Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
An artist paints a masterpiece.
Uses colour to represent intention and desire.
A highly detailed piece of art becomes his centrepiece,
his everything.

Occasionally he drops colour all around him.
Every colour at his disposal becomes mixed and splattered.

What has been used to create you is now the substance of new imagery;
A new art piece created on the floor called:
'A representation of my feelings for you'.
Roneil Dec 2018
You were like a flower
Planted in a garden full of your kind
But girl you were outstanding
You're the apple of my eye
The most attractive flower ever caught my eye
Rebel Heart Apr 2018
I think
I'm finally starting
To see myself
Through your eyes...
So is it bad
That all I see
Is a sad girl
Too broken
To give her heart away?
They say the eyes are the window to the soul.. so is it bad that all you see when you look into my eyes is the broken shell of what I once was?

(A short poem I found hidden away from when RH was only 9 years old and it's sad that I knew her back then as this amazing, always optimistic girl who was always always there for anyone who needed a cheering up and somehow that same happy girl wrote these kinds of poems hidden away in a journal. LOL when I was nine I could barely spell my teachers name and was used to writing and rewriting variations of "roses are red violets are blue... I love you" poems. Happy Writing ~BM)

(Front Page 4/25/2018)
Worst Nightmare Apr 2018
I know precious things
Don't last that long
So,
Let me love you
For just a moment - a fraction of an eye-blink
Coz
With you
Eternity is just a thousandth of a second.
Salmabanu Hatim Apr 2018
Young and innocent,
I played hide and seek
with my shadows,
I was happy.

He cast his shadows over mine,
Forced me to live under his,
I became sad and timid,

I took courage to jump over his,
I conquered my fears,
I am free at last.
To be with my shadows,
My soul mates.
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2018
What will you do when your heart stops beating?
When you push sore limbs until they break?
I  am so worried it's making me crazy
Watching you battle everyday ache.

I am unable to pull even half my weight
I've not been the woman you need me to try and be
Each time I touch your weary shoulders
I feel the rain naked eye cannot see.
No one knows how hard it gets sometimes.
Özcan Sh Apr 2018
The eyes close
Heart opens
Feelings come up
The pen is moving
And
The notebook will come alive
Özcan Sh Apr 2018
A boy who never looks after himself
He has a very big heart and patience
He did not care if he was beaten, insulted or bleeding to death
He had only one fear in his life
It was not dead
No....
His fear was to see a tear fall from her eye.
Smit Apr 2018
And now here is my secret,
a very simple secret:

It is only with the heart
that one can see rightly;
what is essential is
invisible to the eyes.
Rebel Heart Apr 2018
We dance on the edges
Of our silhouetted frames
As if we were water
Dripping lightly
On empty window panes

But you were the dewdrops
Bringing life to the days
Drizzling slightly to bring
Rainbows diminishing the grays

And the first time
Your deep ocean eyes
Met with mine
I began to wonder
If you would've danced in the rain
Singing as I always did
Or if you would've hid under umbrellas,
Like the others, too afraid
Of the storm
I was born to be?
(I recently read this old poem and realized one of two things. One- this was one of the shorter poems of RH's I've read in a while and that Two- I remembered a couple years ago looking over RH's shoulder as she wrote the final draft to a novel she wrote with the title of the same name (which was no doubt inspired by this poem). I never found out if it were ever published but it was one of my favorite novels by her by far and do hope to read it again in the future. Thank you all for the support so far and Happy Writing! ~BM)

(Front Page 4/7/2018)
Next page