Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I posted a picture on the internet today,
after handpicking the best of all.
While she is left with no choices,
so she walks on the roads that burn
carrying herself upon her feet that bleed.

I took my camera and checked up the lighting,
as I wanted the picture to look 'natural' and 'candid'.
A cameraman rushes to her to click a picture
as he is a magazine photographer searching for stories real.

I sweated and protested about the scorching heat
while I set up my camera.
She wipes the sweat off her father's forehead
on which the glabellar lines cease to exist,
while hers is carrying the roots and branches of it.

I held books in my hand to strike a pose
as my fingers laid in front,
whose nails I painted yellow for this summer.
She holds the handlebars of her bicycle she can no more hold or paddle,
her nails have painted themselves with the colour of mud.

I clicked too many pictures for me to count or recall.
Even after thousands, she remembered how many miles is home.


I captioned my picture
'No more lonely quarantine',
She hardly knows alphabets or words to even ask for help.

I swiped from filter to filter
selecting an 'aesthetic' one.
She drinks the pitch-black liquid,
they tell her is water,
without even demanding for 'cleaner' one.

I finally edited and made a perfect picture,
with my wide grin sealed with a gloss,
And the cameraman too asks for her to smile for once.
She with her deserted lips forms a curve that makes the cameraman frown.

He deletes the picture from his camera
as it would be disliked by all,
It got 1.9k likes,
The picture I posted on the internet today.
Alex Soders May 19
don't mistake
rupi kaur
for poetry
if you want poetry
go find it
it's that simple

- Rupi Kaur
PoserPersona May 12
No trust for you hoes
that's the only way to go
You ain't noble or loyal,
yet you're all self acclaimed royal
No hesitation to hop me,
if you think you can get a better popping
Hell, you'll do it in my face
and, if I act just a bit disgraced,
you'll tell me off
like it's my fault
When I first caught glimpse
of that jimmy-rigged
thirst trap insta-photo
with your
bobbled head
leaning alongside
the lowest base note
piano keys
I considered you a
Madame Blavatsky
invoking with the guileless eyes of
a deceased Peter Tork
or the once-was heat
of
a David Cassidy
Also deceased
And I couldn’t help but notice
that your flame, if you will,
as his flame before you
was
OUT
Like the last embers of a campground fire in
Yosemite National Park.

That image read
more like David’s blousy
troll
twin brother
that lived in a basement somewhere
in the San Fernando Valley
and shoveled out
coal as if he was Cinderella.
Never to be allowed near a stringed instrument,
Nor a mic.
Nor an amp.
Not even the littlest sister’s Cowsills like
Tambourine.

Somewhere in the Dakota
in NYC
Westside
The witches try to concur.
Rosemary screamed
in a chocolate mouse stupor
“This is no teen dream of 1974!”
“What about the 60s?”
a naked old witch encircling her bed
inquired tentatively.

I know of  a tarot reader
Who warns of the malignant energies of a certain
Kimi Hendrix,
Jimi’s little brother
who plays the
banjo
and
masterbates excessively
and is not
a virtuoso.
Stay away from him.
He’s an imposter.
!

You could very well be absolutely mad
Which would explain
the kooky flirty-fishing
cultish
eyeball thing
but what’s the success rate
after all this
photography, I reckon?
Who would eat the bait
anyhow?
“You’d be surprised,” sneers another witch.
“Shaddup” snaps Castevet.

Once there was
this art dealer
also in NYC
who used to pass by you
heading south on
West Broadway
And if you stood on the sidewalk
Talking to whomever,
say,
for another
five minutes
Or
Let’s just say “eventually,”
not giving it a
specific time
His girlfriend would follow.
They were together you see?
She wasn’t late.
And that was way more than
one hundred paces.

It would appear
that in just one year’s time
or perhaps just a couple of months
Trapped in your household
With audio and visual stimulation of all permutations
keyboards
delivery services
and realtime isolation
Within a mise en abysme
of
trap upon trap upon trap
you’ve become perhaps
madder still.
Mercury in the lining
of the top-hat
mad.
“And who hasn’t?” asks that naked witch again.
I’d add that you’ve put on a few
Which a lot of people have done lately
No judgement
But I doubt you are baking a lot of
bread

And you look much older than you should.

So I wonder
How do you get to that vibratory chi
when you’re walled off like this?
Once you get to some of the real good good
you will look
so much better.
This quandary engages me
enough to indulge
a whirligig
into which I can incorporate
if I want to,
Courbet’s L’origin du monde,
the envy soaked
diamantine scowl of a
*****
and perpetually ignored roadie,
Vampires
And street-level prostitution.
It’s a crisis!

I would have thought
that you could just
draw it all
straight to you
Without actual fleshly contact
Seep it
through the stucco’d walls
Or down from
the ceiling,
quickly and upon demand.
Sub-molecularly.
No traffic and clean air make haste.
But no.
That’s not working right now is it?
Magician Reversed.
I want to turn away from this world
abandon myself,
unravel my emotions,
so that I can be enough to feel again.
I've left so much behind, because I
was AFRAID
to be vulnerable.
Nobody told me, that I
was already Enough !
Let me tell you today, that you are enough, and will always be.
GypsyPOet Apr 16
Spoken word,
It's not a grand gesture of nouns and verbs
Or elegant speech you've never heard
It's the embrace of freedom
Saying what needs to be said
And if you don't agree,
Then off with my head
But words will remain
Like a stain on your brain
A ***** little secret that you can't contain
And when you take a deep breath,
My purpose fills your lungs
A'las my will has begun
Because the work of a poet is never...
/G\ypsyPOet
We are made immortal through our deeds.
I wanted to see her face again
So I deleted Instagram

I wanted to know what she was thinking
So I deleted Twitter

I wanted to hear her voice
So I blocked her number
Flynn Apr 2
We have the best times
I’m so unhappy

We have the best days
I’m having an awful day

We’re so similar
You don’t understand me

We’re a perfect couple
We clash
Lena Mora Mar 11
I jump in a big ocean
in darkness swimming in strong waves
where escaping has no gate,
stuck in a black space inside my head,
it hurts to be in pain and highly awake,
in the midst of this night,
when overthinking is all i create.
Next page