Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, and she dreams:?

expired sunset
a multicolored sky fired and met
wings of flee burnt rain
dawns of lasts in unseen flames

the table dines
lions chase forests of mine
like when the first sip shadowed
of the water green in lakes shallow

hands shot eyes intake
tremble ripped canvas of french fake
ashes unknown no name
to reach out faces or claim

polished the twenty third
out of the bathing bird
a Sunday morning motions
a faze of a dark table believed bad omen

July Gray Jun 12
from wanted to worthless
she didn't ask for this
they wanted a princess
she wanted the crown

they said they loved me
they said i was wanted
please if you please
she was Pretty in pink

now she's broken and beaten
and tossed to the side
America's golden girl,
wasted with pride

sometimes you win
and sometimes you lose
so defines life
you don't get to choose

she painted her face
with colors of the sky
got called a disgrace
whenever she walked by

Flowers can change
as flowers grow
people can do it too
I didn't mean to leave you

they said they loved me
they said i was wanted
please if you please
can i be Pretty without pink?

the world is trying to beat you,
to throw you aside,
but you've made it so far
hold your head up with pride
happy pride month losers!
yes. i am still active. sometimes. not often.
this is from a song im writing! i took out a few of the choruses bc the ratio of chorus:verse needs to be fixed and i think it makes more sense as a poem this way? idk lmk what you think <3
selina May 16
times passes slowly now
the only times that had mattered
have all rolled on by

gone with the wind
and the dust has now settled
memories fade with the rays of light

our golden hour is in the past
night falls onto our shoulders
my mind is hesitant to say if it is heavier

than the weight of your words
when you said you were finally happy
my heart bled gold for you
rig Apr 29
the moon is not.
              golden; or sssweet; or – oh…– …sssssssssssyrupy…

and yet i miss it:

Harley Hucof Apr 29
I am gazing at a shining portrait as my desire is announced by distant bell chimes. I merge with the paint and feel absorbed into a different timeline.

In the painting, the wind carries a scent of a familiar tree assorted with the melody of its leaves. It all brings back the memory of a song that I love, that reminds me of a woman I met in a vision from a dream yet I don't know the language it is made of, nor I can sing it for I am dyslexic in the ear.

This is an illusion, I see it. Still, I deem it to be real, similar to a scene that I keep reliving as I wander the mystical golden desert, I wonder is fulfillment an insult or a compliment if attained outside the ordinary strains of sensual accomplishments?
Disconcerted by previous arrangements i think it through to realize this is an illusion is just a tattoo .

Words Of Harfouchism
Ntando Ndlela Apr 28
Golden Child you need to go to college,
These blood ties are your *******,
They see you as their treasure without realizing they are pirates,
Thieves after your potential,
Your grades made them believe  you were special,
So golden child you need to be successful,

We need you Golden Child,
You have many mouths to feed,
I taught you how to ride a bike,
And your 3rd cousin was your best friend  when you were three,
We all deserve some profit from your slavery,

Golden Child please succeed,
I know this pressure  may be the cause of  your misery,
But your family deserves more,
this isn't greed
Copyrighted ©️written by Ntando Ndlela.
gracie Apr 16
Little white sheep on a faded blue pillowcase
          your hair strewn across like a
sleepy blonde storm.

I’ve got the strangest feeling...

Last night I had a dream—perhaps a memory
          of you bathed in golden light,
                    pulling up fistfuls of grass
          and piling it on my bare knee.

          A voice low and purling
with the stream at our feet.
                    Silk on skin.
                              Lips on peaches.
                                        Pinky promises
                              on Sunday afternoons.

We wear socks to glide over the kitchen tiles
          humming along to an ancient song on the radio.
another old poem reworked
You were happy.

And I was supposed to be happy.

My gold leaf covered hands danced through every key and every scale.

Every symphony that you threw.

I gave you all that I could give.

The golden spotlight and rusting trophies that decorate your shelf.

You always wanted more.

But I'm afraid there was nothing more I could give.

You always wanted me here so why?

What did I do to deserve your shame and hatred.

Maybe you finally realized I was only plated with gold.

But thank you.

For scraping my dreams, my mind, and every hope I had for myself growing up.

Now I know that steel only bends under unimaginable pressure.

And I can walk away from you.

At last in the deep but soothing uncertainty that lays straight ahead of me.

Only having the hope that things will cool down eventually.

Let me leave.
Ashley Kay Mar 26
Alpenglow overlays
Every surface in oil paint
Courting Golden Hour for
Another encounter,

Tender purples cascade
Down tributaries
Towards meadows
Of ripened cheeks,

Flushed with love
It proves fruitless
To refuse the
Swell of synchronicity
Next page