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Avery May 2017
my voice is spun glass,
as fragile as the wings of a butterfly taking it's first flight out of it's cocoon.
so long my voice has remained unused,
drowned out in the voices of others,
whisked away in the hurricane that is my thoughts.
my voice is weak and unfamiliar,
even to myself.
it's not as strong as the sea.
it can't sustain life, or  drown it away.
the force of it alone is not crushing;
it is feather-light

the secret about poetry is that it changes things,
just as the ocean does.
when you hardly ever speak,
it can give you the power to transform your voice into something better.

a fragile voice,
frail with disuse,
becomes a force of it's own.
it becomes a gale.

i do not need a voice like the ocean.
i have a voice of my own.
spoken word/free verse, from english one (modified)
14.05.2017
Krista Joy Apr 2017
Teach me how to love Lord.
I don't trust myself with such a precious thing.
Mica Kluge Mar 2017
Two heartbeats in.
One scratching tempo out.
Living like we're immortal.
Fingertips scribbling out history.
Ink blots on cream paper.
So desperate for memory.
We settle for stains in place of words.
Jair Graham Mar 2017
I, your oak tree ask, will you rest your painted wings on my branch?
I know I can't make your fleeting candleflame of a life last more than your few bright days, but for now rest upon my ancient bark and hear the lullaby of my leaves.
If rain should cause you to falter I'll bend my branches to shield you from the icy volley of raindrops.
As stars fade out in ink of night, I'll let a leaf fall from my bough and I hope it brings some comfort, in your last glimpses of this cruelly beautiful world.
Ashley Moor Feb 2017
& when I think of your hands
nervous around a coffee cup
somewhere in Ridgewood, Queens,
I understand what it feels like
to grieve;
I know what it means to set aside
the most fragile things
like they aren't worth anything,
even when they are.
I still feel so strange.
Mikaila Feb 2017
I am not old, yet.

My skin is not powdery and white, see-through like a paper lantern.

But there is a part of me which

When I dare to reach for someone I love

Reaches with brittle ***** fingers, soft and cold and fluttering like white moths

That edge closer to a flame until they catch.

There is a part of me that feels old, and fragile.

And already even in the crest of my youth I’ve cursed this body

For its frailty, its needs.

It suffers and complains, always crying out for something,

Never sated, never still.

I’ve said it feels like living inside a porcelain doll

A look, and cracks can spider out along an arm,

A word and blood can bloom beneath the surface, seeping up into

Bruised pictures and symbols.

I must always be gentle,

I must always be

Watching.

Too passionate, and fissures form, marring the cheek, spreading like shadows thrown by a lace curtain.

I stare out, burning to touch everything,

And yet I pull back:

To dare is to risk, and I’ve seen

Both reward and loss.

I have seen a thousand shining colors spread across me like sunrise,

Warming my skin,

Calling to me like prayer until a bit of light escaped through the spaces between my atoms and reached another person’s palms,

But I have also seen the pale, flat shards of myself,

Sifted through white dust in dismay

For a salvageable portion.

Indeed, there are rooms in this world where sharp edges of me still linger

Waiting in obstructed corners and beneath heavy refrigerators

To gouge a foot or snag a hem,

Interred

In the dark and hollow places where they flew when I shattered and could not gather them all.

I have known

Intimately

My own fragility,

How maddeningly breakable I am

And how difficult to mend.

And there is a part of me now, always,

Which whispers to me when I would be bold,


“You are not old, yet.

But wouldn’t you just love

To live that long?”
*title is a quote from T.S. Eliot's The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock
Beatriz M Jan 2017
We build a city of memories together
We leave a piece of us
In everything we touch
The night is ours
And we'll conquer this place together
Take my hand
And I'll lead through this darkness
I'll show you the salvation of our souls
Take my hand, hold my heart
And let's be the heroes of the world.
Come back so we can share moments together again. Let's make the world a little bit more special even if just for a second.
Mazen Edlibi Nov 2016
I'm leaving in the darkness of the early morning, and the beauty sleeps!
Leaving the place, where my feet walked in grace with her....
Leaving the place, where her laughter still touching my ears...
Leaving the place, and her smiles like a child engraved in my memories...
Leaving in the place, a wish that she finds the peace in her heart....
Leaving in the place a Prayer to touch clarity with her thoughts..
I left... And...
Couldn't Hug her!
Couldn't touch her hands!
Couldn't came near her!
All That and....
I couldn't ignore every inches........
                                                           Of her fragility!
                                                           Of her Kindness!
                                                           Of her Heart!
                                                           Of her Pain!
And I questioned! what Makes her Unique!!!!
It is the Beauty of her Soul!
Christian Bixler Nov 2016
We walk through life,
blind,
knowingly,
and not;
willingly,
and not.
We see the
world,
and let it
pass,
unremarked,
taken as
a fixture
of eternity,
for the
most part.
This, is not
the truth.
The world
is not a thing
of diamond,
not a thing of
light, or
of spirit, wholly,
although it is
all of these
things,
in part;
It is also an
earthen world,
a fragile world,
a beautiful
world,
and one which
we are quickly
stripping of
its beauty,
and its life.
Our world is
dying, and
we are the
cause.
But, there is yet hope.
There is still
time, to
turn back,
to leave behind
us, all this
pain, and
desecration,
and soul-wide
apathy;
there is yet time,
but not for
much longer.
Therefore, I
charge you,
all who read
these words,
and feel them
within your
heart,
change.
Now.
Revitalize your
lives,
revitalize
the world.
Every action
has
significance;
think, before
you act.
I charge you,
do this
thing,
for yourselves,
and for the
world;
and I swear
to you, before
God, and
all the infinite
immutable
and yet
ever-changing
light,
of eternity,
there is yet time.
There is still hope.
the world will
change,
and flower,
for all of
time.
I promise you.
It will.
The world is a thing of beauty.
will you help to preserve this light,
to heal this suffering, inflicted
in the greed of our race?
Or will you not.
There is no other
option.
Devin Ortiz Nov 2016
I'm sorry you think me offended
I'm sorry you refuse to see
I'm sorry when I show you the mirror
that its white fragility you see
I'm sorry that I don't fit your narrative
that America is the greatest to be
I'm sorry that it hasn't been, not for people
like me
I'm sorry that you can't accept it's different

But I am not sorry for who I am
Nor am I sorry for what I believe
Not sorry for the truth
Not sorry for my protest
Not sorry for the bruising words
Not sorry for the wounded ego
Not sorry for the things to come
Not sorry that I'll never quit

Just sorry for you.
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