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Nicole Nov 2021
When I'm with you
Our souls mesh like alchemy
With a delicate touch
They move together
Like oil in water
Each distinct and yet
They dance as if they are one
Gentle and fluid
They wrap around each other
Your soul
Moving like silk across mine
Both weaving intricately
Filling in empty spaces
Skin to skin
Soul to soul
A rhythm so perfect that
We fit together flawlessly
As if we were made for each other
Your soul is light and pure
Beautiful and disarming like the sea
And when we're together
Our connection is all that I need
Nicole Nov 2021
My stomach is in swirls and
Soon my heart follows too
For some unknown reason
I can be myself with you
Getting high on the bed
Getting high off each other
After we spend two nights together
I still want another
Your eyes are like oceans
Whose depths I crave knowing
I see waves and storms
And I want you to show me
I want to listen to your truth
All the pieces of you
I know life isn't easy
I've got demons too
Nicole Nov 2021
Palms pressed flat against cold concrete
I rest my heavy head between them
Heartbeats echo against my eardrums
Rhythmic, like a timer
Fear of impending uncertainty chokes me
I need to cry but have no tears
Forgive me for this indecision
I'm lost and confused in my own mind
I love you, and my heart hurts
I want to run, but I hold myself steady
What's best for me isn't best for my soul
It's the part of me that knows you best
The point of impact when we connect
The place where we met and never left
I love you, and I hate this
Why do I want more, when I have you?
Why does the emptiness hurt this much
When the alternative is simply more void?
The hardest part of this whole situation
Is the reason why I'm still here
I love you and I'm stubborn as hell
I'm not ready to give up on this
Simon Soane Nov 2021
The blood had fell
for many a year,
the bodies never ceased to drop,
and every person shed a tear.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob joined up in January 1918
as he had turned the age he had to go,
him and his friends went to enlist
as English pavements filled with snow.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred was from a near-by town,
went down to enroll with fear in his tum,
he didn't really want to sign up,
as he'd miss his Cat, his Dad, his Mum.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred and Bob had a torrid time
in that drowning stinking mud,
and met when they were deployed together
after The Battle Of Belleau Wood.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They clapped eyes on each other in a trench
and their hearts simultaneously began to flutter,
wonder stirred in their souls,
words of love they wished to utter.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They were both drenched in horror,
shrouded in a bombed out trance,
but began to feel some ease
with every stolen glance.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They talked in down hours,
how they'd eventually leave Hell, sit hand in hand, try to forget what they had seen,
full of peace and calm,
in a field of summer green.

In the awful years of The Great War.

When no-one else was looking
they'd try and dull the machine gun hiss
and find a tiny space
for a fleeting enamoured kiss.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Inevitably they got *****,
talked about what fleshy designs they could be,
Bob said, "I'm up for owt!"
Fred replies, "oh, perhaps you could *** on me!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob chucked, "ha ha, I'm up for that,
anything to please you that is in my power!'
Fred responded, "great my love,
I'll look forward to a *******!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred and Bob continued their covert romance
and anticipated the day when Fred would get a jet of Bob's yellow
but then one became their leader
was the most terrible fellow.

In the awful years of The Great War.

He waltzed in and stated with arrogance,

'I'm now in charge of you, you ghastly bunch of ****!"
He was the most frightful man:
Major Barthomley Pitt.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Despite never seeing combat
Pitt did pontificate, "deserters he would shoot,
cowards would go up against the wall
and the scared get the gun boot."

In the awful years of The Great War.

But what Pitt hated most
was "men who go up other mens' rears,
I ******* hate those sodomites,
I ******* hate those queers!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Pitt continued that he'd "rooted out sin
whether it be meek or mild
and I have filled with bullets
those who enjoy copulation like Oscar Wilde!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

In the middle of this diatribe a shell exploded,
the debris torn into Bob's arm,
and a mustard gas cloud appeared
before anyone could raise the alarm.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred had got a lung full,
Pitt cowering started to look for his own cover,
but both Bob with only one upper limb working started to think about his lover.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob ****** on a hanky as he knew ammonia
could relieve the toxic gas and stop a man from being dead,
and in a desperate lunge in the front of Pitt
placed the sodden rag on the face of Fred.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Just a minute ago Pitt was shouting,
off on one of his vile anti ****** rants
but just 60 seconds later a puff was giving another puff in front of him
a pair of hard ons in their pants.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob and Fred were rushed to field hospital
and of that abomination of war did get away,
and were both still bedridden
when on the 11/11/11 was declared Armistice Day.

No more awful years of The Great War.

After it had ended Bob and Fred moved to  separate houses in a village,
Bob's inheritance made this dream,
and they would go deep in the woods
and be their serene supreme

No more awful years of The Great War.

They would laugh about how they had made it,
their glee made the sun more brightly beam,
on this peaceful blue calming day
Bob and Fred found their field of green.

A happily ever after The Great War.
I S A A C Nov 2021
Am I a demon?
That is what they're saying
Am I ******* Satan?
Or is Satan ******* me?
Am I the gay best friend, is that all I am?
I can be sassy, flamboyant but never enough to really defend
from the arrows and throes of men
So tell me what I am
tell me what I got to be
So tell me what I am
tell me what is stopping me
From Heaven's end, even if I repent?
Will my sins not be cleansed in the sea
There is not much difference in sin from you to me
Nicole Oct 2021
Day dreams of us
Tangled in white sheets
Your arms wrapped around me
My lips pressed firmly against yours
A pause for air and I breathe you in
Minutes pass like seconds
Our time is always fleeting but
Every moment with you has me awe struck

I'm grateful for this and for you
Your energy holds me to the ground
Wrapping into my own like puzzle pieces
Two hearts with the same beat
We move together as one
Rhythmic, yet so unique
Everything is quiet but us

When I saw you for the first time
I knew you were special
The first day we hung out
I knew I would fall for you
And the descent was unbelievable
Our connection magnetic
Unexpected and magical
I can't help but regret nothing

I don't know if you realize that
In so many ways I am yours
I belong to me but
My heart has been locked and
You have the key
I give in to the intensity and
Embrace the complications
Face the fears that can hold me back
Because nothing and no one
Can change how I feel for you
How incredibly gay you make me
And how right it feels when I'm in your arms

This love is unexplainable
And it's depth undeniable
Thank you for being you
And taking a chance with me
You mean the absolute world
And I love you endlessly
Nicole Oct 2021
Overwhelmed.
Tiny screens hide big feelings.
Tell me you love me so I can breathe.
Sweet words wrap around my heart.
Constricting until I'm high
And can't feel the fear anymore.
I need to know what's real.
I know it isn't all lies,
But I can't find the line.
Blinded by electric energy,
Coursing through my limbs.
I love this and I hate this.
Convenient and damning.
The warmth of emotion permeates,
But it can't reach my core.
The anxiety and pain are rampant there.
I don't want to feel them.
I don't feel safe.
But I can't bring others down with me.
I need to face myself empty handed.
Let the emotions burn through me.
I know that I am fire proof.
So when the flames flicker to nothingness,
And I'm alone with the darkness,
I will be most simply
And most purely
Me.
GaryFairy Oct 2021
Maybe someday people will speak of a great group of logical poets. It will be a group though. Maybe a help group for the more fragile ones. Not the type of fragile you are...the type that breaks. Carry on army, and tend to your fellow army members' wounds. Maybe someday you will see that you have fake bullets. Fully automatic, with hollow points and full metal jackets

You like my poem, then i'll like yours
we don't have to call it reading
even if yours could heal my sores
mine would be all i'm needing

i like your whole style of no style
nothing to do with form or function
you say it's not a one way street
when i see you at every junction

to be honest, it fills me with fear
hitting like becoming my being
then i will get roped into even more
when less is all i'm seeing

because this group is the real world, on a page, in cyberspace. My mind isn't real, because you can't see it, and it can't hit the like button for me. I must be as insane as you think i am.


It tickles my pickle to see the same poets that pointed at me years ago writing the same exact poem over and over. Talking about writers block like it's real. I stick to my guns and my guns are automatic. If you have a block, you're not a writer. You are still used for building though. Building what you hate, building what i love. I know some are blocks of ****, but they fertilize, at least. Thank you truly. If you hadn't kept putting me to sleep, i wouldn't have had so many awakenings. I do see the good, in blocks. One thing about a big block is that it gets cut into pieces, to make smaller blocks. Then you get mixed in with other blocks that you want no part of. I guess then, you and the other blocks just stand for that one building. You know...the 1 million square foot ranch. It has a basement, but no upstairs.
The best thing is, seeing the same poets contradict themselves with real life. Copycats. As far as form and function goes...deformity and disfunction is fine with me. After all, my favorite poet wasn't even a poet. Just some blind guy tripping on acid.
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