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Chris Lazzaro Feb 18
Fire dances that beautiful tango,
moving her hips to the beat of her own drum.
Swaying side to side, arms spiralling upward,
reaching for the sun as if she were not to see it tomorrow.
Recklessly, yet with elegance,
she twirls around the place
without fear or disgrace.
The dancer’s beauty brings men to tears
and warms their hearts,
but can still burn them if their thoughts
are not for her care.
She does not feel regret,
nor any obligation.
She dances on until every last flame vanishes.
David Adamson Feb 13
Dance was the shape her body gave to music.
Mae Feb 9
as the music starts
the beating of my heart wouldn't stop
i admire how you move,
happy to be dancing with you.

you are very good at it,
your body syncs to the rhythm.
your expression says the way your feeling does.
hoping your feelings are the same as mine.
Aaron LaLux Jan 16
Moments of bliss in the pain and truth in the fables,
All I need is some honesty honestly,
“Stormy seas make the most skilled sailors..”,
or so her tattoo reads so sinful it feels Godly,

she says she only likes black men,
and they say “Once you go black you never go back.”,
but I’m white and when she came she came with me,
and since she arrived she hasn’t left,

truth really is stranger than fiction,
quit drugs got clean,
so now she is my only addition,

on a rooftop in a cool spot sipping champagne,
in the pool got a true shot at some real fame,
feeling like the hero and the villian,
half Joker have Bruce Wayne,

the truth is I feel like a mix of all the Bruces,
Bruce Jenner Bruce Banner Bruce Lee,
Bruce Willis all in it no limits or gimmicks,
Born in the USA raised on Backstreets of Philly,

an American Dreamer living The Dream,
Born To Run call me Bruce Springsteen,
found the Fountain of Youth this girl with this tattoo’s the proof,
so now I bath in the rainbows of this spring,

life so exciting sometimes I just want to scream,

like I do right now as we dance ecstatically,
unconditionally above the world on this rooftop under this star light,
which makes sense since she is a dancer by trade,
we dance and sweat and let out everything that’s inside,

we spread our arms we extend our tongue,
we seize the moment this moment of life,
because we know everything goes in an instant,
life passes by in the blink of an eye,

but without the bitter the sweet ain’t as sweet,
trying to wake up from this dream Vanilla Sky,
and sure these waters are rough,
but hey at least we’re enjoying the ride,

as we find moments of bliss in the pain and truth in the fables,
All I need is some honesty honestly,
“Stormy seas make the most skilled sailors..”,
or so her tattoo reads so sinful it feels Godly…

∆ LaLux ∆

Free Book:
Jenna Jan 15
i am an architect
though my hand has been guided many a time
i have etched my own path
into a tome of starlight
but it is a path i will walk alone sometimes
and that’s okay

i am a writer
though my heart has been swayed into submission many a time
i will continue to be
the main antagonist of my story
but i bleed ink from my fingertips and i will write my own chapter
and that’s okay

i am a warrior
though i’ve wielded my sword many a time
i have seen many wars
and fought many battles
but it’s still the small victories i celebrate most
and that’s okay

i am a dancer
though i’ve tripped over my two left feet many a time
i have broken many bones
and danced still with a smile
but my feet grow tired and i must rest sometimes
and that’s okay

i am an artist
though my hands have often been stained
my heart is my masterpiece
and i’ve put it at the forefront of my choices
but maybe it isn’t the kind to go in a museum
and that’s okay

i am damaged
i am battered
i am bruised
but i am trying
and i am healing
and that’s okay
Try Dec 2018
as i read the words you write,
they feel like waves of emotions,
dancing across the page,
waves crashing into my shore,
craving more to wash up onto my shore,
it reaches deep into my core,
pulling tears from my eyes,
everything you write is so deep,
like the oceans in which we lose ourselves,
so continue to flow so freely,
let your pen dance freely along the pages,
equal to how you dance so freely in the mirror,
for every word you write digs deeper and deeper into me.
                                                 © Try
I've been reading some one who is new here, writings and i have been quite moved so this writing is a shout out to them, the Writer i am talking about is Jessica Stull.
her writings are very moving, you can honestly feel very emotion she is portraying in her writings, every line feels like a new wave crashing into you, yet the way she writes its like shes dancing on the page it self.
Floo Dec 2018
Is this the teenage tragedy?

I've heard it way too many times.
This solo singer melody,
In a choir of lonely lies

I sang her story last year,
In a bed I'd made my coffin,
Sleeping as though I'd died already,
And was just waiting to be forgotten

Back then I'd thought I was so alone,
and that my thoughts were so unique.

Until I overheard some other kids
tell of their losses in this past week.

And I realised that my solitude, was mine, and mine alone.
But all these other
Happy kids™,
Hid some pain that was theirs,
and theirs alone.

I know I shouldn't interrupt,
but your performance must be cut.

I'll tear you from this solemn stage,
and cast the spotlight on
The stagehands.

Who turn and manipulate in the darkness of your presentation

And the background dancers.

Whose elegant grace and exquisite contortions,
from your **** words and hideous thoughts

So that even you,
Sallow songbird on a stage scattered in shadows,
are entranced by their performance
On your own
Rotting wooden platform.

And I won't be your applauding audience member
Nor will I sit, with my perfected neutral expression,
Eating cyanide pills from popcorn buckets, watching you perform,
In silence,
As the others do

With my own torn vocal chords, I'll protest for your show to be cut short,
even after you had invited me to join this spectacle.

Because today, I can feel it,
Pulsating a glow, brighter than any memory I can recall,
And it's burning me.
This palpitation of the present,
Which I know is a temporary sensation,
But it's a fraction of temporary too long

You fall from a rusted swing, in an abandoned playground
Watch your blood merge with the soil and the peat
Your structure punctures through your skin,
a harsh disruption to your soft, infant self.

You want to scream, but you wouldn't,
would you?
The pain will cease in an appropriate ammount of time™,

We don't talk about the permanent injuries from our seemingly  inconsequential  actions
A permanent solution to a temporary problem

People persistently parroted that platitudinous proclamation in pallid hopes of dismissal of your white palfrey

At least 3 of them, anyway.

You'd scream in that moment.
Call out for your mother,
Or some other great and unconquerable  force,
To annihilate the hurt,
and quell your cries.
Her strong lips laying kisses upon your sore, youthful cheeks,
in an attempt to paralyse your own
Trembling pair.

I'm still playing in those sandboxes filled with bones,
In those playgrounds where we played,
When we were blind.
And in your town,
I see you.
Crouched inside the same wooden framework.
Knee deep and ready to sink.

Over grown victim of your own infanticide,
Have you buried the bones of the child you used to be?

Would we have looked her in the eyes  as we prepared to dig her burial site-
A foot step away from where her blood had mixed with the filth,
And her cries had stifled into sniffs.

How deep is her shallow grave?

And sometimes,
I think that maybe saying nothing would sound better,
But I dont want to witness my failure, before I even attempt to talk you off of the ledge you're standing on
Telepathic thoughts of "don't do it," won't reach you,
I know  that
But feelings are so much easier to feel, than to describe.

I think that,
You think that this sounds like just another  philistine sentimentalism.

I think that,
You know I don't know what I'm on about.

I'm not even sure of as to why
I'm so sure
I'm so sure.
That I want to save you
Is it even for you?
Or am I trying to save myself
From the guilt, of witnessing your fall,
After I had moved my own noose
From around my neck, to over my hips
A harness
Holding me above the  hangman's  stage I had performed on

Empty playgrounds are the loneliest things in the world.
More so than empty wombs,
And once empty graves.

Let's play together.
Ciel Dec 2018
One day,
I allowed myself to let go.
I was no longer a label.
I was no longer a dancer.
I was no longer beautiful.
I was no longer a poet.
I was no longer a woman.
I was no longer black.
I just was.
Star BG Nov 2018
I am poet dance partner for thy eyes.
tickling with visions,
to launch your imagination or emotions.

I dance to the music of heart
with backdrop of rustling wind
so you may sway gracefully.

I share poetic words
collected and stored
in treasure chest of mind
exploding like fireworks.

When stars come out to play
I vibrate with song
to cavort delicately.  

Yes I am your poet dance partner,
moving to script upon page
for you to unwind after a long day.
inspired by Traveler  Thanks
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