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perception of beauty
fluttering wings abound
nymphs in the sky
nymphs in the abyss
goddess training grounds
dancing photons
brilliance unfolding
critical ingredient
what would you see
smeared paint
palette knife magic
flowing and dripping
Did you
figure out how to feel
I've bled
Into all the colors here

To somehow die alone
I still
Don't understand the throne

The summit's height
To capture
Finally fading light

It's all over
Before its begun
It's all over

Wonder why I can't give a ****
Something in the air's got me ******
I don't know, I just woke up
What can I say?
I walk alleys and avenues of broken roads.
Black tops eroded from years of punishing
Rainfall, passerbys and time.

After a hard rain, shallow mirrors open up,
Revealing an unyielding world on its head.

It seems, as I walk amidst the distinguished,
Cracks, chips and pebbles that this moment,
Both real and a memory is everlasting.

Overcast, both dismal and hopeful, I read
Between the skylines of the upsidedown.

I breath in this parallel, I write it all down,
A collection of neverhaves.

A creation that is mine for the making, or
For the taking, should I wish.
any ideas for a good slam poem?
Leeli Barton Nov 25
have you ever noticed that you never
see famous female poets who look
like marilyn or raquel or jayne?

even the girls today whose words
are celebrated can't sell their rhymes
without selling their bodies.

i guess the new femme fatale
might be less feminist than i thought:
when your looks can ****, they ******
your ideas.

when your lips pucker like roses
and your body is angelic--
we let you take our libidos to heaven
but not our minds.
Aiden Nov 13
What makes a compliment?
And why do we crave them so?
It’s loved on every continent,
And everyone praises those who give them so.

Yet there are no real rules,
Just many a fools,
Giving their idea of one.

We say what we think is nice,
We speak what we believe is true,
An idea of a complement.
But some fall hilariously short,
And some say of which can be met with much blue.

So what makes a compliment?
Is it the person receiving the words?
It’s there job to interpret the voice?
Must they dissect what the other says,
And hope to *** there interpretation is the correct choice?

So what makes a complement?
Is it the person giving the words?
Must they be masters of literature,
With the ability to prefect,
The ability to make immaculate,
The ability to speak with all the power of a poet?

Or is it someones job to do something deserving of one,
With the other person making the choice,
The choice of giving the person a deserving words that have been oh so beautifully spun?

Not at all.
A complement is complement because we say so.
There are no rules.
Just what each person knows of each other in this world of fools.

A complement is complement because both people are happy with what is said.
It’s a personal idea for only those two people’s head.
Snap chat's recent "Send X if you care about me"  spam decide to make write about what a complement is.
Nicole Tracii Nov 12
perfect is not defined by a single person
perfect is not a set mold made by someone
perfect is not the same image to everyone.

perfect is what and who you want to become.

perfection cannot compare you to another.
it compares you to yourself.

Perfect is being a better you than you were yesterday.

Perfect is not something unattainable
Perfect is not something pure and absolute
Perfect is not being the best at everything or even something

Perfect is choosing acceptance
Perfect is embracing who you are
Perfect is beauty within flaws
perfect is the cracks in a mirror
perfect is the smiling through pain

perfect is not a number on a test
perfect is not a rank among classmates
perfect is not the schools you get accepted to

perfect is choosing to do better than your best
perfect is pushing you beyond the edge into an abyss
perfect is the scars from the monsters you conquer

perfect is pride in all that you are and all you achieve
perfect is finding love in the darkest of places

perfect is not what someone else tells you
perfect is what you tell yourself it is
Marina Nov 9
I was in need of fresh blood,
When you layed your hand against my cheeks
Oh love, my love
Aletifer Nov 1
Of language, they say it's partitioned us all
That Babel’s been lost to our dreams
Yet speech was never what mortared its walls—
The Tower is not as it seems

Throughout every culture, a placid expression
Means freedom from panic and fear
A well-­furrowed brow signals excess of passion
And usually follows a tear

Serenity voices our reason and truth
Disgust is our language of hate
Hyperbole, the diction of boyhood and youth
Surprise, that of chance, and of fate

“The language of man has been broken,” they say,
Splintered by region, religion and race
Yet some may speak Kali, while others Malay
But all can interpret a face.
Any comments or feedback most welcome. Thanks very much for reading.
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