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Jeremy Betts Apr 14
•°• A Twisted Classic •°•

Sing along if you know the words...

...this is a life that never ends
Yes it'll break you if you can't bend
Some people...tried to warn us,
Tried to tell us what it was
But we continue blindly past forever just because...

Jeremy Betts Apr 12
•°• A Twisted Classic •°•

I don't want to set the world on fire
I just want to start
To burn what's left of your heart

You took my heart as my one desire
Now I hate you
For all you did and didn't do

Faith Sep 2023
It is never enough
There is a piece missing from every aspect of myself
A sliver of beauty, a slice of intelligence, a portion of strength
That I so desperately want to acquire
With hands too unsteady for Da Vinci and a voice too weak for Houston
I pull apart words and smash them back together in Play-Doh poetry
I see this technicolor world and want to put it into film
But my vocabulary is too juvenile and the style too amateur
My metaphors are recognizable on all levels, the depth of a kiddie pool
To read the works of Shelley and Milton and Dante light this flame
That burns in anger at my own futile words, a seething disappointment
The greats, the classics, all I could ever read, and all I could never be
Each poem that I write lets me down, far too short and far too simple
My own words could never capture the essence of what I want to say
Who I want to be
It is never enough
But I will keep trying
Tetra Hachiko Jul 2022
We fell apart
A lasting scar
It cannot be undone
You made your choice
Ignored my voice
Did you think that I had fun?
Im sure you see
Now that she leaves
Exactly how it feels
Filled with regret
A losing bet
Youve lost all your apeal
Bell Sep 2021
It was most boastful of me to assume that I could be the one to fill your cup
to assume that no other flower could fulfill you in the same manner
who am I to assume that we don't look just as lovely in a vase
and who are you to compare a rose to a carnation?
one whose grace is affiliated with beauty itself
and another that bumbles clumsily along like that of a lost bee
in every flower pressed,
in every poem composed
I seem to grow more tired of describing this ephemeral love
I continue to saudade in pursuit of moiety
leaving myself in a state of perpetual hireath
but in full honesty, I don't mind you switching me out for rose here and then
though I can't help but ponder
if she holds the same warmth in your arms
as one does in mine
and as to whether or not I will always be a stand-in for the next lovely rose to come

-a blissfully ignorant stand-in, a carnation
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