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Ziyi Jul 2014
Today, I want to be a poem:
I want to be able to
reach my hands out to either sides
and stitch myself into words
that make sense.
I want them to tell me
that I am perfect
lyrical
unavoidable
beautiful

no matter the structure
of which my words and veins intertwine
into an embodiment of my cautious self.
And when that's not enough
I can spend my free time rewriting definitions,
and savor the feeling of being
a simple string of thoughts
loosely connected by the
everchanging ideas of symmetry, and transparent beauty.
The unrelented grotesque of the old town centre
Buzzing strongly from its high
Too many unpleasantries for me to count
Is what I discovered after midnight

While everyone was laughing, shouting and wandering around
I was cowering, screaming and pleading for no more sound
My butterflies were neurotic - they were eating me inside
It's a wonder why I didn't throw up one single time

And so, I ran away
Through the flags and bunting
I ran away
Past the ranting and blubbering
I ran away
I'm anxious to tears
I ran away
Get me out of here!
This poem was written after witnessing my town centre at closing time last Saturday night. You can tell from this poem that I didn't find it the least bit pretty.

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
Just Melz Jun 2014
You won't find another goddess like me
Making all my words flow like poetry
I'm a lyrical genius
A metaphorical blasphemous
A stream of consciousness
To rock your world
I'm not just another girl
Make your minds spin and twirl
I'm THE Poetry Goddess
Making images with words
Like paint on a canvas
A visual impression on your mind
A poet like me
Is hard to come by
Try to visualize
Me walking away
That's the day
You'll say you're hardest goodbye
Cuz a Poetry Goddess like me
Is hard to come by
J M Surgent Feb 2012
I know, I know
I’ve been told so many times to give it up.
That what happened when I wasn’t there
Was what made her the girl I loved
But the problem is, now that we’ve moved on
She’s still the girl I loved
She’s still the girl who is liked
And I’m still the guy who is not.

You can’t necessarily turn feelings off,
I mean I have, but it wasn’t good
It kind of ended in misery, to be honest.
I think thats why she’s gone,
In a way I mean, on top of disasters past, and
Mainly because of everything we said to one another.

It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
That she’s probably gone on and found some other, new guy,
While I sit here at night, writing line after line
Of sad poetry and lyrical lies.
I’m sure he’s taller, of course, she likes that a lot,
She always wanted love taller than 5’9”.

It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
While I’m sitting alone at home,
Cooking dinner for one over an open stove.
Writing these god awful, sad sappy poems
That no one will ever even read.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
All the while I’m sitting at home
Slowly burning inside.
She waits for the right guy?
As I stand there at her side.
I can hear her silent crys,
But she can not hear mine.

Slowly I start to try,
Convince her of the reasons why.
But she still waits,
For that excuse for a perfect guy.

Scared and blistered under my finger nails,
From scratching at my heart.
Is this a sad tragedy?
Or a piece of art?
C Davis May 2014
My mind
my poor mind
is swimming with thoughts
Swelling with oceans of heartaches forgot
Waves of regret rise and break on my shores
But in search of that bliss
I dive back in for more.
I rock
And I tumble
All alone in my head
Contemplate if I've known
what it's like to be dead
I've been numb as a ghost,
I've been colder than ice
yet my heart beats on still in its pale morning light
As dawn breaks on my waters,
what the waves whisper of
is whether or not
i have known how to love.
{written oct 3 2010}
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