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Juliana Apr 2021
Strands of brown scattered
every which way, my hand
runs through my hair again,
my breathing deep.

Papers seemingly scattered,
a groove permanently centered
on the futon so deep I could fall,

Until my dreams
become my reality,
the words in my brain
painted onto the landscape,
my characters as real
as actors, newfound friends.

A knock on the door
snaps my thoughts back
into a file folder,
circled back to when
needed the least.

Who’s there?

The door opens,
breath catching
like a wish upon a star,
a man dressed
in a black suit standing
in the doorframe.

I’ve seen him before,
not once, but once
for every season,
a repeating figure
as familiar as my heart,
as unique as days
in the calendar.

I call his name,
the version matching summer
when the warm rays
fated to blind his brother,
when his sister destined
to lay across the asphalt,
her last breath a song,
voice fluttering,
soaring among the eagles.

The man says hello,
I ask if he’s real.

He assures me he is,
he has escaped the confines
of a page, allowed to dance
in the breeze, stroll in the sun,
find his way to me.

I ask of his family, his girl.
He answers, matching
to my memory meticulously.
His turn to present a question to me.

An offer to accompany
him to his world.
To feel the safety
of those pages,
the serif text wrap
around my body,
my organs spilling
onto the page
adding to it all
of my being.

I could find my home.
Be with those I love.

I answer him.
Pretend the formatting saved (first 'deeper' should be indented once, second 'deeper' indented twice).
Juliana Mar 2021
You are not a wolf, my sweet.
You are not all that’s wrong with your world.
You are not the silver bullets
your fingertips let slip away,
you are not the knife at her throat.

You, my darling,
are a prince in disguise.
You, my dear,
are the bloodied rabbit
who wriggled your way from the fox.
You, my love,
are the villain who escaped
the prison of your own imperfect poison.

You are the laughter I feel on my lips.
The cracked song of a crinkled French lullaby.
The memories of a duet passed down through the ages.

You are the pain in between my heartbeats.
The open door after a wave of tears.
A bandage that will only separate
from a soul after a lifetime of picking.

You are the sweet, sugary lies I could only hope to believe.
The maze I long to get lost in.
The fountain which clings to my youth.
The fairytale I choose to believe.

You are tied to the girl who fell at your hand.
You traded a wrinkled suit in order
to join her in within the stars.
A crown of gold for the shine of a barrel.

You are tied to the girl whose blood matches yours.
The girl whose purple flowers you’d never trade
for the twinkling power of another’s eyes.
A hero in denial with other matters at hand.

You are tied to the girl whose future
lies in between the pages of a story.
The girl who ran into the woods
leaving your soul empty as the blackest of nights.

You are not an angel.
You are far from a demon.
Totally not based on a Wattpad book. (Y'all go read Expiration Date)
Peter Hark Jan 2020
Speaking is an art
words like paint
we smear and spread out our ideas onto canvas

If you paint too fast-
**** it
you might make a mistake

Did you know paint can expire?
you think come one, paint?
paint can't go bad!
then you try and use it and its separated and chunky
and boom
your whole piece is ruined.

Words can expire too.
did you know that?
phrases and metaphors age turn ugly and contaminating just like the paint
they might have been usable once, but now
you'd better get some new words.

Like, when referring to someone who uses a wheelchair
people don't say they're crippled.
because that word has expired!

The same way simpleton was used to
refer to someone with intellectual disabilities
was is the key word there.
please for the love of god don't call anyone a simpleton

Lunatic was once used to refer to people with psychiatric disabilities
don't say the teacher who gave you homework on a Friday is a lunatic!

******* was used to refer to people with intellectual disabilities
but now you should NOT call anyone or anything *******!
because it is inappropriate and insulting

This isn't about taking away your words
it's about what you are taking away from people with disabilities
when you use language like that.
what you are stripping away from people
when you decide to use a word like




Knock it off!
when you decide to use those words
it takes away from anyone who has a disability
or anyone who every will.

Use a different word
use swear words
find a thesaurus.

Get some new **** paint
Grace Jan 2019
oh expired chicken
you never tasted right
to begin with
shredded and unseasoned
marred by hints of skin
and cartilage
you were too embarrassing to share
and too expensive to discard

oh expired chicken
the aftermath of underestimating how much
is in each pound
and overestimating how much I eat
a shopping mistake made
after being a parasite to school cafeterias
and my mother's cooking
for eight months

oh expired chicken
throwing you away was harder
than cutting off an ex-lover
my heart yearns for what you could have been
(tasty food in my stomach)
even though you were never enough
you would make an indomitable enemy
an atrocious friend
and the worst boyfriend ever
we would have a toxic and trying relationship
but that is for another poem
Don't worry guys! I threw the expired chicken away before it was too late, so my stomach feels fine.
This poem was inspired by the slam poem "Ode to Whataburger" by Amir Safi. Watch it here:
The uniVerse Jul 2018
Words are dead!
there I said it
words are dead
the words in your head
are in the past
the words that you said
will not last
fireworks that attract the eye
liar's words in the mind
an explosion of language
and then silence
they do so much damage
and cause violence
chasing words
feeling tiredness
healing words
are band-aids on the soul
a soothing to the ears
they're dropped in empty holes
for who hears?
who really listens?
words are dead
we have visions
images of creation
words are no salvation
just pointers
pointing to the infinite
still they loiter
words we can't forget
we hold them to our chest
like lifeless children
we always do our best
but the words **** them
and now all that's left
is dead...
dead words.
Constantine Jun 2018
once i overdose
i'll see the rest of you
in hell
jonni inferno May 2018
a cheeky ****
she wooed me heart
an' fain 'twould see me face

“A glimpse dear sir
of thy fair visage sir,
a glimpse but to inspire.”

yet when she saw
the pic i sent
she thought i had

for the cheeky tarts...

pic poem
for full effect - i highly recommend the Pic Poem
use the link to open the image in a browser tab
Skaidrum Feb 2018

The first lie that my
mother fed to me still tastes
like expired love.
Of the haiku series
vi. flesh & sacrafices

© Copywrite Skaidrum
aisha Oct 2017
you tore me
to pieces
like I was
an expired coupon
though I am
still valid
Diána Bósa Jul 2017
Your memory is
like an expired polaroid
film - I still keep it

as though it would be
the most precious treasure of
mine, yet I am

aware of the truth:
till I walk this earth I will
never take a look at it.
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