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Nicholas Fonte Mar 2018
Mother
Father
Brother
And then we have
Sister?
It would sound weird
If it was "sisther"
But why separate her?
She did nothing
To deserve this hate
Blood has made them
The Same
But she has her
Own Name
And I'll tell you
Now
That's not lame
This is a minor note here but I wrote this poem in two different ways. I liked the vertical version the most between the two which is what you see here, but the other version kept a lot of the lines together like lines 1-3 were all one line and lines 6-7 were also one line. The words are the same, but I thought I'd note it here.
Katelyn Billat Mar 2018
I have been given
The eyes that
See the world so
Differently than others.
But not blessed
The tongue to
Describe how I experience.
It's almost as if
I see things
Through a lense,
Almost seems as
If life is a beautiful film.
Maybe there is a glitch
In my head.
I see beauty in
The simplest things.
I can see the beauty in
Earth's most
Magnificent creations,
To the point
Where it's almost
Spiritual.
I can feel magic
When my skin
Touches the earth
And the breeze blows
Gently against my body,
Flowing through every
Strand of hair.
I feel extreme bliss
When the sun warms
The surface and
Rain cools it.
When I feel
Mud
Sand
Grass
Moss
Stone
Under my feet,
I feel complete.
I can feel magic
When I'm dancing
In creeks
And
Swimming in natural water.
Swimming.
Beautiful swimming.
When I'm emerged in the water,
I feel free.
The closest I'll ever get to flying.
I can even feel
The magic through my eyes,
As though my eyes
Drink up sights and
Relish in them.
This is a blessing I know,
For I find joy
I've never felt before
When I'm with nature.
This is also a curse,
For I cannot share
It with anyone.
Maybe someone feels
A similar way,
But I don't think anyone truly experiences the same as me.
No one can feel the
Extreme pleasure of
The world the same way I can.
I can't even explain
Well enough for
Anyone to understand.
And this brings me deep sadness.
This doesn't completely cover it. But I tried.
Arcassin B Mar 2018
Special is special when you realize that you have a second dream about your crush that you never got to actually crush like a tin can of love floating out of a different realm and comes from a different
Background in my mind where I find you
And your short skirts, the feelings they exert from my brain and it **** hurts
like a cactus,
Your smile spins on the axis just right,
I'm probably not your type in real life,
But in reality there ain't really types but
humans in real-life,
I wanna show you that and i know you
Don't like the lame boys,
No concerns for *** toys,
You want you a real man to be his
Little pride and joy,
The feelings I made for you is something
I can't avoid,
Wish we could get lost carry all of this

Without void.
©abpoetry2018

https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2018/03/through-trees-mix-part-3.html
Haylin Mar 2018
When we are mad

We have scars

When we are depressed

We have scars

When we are sad

We have scars

Get my point?

No matter how we feel

We will have scars

Maybe if we stop hiding

We might heal faster

Lets show the world our scars

And show how beautiful we are

Scars shouldn't define us

They improve us

It shows how we are different

Revealing may not be a bad thing

If we reveal our scars

They might understand

The pain

The fight

The feeling

Lets show the world our beautiful scars
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
The world drips down.
One drop at time.
Dragging and blurring
the colors
that marks the edges
that separate all of us.
A drop too heavy,
a drop too light.
And as it splatters
into smaller drops.


My love and my peace
are droplets fallen far apart.
My happiness and my people,
my dreams and my courage,
exist in different planes,
different moments
confusing me
of what I am,
of what should I choose to be.


And there falls another drop
and someone else
also gets to know,
what it means to be undone
and scattered.
And how beautiful it was
that a droplet of your pain
fell on my droplet of love.
How beautiful,
that a new world was colored
in the drops of the one destroyed.
Eliza Hale Mar 2018
He's different.

I miss him so much.

I haven't seen him in 3 years, yet his name makes me giggle like a schoolyard girl.

I get to talk to him once a week, but the rest my soul aches without him.

Anytime he sends a picture my heart does a little twirl.



He's different

I'm honestly not sure what it is about him.

He always knows what to say to make me smile.

He's so smart its incredible to watch him work.

Yet he isn't afraid to get his hands ***** once in a while.



He's different

He doesn't always have to be the center of attention.

He knows which silent look will comfort me the most.

He might be lean, but he gives prize-winning hugs.

No matter the things he's accomplished, he's never one to boast.



I don't know what it is,

but that boy is different.
Sage Mar 2018
Opinions aren't important
Except they are
They shape who we are
They make our decisions
They destroy our friendships
They deny us entry
To the great forest
The forest of life
The forest of death
The forest of happiness
The forest of sadness
But this forest changed me
It made me a disfigured mess
A destroyed soul
With black lips
And sad slumbers
I regret going to the forest
It made my feel empty
In more than one way
As I cry on a rock
A rock more important than me
I look at the ground
And realize I am no more
Than a single grain sand
Bardo Mar 2018
O! the lives I've wasted
The lives I could have led
If different paths I'd taken
And different people I'd met.

O! what friends were lost
When just around the corner they lay
Their voices heard but their faces
   hidden
O! why had Destiny to steer me this
   way.

                              II

With my life here in my hands
My impulsive moves and slow
   meanderings
My efforts regulated by my will to
   abstain
In gaining my present position
What have I lost elsewhere
And what have others lost
Because of my absence there.
No, I haven't killed anyone, this is about regrets and what ifs, a bit of existential angst
Isaac Spencer Mar 2018
I give up my humanity,
With each heart beat, defeat.
Each time I draw breath, death.
Morals left on the pew.

I'm more than rules,
More than the age of trust,
More than kings and fools,
Nothing more than dust.
Rose L Mar 2018
My, my
Beautiful mornings. And wet grass -
Oh, hello you lot! You fabulous lot!
Lying in 'til noon in your soot-washed townhouses
Tall, pumping chimney smog and fruit stained letters into the London sky,
I see you - Miss Vanessa, Miss Woolf, Forster, Fry!
How we all swarm about this little town now!
Look how I eat pomegranates and write prose in your name.
Look how I put on sturdy boots, and totter from square to square -
Admiring this honeyed writer's air.
Oh, evening all, lights of London, subdued spring-time!
Eucalyptus suburbs, just a short walk from bedlam and grime.
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