Glass 4h
the contrary has a momentarily way
to an observer who seems to be relaxing in a mango
while the sun tans our skin in a
campino sweet surge,
accentuating confessions of a laconic with an inviolate of
why's and when's
from a resonance dilettante awaken on linoleum floors
to an imperative peach summer language because our philosophical thoughts precede praise for
our revisiting bloodroots
in a reflection

- G
so happy, had a beautiful date today.

To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.
- Charles Baudelaire
I'm so in love with you
I'm head over heels.
I've fallen so deep
And I never want to leave.
Thinkin a lot about someone :}
Poetry isn't exclamation marks
            or full stops.
            its the words that's pour on
the page and mingle with emotion.

We all verbalize our words in ways
            that aren't to others contemplation
but the synergy of words doesn't need
            anything but the emotion of words.
Amanda 1d
There’s something you should know about me.
I think now I came forward and spoke some truth,
So maybe you could understand
The words that sometimes get splattered across your screen.
You see, here’s the thing.
When you read a piece of my writings,
You are privy to my inner most emotions,
My inner most thoughts,
Ones that aren’t spoken aloud often if ever.
I for the most part am a private person,
I keep my emotions bottled
And this is my release.
If I were to be what is deep down inside,
I would be that girl, and we all know one,
Who cries at the drop of the hat,
And has too many feelings,
That she needs to share with you.
The one has too many opinions, the one that falls in love with the stranger she passes by on the street,
The one that feels every single goddamn emotion so deeply
That her heart breaks every single day.
I am not even tempered,
When I am up I am way up,
When I am down, I am the lowest of lows,
I try to stay even tempered on the outside,
Because for your average human, this quite frightening.
My heart is constantly sliced wide open,
I let people in too close and I feel everything that people bring to my table.
So I use my writing to bare my soul,
Without raising alarm to those around me.
So if you ever see writing,
And you wonder to yourself
‘Is she really ok?’
Yeah, I am.
You are just seeing my soul,
And my soul,
Is so glad to be heard sometimes.
japheth 1d
you listen to that one song
that makes you remember of the pain he had caused you
but have you thought,
this song actually speaks about you more
than it is for him?
japheth 1d
i’ve been
staring at this view
outside my window
for almost a year now.

i’ve had
countless of cigarettes,
nights where i just stare at the open lights in different buildings,
listened to the sounds of cars passing by,
cried and laughed so much while holding my phone scrolling through whatever app i’m in.

this view —
of numerous buildings,
of countless cars driving,
people as small as ants walking,
of the distant mountains from a province i’ve probably never visited,
of the clouds,
of the sun,
of the moon,
and of the stars —

i consider them as my friends.
a friend who just watches and listens to me.
a friend who sees me at my worst when i shed a tear for a mistake i made,
and sees me at my best when i smile for no reason at all.

sadly, in a few months i’ll part ways with this view.
it’s not a pristine view like the beach,
or on top of a mountain,
but it’s definitely a view that makes me stare at it for a long time.

reminding me of everything i’ve done:
my achievements,
my mistakes,
my regrets,
my doubts,
my fears,
my everything.

i’ll miss you most definitely.
i was staring at the view from my plce and since i’m moving out, i’m definitely gonna miss it.

i prolly gave 0 justice to how beautiful and helping the view is to me for all the things i’ve been through but i hope you get it.

we all have that one view that we always look at that never fails to make us smile.
ella 2d
taken in by your ways
my emotions as you fade
fade into a picture on the wall
an image in my head
as you become just a memory
i hate you
i hate the way you left
i hate the feeling of your presense stolen from my fingertips
i hate the absent place you left in my heart
the way you never found away to leave my mind
but i love you
i love the way you talked
i love the way you walked
the way you always kept me on the edge of my seat with the gracefulness of your words
but you're gone now
gone for good
and i didn't realize how much i needed you here until you weren't here anymore
until you weren't here for me to hold anymore
until you left me
with no explanations
i don't know how to tell you i love you.
but i do; believe me, i do.
with all of my heart, and all of my soul.
here i present the essence of myself.
welcome, to every fiber of my being.

i know you'll never trust me,
but believe the words that
fall off my lips like the
tears that lingered on my cheeks
when my feelings were unreciprocated.

and believe me, because in the matter
of love and human emotion, a false
i love you is worse than scorned
romance, because at least love turned bad
was pure at one point.

and i try; or lord, i try.
but the world stages blocks in
the path that leads to the end.
and sometimes, it's harder to push past
without hurting yourself in the end.

and here i sit: this room in which
i have both everything and nothing, and
i don't know which one i have lost.
is it wrong to love you? or is it right in the end?
Glass 2d
preserve the morality you endlessly morphed into a summer computation;
that my childhood has liquidated with apropos
but right now it is humid  
as I walk past by Café de Flore; wearing a Vince Camuto
bell sheath dress
while a pianist smiles and says "don't follow the unreliable"  ( a nectarine of a vile once known
well )
and I'm slowly unfurling, as we were once
admiring the Saint Jerome painting by
Caravaggio, and you
explained how Caravaggio’s paintings were perceptible for its realism and
extreme prominence of co-extensive
space, then the next morning Hooverphonic’s song “mad about you” reprised in
the living room, however there was a astute, an inextricable
effort to forgive with an

- G
“I bury my head in the pillow, and dream of my true love…
I am rowing to you on the great, dark ocean.”
― Caravaggio
I don’t understand
        why I am afraid
                          of the                                         dark,

It’s not that I’m
            scared of                                                it,
It’s what hides                                              
                    in it.                                            
The lies and secrets                                        
                        we never                                   told,

The nightmares
                         hold                                          me,

Bad choices
              we would                                            regret,

Even the future                                                is  
         not bright anymore,

            the dark
                          Is                                              the least of my problems.
This is my first poem. I wrote it about three years ago for an English class my freshman year of high school. It is in the style of the book Crank by Ellen Hopkins, and her style of poetry. There are two ways to read this poem.
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