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Hanafuda Jun 2018
I always thought that art teachers are doing so well with their life.
Then I found out why.
Because they know if they do something wrong they have to do their best to make it right again.
Just one line that isn't straight can mess it up, but you have to go over it, learn how to correct it, try it again,
And... I'm not talking about a drawing.
When not even the undo button can help you.
-df Jun 2018
decadent nectar lips
begging to draw me close,
so i can taste you, honey.

{d.f.|05/30/18}
instagram.com/inafieldofchaos
B Young Mar 2018
This paint brush has become
an extension of my hand.
It has sunk it's color pumping living
veins into me.
Now, my hand aches
dripping crimson, everytime I put it down.

This pen has become an extension of my hand.
A sixth finger extends dripping ebony
ever scratching ivory surface,
vexing to keep the hourglass full,
of sand.

I am no longer
My body.
     I am my tools of creation.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
There are footsteps
drawn in rainwater
that float on the floor
that was once firm and solid
but now cracks under my every step.
The rain and storm
must have brought him here.
The never improving
weather of his heart.
Did he find what he came for?
How long he must have stood here?
Was it still raining when he left?
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
I do not draw you.
But my memory of you.
A time in my life,
the moment lost.
With only a memory left behind
that withers everyday.
I do not draw you
to preserves you,
who lives well off
in a warm home
in a cold country.
But I draw you
who lit my mind,
and froze my heart in an eternal hope
The only you I could ever love,
yet never love.
The one who burns my life
one day a time.
The one who I must forget.
Rebel Heart Mar 2018
I rewrite myself often
Never satisfied
With the person I've drawn out
...
I say this only once
And I say it as a warning...
Don't write yourself in me
Or parts of you will get lost too
.
(Part of one of the longer lyric wall quotes I think I finally understand ~BM)

(Front Page 3/5/2018)
Maria Etre Feb 2018
I like
that you
see me
as your
favorite
color
this poetic prologue
a feeble exercise
to encapsulate common
place frustration
experienced by

this fledgling author.
yukon determine verdict
once ye peruse short
spurious poem
below decks
will consume scant minutes.

hoop fully byte size
format asper reflections
bing hobbled akin twin
frustrated cobbler
with nary a sole

to shoe healing power
of summoning
creativity words
stitched together
trying ma darnedest
to capture
fleeting idea.
filed within memory banks

jagged shoals of rock
illusory images frieze
leitmotif cerebral pad lock
forcing together mis
matched metaphors
or what not ad hoc

there a young lad skipping
with his lass in colorful frock
passing fanciful day dream
lazing about on the dock
while hands of time tick
on the clock

sober reality check tears me away
from idyllic distractions
rearing head of immense
frightful mental block
a bygone student of Antioch.

now an epilogue and expansion
of given thesis sans above premise.
i now oblige objective at hand,
and resume con sue mating

avant garde fashion express
sing difficulty for me
to seal craft building blocks
of english language in
a fitting manner does justice,

and gives liberty to leap
ping lizard like thoughts
that dart to and fro
hither and yon within my mind.

rather than censor or edit,
I pour out at rapid fire rate
the notions that flit thru
me noggin staring at black

strunk white screen. some
times eyes remain closed
to help initiate process
to summon forth this, that
or another barely
perceptible concept.

the task less difficult
when topic provided
happens to be the case
with self imposed

approximately five ***
dread word epistle,
which preconceived
subject automatically

narrows focus into
figurative box.
when provided  
with specified issue,
the effort arduous
to gather plethora

of disparate points
indicating directions
diatribe in question could shift.
any one of these paths
(if not most) take down  
moribund dead end

with only infinite abyss
as an escape. countless trials
and errors find exploration
(to state near physical exhaustion)
where each bramble strewn route

only finds this pensive fellow hopelessly
and inextricably entangled within his
own thicket of unprintable verbiage.
would you believe and/
or accept, that ah aha
eureka moment arises

(and vacuum powerfully
***** up every ounce
of concentration)
most unexpectedly
and inconveniently

per on the toilet,
when paragraphs
nearly tumble pell mell
of their accord

(defying laws
of physics) from
tips of these fingers
or bowels of this simian.

a frantic attempt finds
zealous effort to tap
unstoppable barrage
barreling forth

from fount of mother
lode, than finds
slightest distraction
(such as a delivery
of parcel, tornado,
cosmic catastrophe,

et cetera) to lose precious spider
thin thread forever
(at the eleventh hour)
lost along vast vista
abandoned like useless
obsolete materiel.

even upon minutes scrutinizing
satisfactory completion
sans lengthy manuscript,
an unbiased opinion

of displeasure frequently
takes place finds disappoint
ment, and these myopic eyes
blink and stare once again
at white washed computer screen.
Jamie Rose Jan 2018
Everyone can say they love you
Not everyone actually loves you
Love is something all humans know of
Love is something we live by
We write, sing, talk, type, paint, draw, craft, cook, sculpt: LOVE
But why do we insist on wanting something that hurts so bad?
Hidden Glade Jan 2018
Ink
I drew on myself today
and I drew my heart on my hand
so when I give you one
you get both

I drew on myself yesterday
and I drew a rose on my arm
so when I see it
I think of you

I drew on myself two days ago
and I drew 18 little lines
which drew blood
which drew attention

I love drawing
I love writing
I love you
so that's why I'm drawing love
I draw so you don't get worried
Is that bad?
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