Brimming with paint-
What a waste-
A stepping stone on a path.
If you haven't heard Bright Eyes- give em a listen... My favorites are The Calendar Hung Itself, Lover I Don't Have to Love, At the Bottom of Everything, Waste of Paint and Bowl of Oranges

— The End —