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Erian Apr 8
different
isn't a bad thing
the offbeat
isn't wrong
everyone is special
in one way
or another
and that's human nature
we're made to be unique
be ourselves
in front of others
that's why I love
living in the offbeat
Qais Alalami Jan 9
And as effortlessly as that,
You had me cracked
You chipped away at my cold exterior
Dodging shards of ice until I was no longer hard
My frozen heart exposed to the warmth of your hands slowly melting away with the steady breeze of your breath
Incapsulated in the prison of your knuckles
Only for you to drop my heart in search of another
Another that’s slightly warmer
Slightly more hospitable
And slightly more lovable than I am.
I guess my coldness could freeze everything, except your love for me.
Christina Lynn Sep 2018
I face the light... and I have to use my hand as a shield...
My pupils dilate in a painful reaction... It's too bright for me, but it can't be sealed

So I have turned my back on the light... on the sun... and it's flame...
I couldn't handle its truth... its purity... the Light and I were not the same...

So I faced my shadow instead... it laid on the ground in front of me...
I could handle the darkness better... or so I thought... It seemed to be free

But then I began to realize something strange about my shadow...
It would change its shape... it became unpredictable...it's me it would follow...

Even when I tried to follow it sometimes, it would play mind games
It would laugh... appearing to my left.. to my right... whispering my name...

There were days... I would be facing my shadow... my head hanging low...
And on my back of blackness, I would feel the bright heat of the suns light flow

Reminding me... that it was still there... reminding me it was still here for me...waiting
But my stubborn, rebellious, selfish heart ignored... its passionate side fading...

Finally... The shadow began to lead me to dark rooms...
black corners... where it would fit in with the other shadows... I was left alone... in a gloom

Too often this happened... and they abused and used all that they pleased...
Haunting me with my past... My worries... My concerns... My fears... They forced my heart to freeze...

In the night... I thought all was done out of sight and in secret
I was a slave to keeping my shadow quiet... What a prisoner I was to keep it

But soon the morning came... the Sun and its glory unleashed...
And my shadow cowardly used me as a shield...  all of the other shadows deceased.

I finally realized that I must look down on my shadow... for it is a low life of what I use to be
A beggar on the ground, dead as the graves in the dirt, a jealous mimic, and mockery

LOOK UP TO ME SHADOW!!! For it is I who controls you!!!
It is my choice how I make you stretch, and bend, and break, and move!!

My back is facing you now... and I face the sun, whose light will last!
It doesn't follow me, or make me feel low about myself because of my past

It tells me to follow it! It allows me to see!
It tells me to look up and believe!

And when the darkness comes to haunt me, it is still there.
It uses the moon, my friend, to reflect and remind me of its love and care!

It does not change its form, its light, or solar course.
It'll always stay the same and always try to be selective with its rays of force.

It provides things to grow, so I can be satisfied with its blessings.
But you? what do you have to offer? A darkening comfort of split-second feelings?

It has melted away the ice and snow, and scared away the shadows and ghost
Yes... its light is still blinding... but that pain will only provide warmth and beauty... and in this... I will boast!!!!
Thank You For Your Support
Riddhima Jun 2018
Thirty three years Alexander lived
Shakespeare wrote his tragedies
the teacher near our house
...in dhoti turned twice
still ***** with yesterday's mud
goes for another regret
what am I doing?

The play was staged
clowns and faces with paint
their age twenty
The man next door
his face well known
for the cycle he drew across the world
where am I here?
The lunatic
in house arrest wants to breathe
showing the foolish thumb
to people on lanes
but what am I doing?

What am I doing? Doing what? Doing what ?
Till half past three into the night
the question haunts my ribs
A inadequate path, oozing with men flood
but all headless clouds
Am I one in them?
All my life I have been placing this head
The weared out head of mine
In one body
in another
Trying to look into the mirror
On which body does this head of mine
look like me
the word dhoti used in this poem is a garment worn by male Hindus, consisting of a piece of material tied around the waist and extending to cover most of the legs.
Bongani Moyo Mar 2018
I write these quotes from time to time...
I write for those who believe in love but have never felt it first hand,
Those who believe in the intimacy of lust but have felt the roughness of young love.
I write for those who don't fit in because they seem to be two steps behind every one else.
I write for those who fight their insecurities with this pen.
I write for those who life has taught there's no true disappointment without hope.
I write for those who have demons so versatile, they doubt the trust of someone they call a friend.
I write these quotes for those who believe they are that bad example so others out there live a better life.


I am The 7eventh Day, one of these days I might just write for you.
Figuring out why I do this and who I do it for has me writing again
amber Mar 2018
You wear a mask,
Perfectly painted,
Seemingly realistic,
But I see the chips:
The flaws in its craftsmanship,
Where your skin peeks through.
And I see you for what you are:
A coward.
elms in the front yard
have started to exhibit
autumn's amber hues
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The world's gone mad but my mind is made up.
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind,
A place where I'm the referee of a poetic world cup.
This is where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town.
No more radio or TV saturated with all the sad news,
I have got enough breaking news of my very own...
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews.
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom,
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind.
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom,
It's a place that's so special, I reckon it's one of a kind.

You have to know that I always act blind but I see.
In my mind, I can walk stack naked and levitate.
My mind is where I remain totally black and free.
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate,
The code that will outshine any power on this earth.
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access,
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking a breath,
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress.

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge,
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier.
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge.
In there, I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier.
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas.
It is a vessel and place in which I do magic with letters.
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative Judea,
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers.

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind.
This is where I turn letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind.
Come and see where all words become useful swords.
My mind produces powerful words like some light beams...
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation.
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams.
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation,
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space.
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command.



www.poemhunter.com/IvanBrookssr
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@Bassapoet
My mind is the final frontier..the bright side I call my darkroom where I process loose letters into spoken words.
It's safer in the middle
It's really plain to see
If someone tries to pick me off
They shoot others before me

A platoon is led by leaders
Some who aren't around
While those of us out marching
Get picked off without a sound

You know it may sound selfish
Listen up, it isn't dumb
It's safer in the middle
Than with the flag or with the drum

It's safer in the middle
At the back you're in the hunt
If the parade should turn around
You now are at the front
I'm a ****** in a carnivore my martyr wants to craft in a hunt
where biting laughs make romance posit their knowledge or fact
if then skunk mull ground with graph only message hers affront

to slander this right and sleep in the courtyard
and chastise fortuity at baroness
when she'd attract communist lore till Angora
freeze her T & A all the way to Tennessee.
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