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Rachana Dec 2017
Shame comes with fame,
And she realized that she had tarnished her own name,
She gave herself another chance to carry on;
Again and once again,
But it was all in vain.
She tried to make everyday seem better,
And laugh along with all her friends who were bitter.
She knows that self harm is a waste of time,
And isn’t willing to repeat that futile crime.
She probably discerned the fact that hell is more peaceful than earth,
And planned of making a trip to hell hoping it would be worth.
It might be awful to see your daughter dead!
But sir, you haven’t noticed the tears she shed.
Also please don’t check her browsing history!
Let the reason behind her sudden death be a mystery.
This poem is written in third person as I didn't want to burst into tears at  the park while writing this poem.
Aaron LaLux Dec 2017
Supposed Supporters

And yeah sure she’s gorgeous,
amongst the praise of all her supporters,
but at the end of the day what difference does it make,
when most supporters don’t even know why they support her,

what makes you so dang important,
yeah I’m special too but I don’t beg for supporters,
but I suppose in a way neither do you,
which brings us back to the point that’s important,

which is and the end of the day what’re you really supporting?

∆ LaLux ∆

FREE E-Book Available 12/12
NKOANA Dec 2017
You were a nobody, a nobody
       And nobody cared about you
                   Now your a somebody,
   And everybody talks about you.

                                               ( oh ,    )

                    Your a somebody now,
                         So not just anybody
                            gets to talk to you ?
Gloved hands flex in umbra of night
a cot rocks, glittering in the rays of moonlight
baby coos, shaking its rattle
the leathery hands stalk the craddle
finding their prey, the gloves seek the neck
like guillotine, they reap
... they reap

Every idea meets this end
Every dream of mine every prayer
In infancy they glow then glow no more
throttled by shame, they break
chastised by fear, they fade
I would rock them, nestled in coaxing arms, close to my heart
the clock chimes its hour with pride and finality
at midnight, the reaping begins
upon the witching hour, my dreams are snuffed
and nightmares usurp their place.

Is it torment to expect more of myself?
Content to write poetry and leave epic tales of heroes and nemeses to doom and dust?

How many old lovers have I professed my dreams to
how many friends have I bored with my tales
how many family members smiled as I asserted my storytelling chops
only so I could stop, even before the period could halt the last sentence of the novel, thwarting its purpose.

How many heroes clambered upon my doorstep
begging, pleading for me to pen their heroism
How many villains woke me up with their cackling
In the corner, sitting, their eyes glowing in the void of night,
smiling teeth too white
or too black
feathered hats bobbing as their malice peaks
when they hold snaking knives to my throat
and with morbid breath instruct,
"For the love of God..." they say,
"Paint me in a good light, but make my misdeeds known, **** you!"
And I would lay awake, dreaming of these worlds
until the clocks knell
knell
knell
knell
allowing the ebb of time
to wash away my desires, my talents
and the glistening, far-off worlds fade to nothing...

In the end, indeed,
even my mind fades
leaving nothing but a husk behind
and all who knew come to watch
hanging a tombstone upon my rigor mortis neck,
it reads the words,
"He tried, of course he tried
but the devil has his price,
and this poor soul couldn't make rent."
My most cynical take on my problems with writing long stories (some short stories and otherwise, novels): It's also the first time I've written about it poetically, almost therapeutically.

I remember a time when I could sit down and not leave until 5000 words (or midnight, whichever came first) sat on the page.
I remember when there was no concept of a chore, or bore.
But these are just memories...
Who am I now?
Someone unhappy, that's for sure!

I'm trying to do something about it, so I hope I can keep doing what I'm doing (had a list or goals here, but it's wayy too long).

Anyway...

Enjoy!

DEW
Lorem Ipsum Nov 2017
Psychic spies from China
Try to steal your mind's elation
And little girls from Sweden
Dreams of silver screen quotation
And if you want these kind of dreams
It's Californication

It's the edge of the world
And all of western civilization
The sun may rise in the East
At least it settles in the final location
It's understood that Hollywood
Sells Californication

Pay your surgeon very well
To break the spell of aging
Celebrity skin is this your chin
Or is that war your waging

First born unicorn
******* soft ****
Dream of Californication
Dream of Californication

Marry me girl be my fairy to the world
Be my very own constellation
A teenage bride with a baby inside
Getting high on information
And buy me a star on the boulevard
It's Californication

Space may be the final frontier
But it's made in a Hollywood basement
Cobain can you hear the spheres
Singing songs off station to station
And Alderaan's not far away
It's Californication

Born and raised by those who praise
Control of population everybody's been there and
I don't mean on vacation

First born unicorn
******* soft ****
Dream of Californication
Dream of Californication

Destruction leads to a very rough road
But it also breeds creation
And earthquakes are to a girl's guitar
They're just another good vibration
And tidal waves couldn't save the world
From Californication

Pay your surgeon very well
To break the spell of aging
Sicker than the rest
There is no test
But this is what you're craving

First born unicorn
******* soft ****
Dream of Californication
Dream of Californication


By Anthony Kiedis / Michael Balzary / John Anthony Frusciante / Chad Smith
Californication lyrics © MoeBeToBlame
Seb Tha Guru Nov 2017
Had a conversation with Midas;
It got me thinking different.
Lebron James flow, I guess that y’all the witness.
I’m contemplating so much, it’s hard to write a sentence.
Early stage of my twenty’s, yet still I feel a menace.
We blur the lines of life and death whether it’s right or wrong.
But I love you through everything;
still I’m holding on.

And for so long I just been locked away.
Been writing in notebooks trying to find my way.
Midas sat and he told me I shouldn’t sell my soul.
You need to just get the ball rolling, you getting old.
Your heart got cold, sat in the freezer on the early days of summer, to chill, now you writing but against your will.
And I’m crying.
And on the inside I’m dying.
Every body says be strong, and believe me I’m trying.
Midas said that I be lying.
To get infatuation.
I wiped my eyes and I asked how to change this situation.
He said it’s your destination.
Change up your formation.
And stop all that leaking on the internet about complications.
Found that open door.
But you don’t wanna walk thru.
I love you through everything should’ve dropped; somehow I thought I lost you.
But later it will cost you.
Know you feeling kinda awful
Ima come back and see just where this conversation got you.
But I didn’t tell it all.
I figured I would call,
And tell Midas I’m focused and I’m ready to ball.
While I sit, just all alone in a empty hall.
As all of my mishaps are posters on the wall.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2017
Shook Drake’s hand,
after we touched down in New Zealand,
put my hand on my poetry book like it was the Bible,
and said “Welcome to New Zealand”,

he said “Hey Thanks,
man I really appreciate that fam.”,

gave his manager a copy of 777,
and his barber a copy of The Holy Trilogy,
see great minds think alike,
and we both have lines about enemies becoming energy,

almost wanted to ask him to put me on right there,
but my life is not decided my any other man’s course,
I’m on my own journey I’m not a groupie,
I’m on my own path I ride my own horse,

still though that interaction gave me more respect for him,
and like I told his stylist nothing is a coincidence,
and if anything Drake and Lux meeting there,
was a reaffirmation of what my vision is,

the opening of an art center,
in a place I’d like to call home,
where we’re open 24 hours,
and the mic is always on,

to this I must stay focused,
and not get too distracted,
because the arts has given me so much,
that it’s only fair I give back a bit,

and like I said I don’t believe anything is a coincidence,

all is divine nothing is random,
I am aligned in tuned to the patterns,
I life That Life and don’t know how it happened,
but I’m gonna keep writing like Drake’s gonna keep rapping,

which maybe has something to do with,
why we found each other walking through that door,
on Halloween none the less,
the last day of October,

October’s Very Own,
with this Night Owl out at sunrise,
passing through Immigration with Drake,
life is such a surprise,

he touched the carved wood entry way,
at the airport in Auckland,
I wanted to stay but I had another flight to catch,
en route to Sydney,

sometimes this life moves so fast I get dizzy,

Drizzy,
so surreal he was in how big he’s become,
kept his crew,
flies ***** with all his Day One’s,

that’s loyalty,
get your crew and move up with them,
don’t do as Judas did,
even if the weather gets rough don’t betray them,

these guys live for you,
and they’d **** for you,
walking with a living legend,
living in a fantasy that’s true,

a modern day Fairy Tale,
except there are no fairies,
goblins and ghouls yeah,
and this Fairy Tale can seem scary,

but don’t worry we’ve got this,
and if you need some reassurance,
come find me and ask me,
and I will gladly grant you some guidance,

see it seems I’ve found a bit of fame,
but in the process I lost my mind,
and I’m not the only one see I’ve got some company,
because that boy Drake is on my flight,

and it’s October 30th 2017,
sometime in the middle of the night,
which is appropriate given the circumstance,
that we’re both Libras and it’s October’s last night,

and we all wear masks sometimes,
outside like it’s Halloween,
maybe that’s why I only feel normal one day of the year,
maybe that’s why I give everything all of me,

October’s Very Own,
and yes If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late,
and yes it’s Comeback Season even though we never left,
nor will we leave but either way Sorry For The Wait,

God Man,
we are God Men,
and if you want to know how and why,
you can read my volumes,

written 8 books,
last one was entitled 777,
with the 6 God,
high Fivin’,

listening to 4:44 for real,
a living holy trinity Jay Drake & Lux that’s 3,
but I wrote this only to you,
in the name of One Love Yours Truly,

dedicated to the truth,

truth,

shook Drake’s hand,
after we touched down in New Zealand,
put my hand on my poetry book like it was the Bible,
and said “Welcome to New Zealand”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of multiple bestselling poetry books.
Zoe Oct 2017
Disillusionment is the price for having your head in the clouds,
For youthful idealism,
When dreams aren't concise.

I used to feel so enticed,
Seeing how a pigmented nail polish,
Could give a pallid hand a sophisticated finish.
But these days there is no novelty.
My cuticles are sliced,
In the places where the paint wasn't precise.
Teeth monstrously disregard the life of the flesh, making a mess,
Now that my nerves have every reason to take out their stress.

Aunts and grandfathers go out of their way for us when we are little enough,
Just to remind us our faces are beautiful enough to rule the world.
Of course we believe them, with faces like blank canvases,
When they say that blossoming will only make things better.

Before long, boys have painted us with scarlet letters.
Their only warrant is our existence.
By eleven, we disassociate and find our old face distant.
Old before our time. Tired and haggard.
You don’t need to point it out when our flaws come out to play.
We know already- but hey, you can still remind us of lumps on our noses, stomachs, and chests.
As if it's gruelling enough just to get through the day.

Didn’t we all see our futures in silver screen angels?
Or a centre-stage princess?
Blind to her hidden talents, so baneful.
Did it ever occur to you,
That our idol queens,
Were more enthralled by lines of coke in their dressing rooms,
Than the magic of living our dreams?

Follow their footsteps, I dare you.
Flip a coin between thriving and doom.
And let us wonder why our aspirations have lead us to death’s doorstep.
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