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valentina Nov 2017
sometimes i just give up
i get mad
but mostly i’m fine
sometimes when i give up
i feel happy
empowered
but mostly just tired
honestly if love is a game
i really am bored of the rules
i would just run and kiss you
but you aren’t a rebel
a rule breaker
you stick strictly to the rules
and honestly i’m so over it
you’re so boring
i sound like a teen in this that’s cause i am a teen if my poems ever come across as whiney that’s cause they are i want to whine it’s how i stop myself from going crazy
Lynx Nov 2017
I love her
I love her so much
Her long hair
Her cute skirt
I love her
I know she's only pixels
Only lines on a piece of paper
But I love her
She's so sweet
And selfless
and brave
I want to be like her
And that's why I love her
Even if she isn't real
This is a poem about waifus. Specifically, I wrote a poem about Marta Lualdi. She's from Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World, on the Wii and PS3. I recommend playing it!
Paul Butters Nov 2017
“Who let you in?” jokes Henry the Doorman,
Waving the signing-in book
Like a wanton dervish,
With a glint in his eye.

But in you go,
Into a dimly lit room,
Filled with smoke in yesteryears.
Men in huddles
Hatching plots
Or just playing cards
Or Dominoes.

In the corner those darts are flying,
While blokes stand chatting
At the bar.

Next door you find The Snooker Room,
Where all is silent
As “World League Championships” are underway.
Snooker and billiards to be precise.
Men so serious
Some sitting sternly
Worrying about their match.
The odd breakout of conversation
Over some dispute or debate.

Back at the bar
All is well.
No need to be PC here.
You can say whatever you want.

We drink and drink,
Until the bar closes
At whatever time.
The chat gets louder
As the ***** loosens our tongues.
Then home we roll together.
Every Club.
A place I love.

Paul Butters

© PB 15\11\2017.
Inspired by my local bowling club, where I  am a "Social Member". :)
Skylar Keith Nov 2017
Red
Reflecting into my vision
Red
Reading between the lines of my own mind

Running away
Red
Running back

Rotten judgement is what I seem to be
Red
Ripped away from what I know about myself

Reviling is what I am accused of
Red
Right or wrong doesn't seem to matter anymore

Responsibility knocks on my door
Red
Reduce the yearning

Remorse fills my eyes
Red
Rolling my eyes in mockery

Checkmate
"Life is what you make it (Zico)"
or does life make you?
Maria Etre Nov 2017
My darling
I have placed
all my cards
on the table
with my heart
all in
it's up to you
to take the risk
bet, flip and see
if you win
a full house
with me
Liz Carlson Oct 2017
first, it was me,
I could never speak to you.
my nerves were on fire
and my mind would go blank.
until I got over silly you.
I realized you're in love with yourself,
and all you are is a pretty face.

then, it was you.
you started acting differently.
still pretending to be something you're not.
now I catch you staring at me.

silly you.
I wish this loup could end.
this silly little game.
let's just be strangers again.
Shawna Kawakami Oct 2017
You
Shame me, blame me humiliate me and lie.
Compare me, threaten me, defame me and ignore my cries.
My life played like a toy, controlled and molded as it's twisted
and pried.
You
Charm them, ****** them and shape them with veiled ascendancy.
The manipulated, the puppets, the pawns; the recruited proxy.
Their life played like a toy, to dance and to sing to the captivating sounds of a deluded melody.
They
Become your enablers, the abusers, the bullies; your silhouettes.
Your servants, your minions, your marionettes.
Forever blindly clutched on a page of your novelette.
I
Am no longer a victim, desiring love from my family.
I am now enlightened and empowered, free from your chains.
I gained awareness, my strength and my sanity.
Now you play in silence with your bitter scapegoat games.
My No Contact despair. Grieving the living.
at Oct 2017
Sound:

The hum of a patient amp
wraps around your moving lips
A silent symphony screams in my ears
but grows silent
as the clean ring of a guitar
flows from your dancing fingers

Dial up the gain
I can hear the toast crumbs
against chilling marmalade
hear the sing of smoke-ridden lungs
with the crisp chirp of an early bird.

Touch:

Callused taps
steel strings warmed
from fleeting fingers sliding up
and down the brisk wooden limb
waking up from its slumber.

Soft groove of a joystick
sweaty plastic buttons
you were the exciting buzz
that vibrated in my palm
when I hit that combo
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