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Matthew Feb 2019
The stories of girls getting a prince to sweep them off their feet
was all I needed to search for him
asking the boys if
they were my one and only
Until, one day I got a yes
, but he wasn't the one
And as the years went by I gave up hope
Until, the princess walked up to me
her frilly golden curls
and sea blue eyes
sang songs of true love
she swiped the floor from under me
and came in for a kiss.
Now joined by the heart
After the royal wedding.
Matthew Feb 2019
d
o
w
n

she goes
falling
and
stabbed
   b    y   her
jagged mistakes
cutting open the skin
and watching the blood
drip
down her
blue skirt
the ground is getting
closer.
She looking toward her painful
future
with
wide open eyes
hands together
nodding
praying for the water to run gold
someone else to grab her away
miracles
are gone
or
never existed

ground
Grace under pressure
Matthew Feb 2019
I swing through the trees
sing to the bees
give strength to the weak
am there when most bleak


Who Am I?


You are easy
You are simply somebody who sold their eyes
For a wooden mask
One who is no longer themselves
You are not human,
but worse
You are...
BIG GAY
Matthew Feb 2019
You can't act like love is some trophy
to be won and earned
through adversity.

Love is shared
between
people

the
gifts
of
the

m
u
t
u
a
l
Jo Barber Feb 2019
The blinking cursor
forever fading in and out,
mocking me
for my inability to create.
The words don't come
as they once did.
Blink. Blink.
It's daring me not
to stop typing,
so I don't.
Words flow.
Ideas flow.

Who can tell if any of it
is any good anymore?
Matthew Feb 2019
I guess I love the way
you listen with your lips

I guess I love the way
we live inside our dreams

You take away the tears
With one insignificant laugh

One look at us
in the lazy afternoon hue
I know why I'm with you

Why am I so hesitant to accept your lips and laugh?
To run away in your eyes
full of sunlight

Because my pupils never grow
You might be blinded by the light.
Because I see storm clouds
It is raining,
drops of
my blue
tears.
Something just A thought.
Matthew Feb 2019
I wasn't taught to have my own opinion
Only taught to follow the "correct" one.
blushing prince Jan 2019
the sun is my king and sometimes it asks me
what i'm doing down here on earth
i can't help but explain that everything has it's place and there are certain rules you cannot bend
i consistently want to have a ****** job wherein it slowly melts my spirits but not really
what i really want is nothing by the sea
doesn't matter which one
where i can pray into the sand
where someone asks
who are you? what are you doing?
and i can tell them
at ease, at ease
like that cowboy i remember from my childhood
this is me at my most degenerate
at my most free
but you wouldn't know
except the sun king and I
Katelynn Jan 2019
Why do I write? Well technically I’m not actually writing, I’m typing. Anyhow I write for many different reasons. I write to share ideas, to change perspective, but I mainly write for myself. I write for myself because writing(typing) helps me understand myself. I know it sounds crazy sometimes but when I am for once able to put meaning into my words I am able to understand parts of myself better. Some people don’t understand. How could someone possibly not understand themselves? It’s reasonable to understand that. I always know what I am feeling most of the time. However trying to take my feelings and put them into words tends to be a struggle for me. Like I can’t find the right words in the proper order to try and explain myself. Sometimes things don’t need explaining. That’s is why I write poetry. In poetry things don’t need to make since, unlike all the college essays that I have to write that scream about grammar and punctuation. Poetry is just a feeling by itself. Letting the rhythm of the words just flow. It doesn’t always make sense but that isn’t the point. The point is does it have meaning? When someone reads poetry do the feel something deep within or are they just zoning out and reading just to read. Reading poetry is like playing a melody in your head. You can hear all the different notes, when they stop, and when they go. You can create a symphony of words with the letters being your orchestra. Some may criticize, they always will, and try to make it seem that your work is less important that it is. But it isn’t. What makes your work important is the feeling that you get from it when you finish. That feeling of relief when you finally let everything bottled up inside you go, or the tears that spill because the damage that was made and the only way to heal is letting out all of these words in your head go. When writing there are no limits, no criteria. It’s just you and your brain piecing together parts of yourself you hadn’t realized that was there before.

And that is why I write.
This is just what I call a word ***** that I had once day, and I just wanted to write. These words are unedited and I didn't allow myself to backspace on any of it. So they may be some spelling errors and there are definitely some grammer erros. This is just pure words, typing as I am thinking. Truely my definition of a word *****.
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