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Rezium Oct 2018
Hug
Come to me
I’ll handle your problems
I’ll tell you how much you mean to me
I’ll show you and be with you

A corner of donations
A letter to say I care

One comes and says thank you
I’ll keep you in mind
Another passes but trashes the letter.

Eventually this pattern of take and receive continues
And still not a concern or thank you to him

Days go by which turn into months,
Then years
Until one day he’s not there.

The people question where he has went.
They go down an alley to see him drunk and high
In worry they go to mend to him

In an attempt to save him, they can’t.
He’s taking his last breath and asks for them to read the letter has for every single one of them

It says
“I wish you an amazing day, I hope to see you succeed in many ways.
I hope you make others proud as I have seen you. Smile and keep your head up. I love you and believe in you with everything you do. And we may not know each other well, I want you to know there’s someone who cares for you. No matter what.”

All of them in shock and disgust realizing they took him for granted
Watched him pass away
Never again to be standing.

Though his small letters made an impact that day
It was daily forgotten within a matter of days....

Why? You see, he didn’t matter to the world. He was simply another man to them
Unless he was cared for and seen, unless he made a big name or had a title, he didn’t matter. And neither do I...
Appreciate the little things you get. The presenters have a hard time believing their time was worth it half the time...
EP Robles Sep 2018
"i" is Atlas holding up the World.  

  A permission granted by the writer
of letters.  

And 'i' never shrugs as it does not
have the writer's license to do so.

For if it did the mnemonic rule of
'i before E, except after C' could
not exist.

Weird!  <--very weird!

:: 09-26-2018 ::
strangeness of the English language and it's silly old rules! :P
Megan Parson Sep 2018
I once robbed a post-box,
      & looked through letters, small & scented.
Of someone's aunt with chickenpox,
And bills handsome, from the rented.

Love letters, I had to read!
Which in boredom, my mind would feed.
Some which made my heart bleed,
An urge to send, a nervous need.

A good doctor's prescription pill,
& injections, with dread did me fill.
Thankfully illegible, so not my joy to ****.

But now, I must stop,
For reasons purely confidential.
As I catch the Postmans' beaming top,
His light bag filled only with what's essential!
A poem on a crazy idea....
Madelynn Nieves Sep 2018
Our secrets followed us here
Into this aged room
With dusty walls
And a stale smell
That reminds me a lot of us
Stuck in these patterns
Of not telling the whole truth
For the sake of others
For the sake of ourselves
Saving face as if it were a race
To see who can hide the most
But my hands our tied
I can no longer be the one that lies
Because lying next to you
Has become a painful facade
A ridiculous charade
A song that’s been overplayed
A novel that needs an end
This is the moment that breaks us
When I stop biting my tongue
Until my mouth is filled with blood
This is the minute where truth floods
Downpour of rain
Drowning you in disdain
Emerson Nosreme Sep 2018
If you look
At this poem
A little
Bit
Closer
tilting your head
a little bit
to the right
You can
see
A city
Of poetry
And words
And letters
I don't know
If
Anyone
Noticed this
But
It is
Interesting to me
Because
Words
Poetry
And all these
Letters are making
A city that is
Filled
With
Love
Horror and darkness
Hope and light
Madness
Mystery
Oddness
Stories of the past
The present
Our futures
In this
City
Of
Poetry
Words
And letters
Abdulrhman Sep 2018
i like symbols
i love symbols
i do symbols
i write symbols
im a symbol
D Sep 2018
I wrote a note today, how I felt. I was finally honest, even if only with a piece of paper. I loved that note, the comfort it gave me. It didn't cry or shame when it heard my pain. But like scars, it was visible. It could be seen. So I had to shred my honesty, piece by piece to make sure no eyes would see my insides. My words were not for anyone but myself. The graphite on my fingers is easier hidden than the blood on my skin. So tonight I wash my hands, so I can write again tomorrow.
lisa Sep 2018
It's not your dreamy scenery
or the kiss she stained you with.
It's not the words she addressed to me
or the sketch accompanying it.

It's the genuine sentiment you symbolize,
that I both hate and love.
It's the arguments and the picnics
that you remind me of.

It's not your fault
You represent her petty little game.
That I still hold her in my heart,
It's not you I blame.

I've tried to rip you, burn you, trash you,
Yet there you sit on my windowsill
Teasing the memories that despite the time,
are vivid in my mind, still.

It's behind her.
It's behind me.
It's over.
It's done.

You're all I have left.
Please don't weather or tear.
Now that she's gone
and I am still here.
(olivia if you're reading this i hope you have a terrible day :) my teacher gave us a prompt on valentine's day to write a love letter to an inanimate object. this ended up being another submission to my school's literary magazine last year.
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