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Vishvi Aurora Oct 2017
Inspiration stuck my head,
Leaving my brain dead,
The relation of formulae started ahead,
Making my brain weak and afraid,
Though one side I went,
Leaving the unclear end,
But inspiration never told me to bend,
Even during the sand storms or hail beds,
It was inspiration,
That forced told me to stick to one end,
Though that was not much like the fluffy soft beds,
Pushed me through rough mead,
Leaving just a tumbled head,
And told me to fulfil my destination and dreams wide and spread,
That wasn’t much in those tends,
Like a Hopeless fountain kingdom album that Hasley sends,
On you tube my dear friends,
It was all apart from the world writing pens,
Even not ordinary as paying the rents,
The journey that even I threatened.
But finally, it was inspiration who followed me at every footstep,
Making hope in my respiratory set,
Helped me realized that the life’s journey was still left,
To calm down and be still and set,
Not to create the hard-earned destination end again into a threat.
                                                         ­                    -By Vishvi Aurora
in our life we get inspired by some or the other things in our life which later becomes a role model for us and helps us push really hard even in our hardest times.
haylee beckim Oct 2017
My hair needs to be a beautiful color, and my cheekbones need to sparkly.
My eyeshadow needs to be the best and my clothes as well.
My lipstick must be matte or some crazy color no one else would do.
Im not this desperate though, why must i follow?
Why do I?
She said Take me where the sun shines.
Where there aren't any roads to find our way home.
To a field with flowers of all different kinds
to a place that is free to roam.
ShowYouLove Oct 2017
To know Him is to love Him
To love Him is to follow Him
To follow Him is to imitate Him
To imitate Him is to be Him for others
In knowing Him we know and find ourselves
In loving Him we see others the way He sees us
In following Him we learn and grow in faith and holiness
In imitating Him we are more truly free
In being Him for others we bring another heart to know Him
And the cycle starts again
Lilly frost Sep 2016
Open the curtains to the show
Bow down politely
What do you know?
Strings tangled up
Wrapped all around
Spinning me
Twirling me
Making me dance
Dance to the beat of the fingers
Twisting the strings
Bending me like rubber
All for the plastic applause of the audience
Clap clap for whoever's on stage
Smiles are painted
Cheers are fake
Idolize me for my body
For my face
If you don't turn out like me
You'll be a disgrace
Grey Pryor Sep 2017
behind the contour, foundation, lipsticks and lies
i think we all come to a point where we realize
we are stuck
blending out the beauty
and holding on to the snooty comments and remarks
so we mark invisible marks against ourselfs
or for some its visible enough to get some help
till then this world is hell
stuck frantically pacing wondering if we blended well
stop worrying if the lines on your face dont match the tone
we are all busy with what we undergo
but what you dont know is we all stuck in the undertoe pulling us in
we are all living in sin
PLEASE DONT MAKE THIS THE END
i hope one day youll see the beauty within
this is the poem i got accepted with i hope someone can read this and hear the message like an echo in a hallway.
Lauren Leal Sep 2017
I'm the puppet, you the puppeteer
A master in how you control and steer
But the problem with being a puppet doll
Is that we don't know love at all
We simply do what you need
And hear ever plead
When we try to walk away
It's you that gets the last say
It's always I love you, said just the same
As if it's some sort of game
Of cat and mouse
But I'm a puppet, so you tightened the strings
Once you saw them you clipped my wings
Captivated by that siren song
It's okay I'll follow along
Written for another and being able to relate.
Atticus Sep 2017
i follow the the misty pathway
in the hopes that it will lead me to you
my internal compass
forget true north
it only points to you
a direction i have carved into my mind
like the hearts that teenage lovers
carve into trees
Seb Tha Guru Aug 2017
The eye beholds my paranoia.
To California to Georgia.
I mastered the pressure that seems forever and hazardous.
But still they say back and they laughed at us.
I'm back picking up the pen cuz I need to write my wrongs.
My condolences and apologies for these poems.
I remember that first day of coming home.
I tripped but I did not trip on things I ain't know.
Unfamiliar faces made me nervous.
Wanting to commit convicted court cases for the disrespect of restricted territory.
I needed a get a way after all.
Now I'm popping heavier on Percocets,
for all the headaches I'm about to bring.
Somehow to this life I always cling.
Immature and ******* is what they all call me.
It's like I was coming home from the pen, but from the army.
If I can write all my wrongs maybe they'll bloom before I'm dead.
But instead that bullet hit me in the head as everyone walked by.
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