Sam 7d
We started in one point,
until we flew our way into a straight line.
We hold hands and joined,
like stars in the sky
that just aligned.
But things came to disjoint,
after we realized we're choked when twined.
This must be the endpoint,
of our spiraling world that once shined.
My heart was destroyed,
and left there hanging on a thick brown vine.
But I hope you enjoyed,
the matter of time that you become mine.
So now,
I'll wish on a coin,
and throw it upon a
fountain of signs.
hoping we could go back together even in a square one.
Breaking up has to conclusions. First, it is the endpoint. Second, it can still be fix.
i am better now,
but sometimes there are still blisters where i once had calluses,
and bruises still deep in my bones,
so please be patient with me.

― i am still a work in progress
Gray Jun 7
I wish i could let go of all my cares.
Just as if they were all feathers scattered in the air.
My problems fly up left,
And my worries drift away towards the right.

I wish i could only keep all my emotions pure.
Good thoughts, wishes, hopes.
All of those would stick to me like glue.
Leaving me, a complete person.

I wish i could blend in with all the others,
And learn how to wholeheartedly accept affection.
If only i wasn’t so deprived from it,
When i was still young.

I wish i was able to concentrate,
Without my mind wandering off.
I feel like i'm floating through cool streams of water.
My thoughts, straying away like a pool noodle.

But, wishing isn’t getting, right?
I can wish and want all day,
And still end up with nothing.
In the end, my yearnings weigh equal to a feather.
When e'er i chance
     to steel a passing glance
     in the mirror hairline fractures appear
than 'afore long

     snap, crackle, pop
     becomes crystal clear,
whence aluminium glass mirror
     (made of a float glass

     incorporating additional processes)
     leaves highly reflective surface patina 'ere
one narcissist ken
     while away countless hours

     preening, primping, and pruning
     e'en the slightest glare
ring blemish finds cause
     for cosmetic surgery

     evincing interlinear
crows feet and dark
     circular "bags" that distinctly lear,
which medical term for skin folds

     and ballottable skin edema
     described as “festoon,”
     or “malar mound,”
     an eye sore overclear

demanding immediate
     dermatological action
     (if necessary) taking
     extra adipose tissue from rear

end supposed extra junk in the trunk,
     where derrière,
     would not be unduly sore,
     perhaps requiring

     (whatever would suture self)
     plus extra padded underwear
which subjugation voluntarily
     "going under the knife,"

     would stave off depredations aging
     (such as puffy eyes)
     at least for another year.
Mel L May 29
Idk how I called out,
But I did,
And I hate myself for it,
For some reason.
How does that possibly make any sense?
I don't know,
I guess it doesn't really matter,
now does it?
Cause there it is,
Already done,
There's no going back,
From here,
No where to go but forward,
None the less,
Even though my feet may still drag,
Scraping on the ground,
There I'm going,
Being dragged or not,
It doesn't matter;
People don't care,
As long as I'm "Present",
As long as I'm "there".
goodtea May 28
I heat the water until
it burns, I never know exactly
what I’m trying to burn off


We get high because getting high
is a little bit easier than
getting close
get close to me
PAAA Apr 16
Everything glows in light;
Getting up onto ten little
creatures moving happily
up and down on the floor

Three steps to open the glass
letting in fresh air; Little
gemstones sparkle on grass
and violets in the rising sun

The left ear hears church
ringing, deep and relaxing;
The right ear bird songs,
light and exiting

A little fluffy bumblebee
hums curiously around the
white frame; A robin perches
on the fence’s edge turning
her small head joyfully
towards the sun

Trees move slowly in the
warm breeze shaking away
the last tiredness

Arms stretch out releasing
big strong wings to fly into
the day
A beautiful sunny Sunday morning looking into my garden. Love this moment so much that I just had to write about it.
III Apr 15
I've seen the sun,
It's shimmery glow,
And felt it's warmth too,
And yet,
I still swim deeper,
Without knowing why this
Is what I do.
Cjf Dec 2016
i loved you. i loved you as naive people love when they believe heart's aren't made of glass & aren't meant to break. i loved you like a child would love something new they discovered & possesed you as one would possess a toy. I guess that's what happens when a punk rock boy with steady hands & raven black hair steals a innocent 15 year old girls heart.

August 5th 2016

but heart's break they burn they catch fire & they mold into something new. but even three years later molded casings are meant to break & maybe that's how you managed to creep & lock yourself into my new heart & it's foreign to you & to me. but your hands aren't steady & your heart is as unstable as a bridge that hasn't been crossed in years & maybe its a chance to cross it not knowing what lies at the bottom, but you make me feel so willing to cross it.

I've loved you. loved you with more than my entire being & I've told you what kind of hell it was to believe that you didn't care, but you did & i know I gave up to easily but i needed love. I needed a physical love,a few blocks apart, not 100 miles apart. I was selfish & I've never seen anything more beautifully heartbreaking than you with tears in your eyes begging me to stay & i was caught between my heart or my body & I chose my selfish needs & my heart was broken for months & i missed you & needed you to fix it. & I could never paint or write or sing about the way your eyes looked the last time I was brave enough to look into them; & I don't believe anyone could ever replicate anything so forlornly blue.

you're heart isn't a toy. & love isn't a game. we're both going blind in this gamble. i want to be yours for the night & maybe more & you with your words that paint dreams make it as tempting as pandoras box & I'm almost as willing to open it all. we're both betting high, too high, & I don't want you falling into vices & I don't want to lose you. it's always been a fight for who would win out & I don't want to lose. i don't. you made a home in my heart & my heart has molded it's way around you in perfect unison & yes it missed a couple of beats but they we're beats screaming your name & yearning for your acceptance & yes it stops when I believe you see me for who I really am & who I could be. I don't want you too.

I couldn't go anywhere if i tried, darling.

July 5th 2016
but your hands arent steady anymore
Jeff S Mar 18
mea maxima culpa:

i am so much 
like a breadbox born.

bowing over time, as things do get

stale, my cracks christening
unwitting loaves with light

already risen.

i hear the newer ones 

come with their own condiments

and an irredeemable crust.

the bread, I mean. 

They don’t make we

breadboxes anymore.
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