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False Poets Feb 2018
there is no value in a poem that reads
_____
_____
____­
M M l i f e s u c k s x x x n o p o e m i g o t

just

nerve; crap bs, a denial of craft

seek the intelligent intelligible,
kiss the sensational thrill that
emotion harvests with resonating tenses
that beg our brains to differ, sense

this claims,
there is no value in no words is
a hoax cloaked as art by the weak,
make thy metaphors metastasize,
my every cell, a preposition,
preposterous and precious and
comforting in their
privations and provocations

speak to us in alpha and
line our eyes wide,
with pictures at an exhibition
of a faun immobile and beauteous

let me hang on every word of yours and
let it be the raft that sees me happily
unsafe home

take your bs line poem  
shove it down your silent voice

this is not avant garde; this is insulting

p.s.  write me a smile and all will be_____
.
Khadro Jama Feb 8
These females always giving demands.
Like who are you to me?
To go out of your time and day to bother someone.
You've got some itch to scratch called BS drama.
Ive got NO time to WASTE on you
Because your not worth getting mad over
Your not  obliged.
Move around or GTFOMF
I will rise above as the lord knows it.
Sense you cant comprehend my words
I'll just walk away
Because ******* JeAlous!!
trf Jul 2018
youthful years, now reduced
when right angles were obtuse
find my path of lost tracks
feathered freight in the caboose

falling sand, hour glass
shades the moon from the cracks
'neath the back porch lies the dog
who howls when sand runs out

whispered winds
don't you lie
and try to save my sins
whispered winds
don't you lie
don't you die

dreary days, losing weight
i call out but cannot say
what is wrong, i'm ok
let's talk the ******* fake

fever chills, alone to face
california king's embrace
i stretch out, all my regrets
and dream of an escape

whispered winds
don't you lie
and try to save my sins
whispered winds
don't you lie
don't you die
luis Jan 2018
is poetry really something you think about

like, can this be considered poetry?
me, here

sitting at a computer screen
typing words ever so

conversationally

this reads less like a poem
and more like a speech
or perhaps, like a friend
telling you their day over coffee
and I bet right now you can smell the roasted beans
the air, thick with the smell of caffeine, whipped cream,
possibly a cigar or two

and you hear the voice of your best friend
who's telling you about their day

how they had it rough that day
Ben from accounting really knew how to ruin a day, let me tell you
or perhaps,
someone just spilled coffee all over their notes while they were studying

and as much as fifty apologies can mend a relationship,
fifty apologies can't dry up your english notes

can we really consider this kind of stuff poetry?
it's completely free-form
against the norm,
little to no rhyme or structure
no substance whatsoever

just a mindless person rambling about things that seem ever so slightly relatable

is this really poetry?

probably not.
i literally spent all of 0 minutes thinking about this please don't enjoy
And if I could cry-
for just a little while
My body would run dry

Tear ducts, like air ducts
I need a replacement
The ventilation is all wrong

Misty and fogged glasses-
Impair my vision
Remove them and I am blind

Blind to the heartache-
the metaphorical bleeding
inside of my mind

Every day the pain grows-
Grows roots, roots that once
kept me grounded

Now I'm surrounded-
by the demons I once
banished

Rip the roots from my feet
and all I'm left with is nothing.

Nothing but darkness
and blank space

Dark and deep
The black hole In which I keep you
Swirls infinitely

I brace myself for impact
the meteorite sets it sights
on my chest
****** target, take aim and
gain flight

Don't miss, you'll regret it

I could be angry, but what's the point?

You're gone forever
and never coming back
© 2017 Christina Jackson
Happy birthday daddy <3 I miss you every day
C F Tinney Jan 2017
Great hallelujah!
Rejoice – a victory has come today!
In the face of society
I managed to fit in
Not one could tell I faked my way
through normalcy again

Rejoice!  Victory!
Exhausted, still I made it through
All the vomited “good mornings”
faux displays of real concern
and buried, silent yearnings

Celebrate!  Home at last!
Another day of tense smiles
Another walk upon the coals
I’m spent, completely done
I’ve paid my daily tolls

Hiding!  Alone at last!
No anxiety of interaction
No pretending to care
No people faintly catching
The way I deeply stare
Into their souls
with jealous disdain
Em Sep 2016
B
as in baby
as in babe
as in I adore you
as in be mine forever
as in maybe just till tomorrow
as in not anymore
as in strangers
as in strange
as in
S
Caroline Lee Apr 2016
and now we are here
starring at each other from across a table
a healthy divide between who I am
and everything you thought I should be
all the idealistic pictures you used to paint of the pronoun you exalted as the fantom:
'we'
all the messes we made and the even messier nights are on the table too,
I didn't forget one word.
and I know you didn't either.
and I might be sorry for talking **** and trashing the way you seemed to adopt every part of me
I might be sorry for making you cry that night I pulled away because I was breaking and you couldn't see outside of your own skin long enough to realize what your use of the weight of your skull and who's shoulder you carelessly used to prop it up for no reason at all was doing to me
what it did to me
I know what I did to you, just because I did something for me
I listened to you cry from the bunk bed below alone and tired in your forand now we are here
starring at each other from across a table
a healthy divide between who I am
and everything you thought I should be
all the idealistic pictures we used to paint of the plural pronoun you exalted as the fantom 'we'
all the messes we made and the even messier nights are on the table too
I didn't forget one word
and I know you didn't either
and I might be sorry for talking **** and trashing the way you seemed to adopt every part of me
I might be sorry for making you cry that night I pulled away because I was breaking and you couldn't see outside your own skin long enough to realize what your use of the weight of your skull and who's shoulder you carelessly used to prop it up for no reason at all was doing to me,
what it did to me
I know what I did to you just because I did something for me I listened to you cry from the bunk bed below alone and tired of trying to understand my ever changing disposition
And I too, was tired.
I was tired of you trying to keep me warm
I felt like **** but it ended up okay because you returned the favor two months later at my 18th birthday party
only I had a shoulder to cry on
and I should have seen it then but I didn't forgive you all those times I could have sworn I did
on my knees in the sanctuary begging a higher power to take the anger from me
I swore I never wanted to hate you but **** it maybe I did
fingers crossed dressed all white at the funeral
I always savored your spirals
but I'm moving on from that
and after three good ******* years of on and off behavioral tendencies
reevaluations and disconnects and fear of all that you saw in me
I'm not afraid anymore to say that there isn't any 'we'
at least not in the way you said it would be
and I don't want to pretend that I'm heartbroken over it
though I used to loose sleep at night
I don't want to pretend like there's still something here
moving on finally feels right
as we ******* over a couple cups of coffee I can see clearly that we are not the same and that we will never be
but you just keep on talking about your job and about the road trip that we'll never take and how good it feels for everything to be 'okay'
back in the old cycle of recycling the same five conversation topics trying to grasp at a singular old flame
a spark of the easy days
but all I can think about is how I've changed
I'm not the same
and the divide is clear
but here we are anyway.
Looking back but moving on.
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