Brooke 1d

Winter comes.
Rain falls.


Icicles.

I was asking what sort of poem I should write and she said this. Comedy gold.
jdotingham Aug 9

weary eyed hipsters stumble and wonder if others wander the streets so bleak as post intoxicating liquor grips their throats with their crispy eyed dope and melodramatic tropes ramble through their denail of stereotypescalation.
    Angry.
    Screaming.
    Tortured.
    Privileged.
The world did them a crime, stripped them of rhyme and their sandstone blocks of identity ready to be crumbled by the dynamite expression of a cynical drinker of coffee unaware that in the mirror is the same hipster begging for for money on the streets. The one who wonders if others wander so bleak.
    Drenched in irony.
    Cardboard shelter of whining ivory and printed barcodes.
    ABlissful tyrony of tabloid hoes in leather skirts who smoke fags without a second grace at the phantoms of the poloroid.
     Shredding vocal chords. Angel cum clean. W1pe off that liquid graffiti, the cross says it so, should not touch the dew of the floor or a curse shall b-bestowed.
     Acceptance of culture. Fuck!poe_
etry?hello&bi-my/english/suite/heart. YOU DEVILS CROW! a raven's snow, bleeding from earlobes and vaginal holes.
-
---- Who copulated insatiate and ecstatic with homosexual dollars who sweetened the snatches of sweat dripping down glasses and broadway trashes talkshow masses? Eluding gyzyms of my prismomous orgasms of satirical patterns. /.....Pretentious lanterns roam the skyline of a blistering moon, subverted by the doom and gloom by desperation of lustfull wombs. They scratch at the square jaws and poufed hair of clones. Who pound
                pound
                     pound the street with treetrunk cocks screaming
:"Angel.cum.clean?"
And: "ANGEL.CUM.CLEAN!"
And:
"CUM.CLEAN.ANGEL!".
Pulsating club music reminiscent of a rampant connection between two pupils dilating under the influence of spice, rolling the dice with death and life.
-
------{I've seen America with no clothes on, I've seen the road howl all the same.}
/.As ?drunks! begin to splutter their venomous barks of spikes, smokey rooms and coffee eyes are a part of my disguise. .........it's.innate.in.our generation, there's only need for sex to crave. %But really, have we really got the time? .
.
...weary eyed hipsters stumble and wonder if others wander the streets so bleak as post intoxicating liquor grips their throats with their crispy eyed dope and melodramatic tropes ramble through their denail of stereotypescalation.
    Angry.
    Screaming.
    Tortured.
    Privileged.
White.

I've lost a little friend, which I, alone, loved,
Solitary thoughts and lives are envied by some,
But when that some achieves none, few thank the sun.

That none which I possessed,
All others let progress,
From one to some,
To two from one.

But the constant pain; oh martyr that is I,
Gave comfort to my soul; surely I would never ever lie,
And provided me such winning topics; myself in all respects untried,
Regardless of what is said; to fail? I'd rather die.

But do not fret, he is sure to return, alone, to me,
Once I turn back to he from he and she,
And perhaps it is I who call him, beckon him here,
For being one, than some, to me is less queer, less fear.

Gaib Jul 16

Okay kid here's the deal, you'll come into this world and everyone will tell you how to feel.

Fast forward, fifth grade, you're in the bathroom stall. The first time you knew the word gay, it was written as a slur on a dirty cement wall.

When your brother came out it shouldn't been a surprise, but even
you became accustomed to the fear behind his eyes.

Using art as an outlet, you set your electricity free, bleeding words onto paper, grasping for being who you wanted to be.

Drunk on idealism and Tumblr walls, discovering yourself, refusing to fall.

Into the same routine and monotony like the rest, you took your pain to the stage, ripped your heart open and confessed.

Screaming I AM WHO I AM, with your arms open wide, who knew one day you'd finally refuse to hide?

M Norris Jun 19

The grass waved around me as I lay on a knoll,
Bemused by wonder as it caressed my soul.

Free.

Free to run, free to jump, free to  skip, and soar.
Watching the clouds, I didn’t want anything more.

Did I feel a man then
Innocent and dreamy eyed me?
Then, I barely even cared.

Time flows on, ceaseless, changing as the tide.
Ever ever on, trees bud, shade, shed, and hide.

Free.

Free to run, free to hide, free to cry and be alone.
Yet there it was, His name etched in the stone.

Did I feel a man then?
Fearful and lonely me?
Then, I barely felt anything.

I had to act, basking in an immense wave of duty.
The corpse of my childhood was a thing of beauty.

Free.

Free to grow, free to mature, free to finally measure up.
As I turned away I thought I felt as my heart close up.

Did I feel a man then?
Treasonous and cold me?
Then, I barely felt human.

Here I sit, with gray streaks coloring silver hair.
Wistful, gazing back, back when I didn’t care.

Free.

Free to sleep, free to rest, free to go back and never return.
Before I go give the hourglass one last turn.

How is a man measured?
Power? Wisdom? Actions?
Or is it the things he treasured?

Growing up is never easy, what we do, how we do it, these elements can decide who you become.
Wyatt Jun 6

I've always hoped
my life to represent
that one vibrant red rose
blooming in dead fields.
Life always coming back
to the scene where it had
previously failed
to try again.

I want you to always try again.

Life moves on
and things become too real.
A wife. Kids. Career.
It’s too much, I want to run away.

Everything has changed with
my position in the world.
I’ve never fit in
Always the freak who knows no limits,
the one who sits alone and minds his own.

Never understood, never accepted.
Now a husband, a dad, still the same.
Always covering up myself; hiding
behind wit and cruelty.

A shield to disappear into,
Afraid to be me; to send up alone.
I used to know who I was but
now I’m not so sure.

It seems I have my life sorted out,
but am I really happy?

A question I always find myself asking
but can never answer.
I don’t think anyone knows the meaning of happiness,
or if it really exists.

Tonight I found myself holding her close,
and as I rested my head on her chest,
I quietly try not to cry.

It’s hard sometimes to keep it all in,
to hold strong so as not to lose myself,
it’s why I write as I do.

An outlet through a pen is all I have,
only the page wont judge,
won’t declare me a freak,
won’t know that something is wrong with me.

The thoughts I have,
my inability to empathize with other’s pain and loss.
It makes me wonder if I’m right for this world.

I’ve been to two funerals,
one I barely knew, the other I held dear.
And lost a grandfather who meant everything,
yet I never shed a tear.

I used to think that it was because I am strong,
but now maybe that isn’t so.

Who am I really?
I think I need to know.

TJR May 23

Im only 18.
Sometimes I think about how many years I have ahead

About the lovers that will come and break my heart
And the lovers who's hearts I will break

For the kids I hope to raise
And the kids of my kids that I hope to raise

For the jobs I will have
And the opportunities I will lose

For the people I will meet, and stay
And for the people who will abandon me

For the times I will sit on the peak of the world, like a king
And the times when the lights dim and I will be totally engulfed by the dark

And I realize
The vastness, and depth of the ocean in front of me

And just how lucky I am -
How delicate and fading youth is.

Cherisse May May 18

I hope
My preferences
In both men and women
Do not scare you away.

I hope that
She's happier with him
Because at least I tried
And I don't mind at all.

And for once,
I've decided to finally,
Finally,
Move on and let go.

And yes,
Finally, I've started
To like you
After all the shit we've been through.

Yes, I like both sexes. Isn't this a breath of relief? Gaga, makamove on, parang naging kami eh di niya nga alam eh haha kbye
Arcassin B May 9

By Arcassin Burnham

If I was hard on myself like am now ,
She would have been reframed from this some how,
Their minds are gullible like purposely tipped cows,
I got no time for your smart mouth,
Like That they say to me,
I once had chemistry,
With someone into me,
She was a beauty queen,
With some broken dreams,
Momma had stronger genes....
I loved her blue jeans,
The way she treated me.....
Never come back to me,
memories come back to me,

If she's smarter than she was like she is now,
She would never ever come back to this lost town,
So I don't have to hear her lecture when she's not around,
I got no time for your smart mouth,
Like That they say to me,
I once had chemistry,
With someone into me,
She was a beauty queen,
With some broken dreams,
Momma had stronger genes....
I loved her blue jeans,
The way she treated me.....
Never come back to me,
memories come back to me,
Cause I don't got no Time.

©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/05/wings-awakening-official.html
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