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Zack Ripley Nov 2023
My clothes
My body
My identity
These are not reflections of me
They're extensions of me
Dennis Hernandez Mar 2020
We build empty temples
Called Individuals,
Relation bondages that though not accessed,
Still access you and build your temples

False fallible structures
That hold this concept in space,
But we cannot find
Place here
So we create
One
In art

What’s more
We are
Each of us becoming
The lives
We live

Where
Self is only
The extension of this poem.
Bryce Nov 2018
Hillside tree fingers
anxious branches hear winds
and wave to old friends.
Oskar Erikson Feb 2017
you have outgrown
the roots within me.
and as branches spiral upwards
searching for another place to lay,
your oaken memory will

Slowly.       Wither.        Away...
TERRY REEVES Apr 2016
Thanks to ayurvedic treatment my hair has grown long,
as I'm so successful, the products can't be wrong,
when I make love, my hair is as long as the bed,
just as wide - my suitors are attentive and easily led.

They said that they could imagine my hair spread
out on a pillow which vanshed below my good head,
we don't need a blanket - we just cover our skin,
musn't forget to remove my clips before we begin.

It has actually become an aid for great pleasure,
maybe even more lustrous, the next time I measure,
I can twine and  bind just about anything nearby,
there was so much magic - I didn't even have to try.

When I finally cut which may be my partner's decision,
someone else can go to bed with a beautiful extension!
Nath Rye Feb 2016
but maybe
as he ponders upon the poem he just wrote
and takes another sip from his now-cold coffee
he knew she really was the right girl for him
but was he the right girl for her?
or did she deserve more than he could ever have possibly given?
extension of right girl wrong time!!
Jaanam Jaswani Sep 2014
i could spend my life in utter awkwardness
watching my brothers smoke and my sisters cry
aunties smiling and prolonging straightforwardness
my ***** cousins won’t ever say hi

i could spend my life sitting at the corner writing poems
about these drap people who refuse to stay in their homes
the kids would play hide and seek
the mannequins with heads up until it’s too awkward to not speak

skinny waists, blackened eyes, and porcelain faces
daru desi banging loud; turning us deaf
high heels; no flats no laces
horrible is the food beautifully prepared by the chef
(who, by the way, thinks we're unbelievably uncivilised)

i see them drenched in forgettum juice
they’re deep in drunken oblivion, you see
it’s incredible - when they say ‘let loose’
’cause their eyes pry when you let yourself free

the ladies enjoy their liberation;
those poor oppressed dearies
no more doting on their husbands in juxtaposed veneration
they give a grave attempt to personify their reveries

the men enjoy pelvic thrusting
they’re sly crooks who love lusting

i guess i’ll be alright;
for a mere few minutes, if i’m out of sight

— The End —