Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Devin Lawrence Oct 2015
One day
You find yourself
Holding onto dreams of old
And grasping at answers
Both old and new.

One day
You look in the mirror-
Time has passed you by-
And the only blame
Is yours.

One day
You feel drained,
Filled with “what if”,
With nothing to show.
What a shame.

One day
It comes together.
You see like you’ve never seen;
It’s so clear, now
You’re on your way.

One day
You find yourself
Wondering how you ever thought
You aren’t a star-
You’re a sunbeam.
kathryn Jan 2015
**** feelings
Hurt feelings
Good feelings and bad feelings
Feelings about

**** all feelings.

**** crying
Crying can **** the *******
Catch your tears with your tongue
Wiping them away is attention grabbing

It’s ******* crass.

**** shouting
**** screaming
**** pounding windshields
**** putting your fist through a wall
**** your ****** hands

Get a ******* hold of yourself.

Also
**** your joy
**** the light in your eyes
**** your inspiration
**** your wisdom
**** your compassion

**** that ****.

**** burning eyes
**** tender throats

**** holding and hurting and grasping
and missing and dying

Go **** yourself.
How to talk of such things
When suitable words make a game of hiding;
verbs and adjectives are not rich enough in describing?

How to speak of such things
When a brittle voice trembles in the mentioning,
Tongue tied trickery trips every uttering,
While throat clench tightly trapping sentences to the point of suffocating?

Who to hear of such things
When guttural grunts are all that come crashing
and gasping breaths are too weak for their releasing
While listeners impatiently tilt heads from my scratchy stuttering?

Who to read of such things,
When the vagueness of text can't hold true meaning
and impulsive eyes leave print that is boring,
When you can't fault the font because it is indifferent to what you are attempting?

All the while the essence of a poem is slipping,
opportunity to grasp it is fading
and inspiration waning
The moment wilting
efforts are dying.
S Jul 2014
Feathers dance across my vision, and I want to gather them all up and store them inside of me.

Maybe they will make me float.

— The End —