Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A man and a woman can art
their most secret way through  
from a speck of dust to heaven.

Or they can walk the walks together
living the daily hourglass ever closer.
But only to fall apart in the end
without finding an edge for themselves!

It can do heaven descends in dust
or not even in the gold it's never found.
Johnny walker Dec 2018
Every time I close my eyes  It of heaven I go
with sweet Helen laid In my arms
I smell her wonderful perfume Estee Lauder Youth Dew she'd spray It on her lovely
It to there I could happily stay for the rest of my life
what a lucky man I was to have had such a beautiful
Still smell her perfume Estee Lauder Youth Dew beautiful
He was a stranger,
a man unknown.

He became a companion,
turned into lover.

His only failure came unexpected,
a secret discovered.

He was a stranger,
a man uncovered.
Shlomo 4d
I want a beautiful ring from you.

With rare stones and diamond encrusted too.

Are flowers too much to ask?

Or maybe just chocolates, 'cos I might be moving too fast.
Shlomo 4d
Part I

When in doubt blame the black man.
Doubly so if it rhymes with that man,
the ***** man. The cap man, the rack man. We got you on a lock man.
Shoot em, **** em, **** em up, all the way up!
Till he's nothing but black, man.

*** what could be worse than being black?
A half-man.
Ubiquitous; everywhere, but fits in with no man.
Woman? The last said there's something off about that man.

Part II

All I did was swipe right, and now it feels like a wrong turn.
"Maybe it's just not your turn yet."
Or maybe I'm trying too hard, with nothing but bad bets.
Feelings of desperation, manipulation is **** near perpetual.
**** it. I'm just tryna get another quotable, man.
The sounds of tiny footsteps patter the roof of the car.
We sit inside protected from the winter elements.
The frosty rain comes down more extreme
as time goes on.
I feel comfortable.
Safe while you’re in control.
You dazzle me,
Venus in the flesh.
The dove of my life.
The serenity of our drive collapses
With your screams.
The man in the window
Wrenches on the door handle.
Panic rushes through our bones.
Movement not at all possible.
I want to protect you, but what can I do.
The word drive is the only thing I can cry.
The man in the window.
The man in the window.
A Poem about something that happened that made me scared and feel weak.
Can you feel the power coursing through you,
disguised as adrenaline,
when you swing your arm and before the blow even hits,
you feel all your anger and frustration fade, so now all you want is to fight?
You wanna kick and pitch a fit,
till your old ****** arms
are covered up by new scars,
but nothing like that matters because you're the last man standing.
Maybe the other boy, curled up on the ground now
with his arms thrown over his head,
broke your nose and made it even more crooked than before,
but you're the little freak who no one thought could win.
But you entered in
from a world where everyone called you ****
to be the freak who everyone only saw as a ****,
thin-shouldered and quieter than the boys he fought.

Maybe your quietness and meek, weak, malnourished look fooled you and all of them,
for look into your eyes in the mirror and see the gold and brown fighting through the green sheen,
the fire for everything you hate, all the things you're hitting and spitting on when you're through with them,
and when you stare into your own eyes you might recognize yourself.

Don't be fooled, boy, you're weak and you're sick,
your arms aren't thick
which muscle and dark hair,
and nothing about you is real,
with fabricated reactions and premeditated sentences,
all programmed into your brain, which fights itself in its confusion,
screaming, and smoking from the fight with itself, about what should be happening with your emptiness and with your bony chest.

Boy, you're hardly that,
just a *** who stares after the other guys,
but you're not sure if you're ***, because you really just want to be just like them.
Boy, at least you fall for pretty girls,
shorter and daintier than you, with more mellow hearts but stronger emotions,
and passions for poetry (not the kind you possess, rooted in your inability for expressions)
and always with love for another boy, a real boy to grow into a man.
2242 jan 15 2019

my mom and oldest sister like hate men but here i am, wanting desperately to grow into a man... this is addressed to myself 'cause i'm a freak to almost everyone and a large amount of people 'round here don't like jews like me.
Euphie 6d
He was a curious lad,
       with a broad chest and strong shoulders.
        His eyes were a deep brown,
        his jaw line sharp and defined.
        He loved action,
        he also loved adventure.
        But most of all he loved to run
        his hand along my legs,
        making me flush in all his
        favorite places.
Matthew 7d
Boy meets girl
They fall in love
and live happily ever after.
That's the way it has always been.

Boy meets boy or
Girl meets girl
they fall love
But one has to "disappear" tragically.
That's the way it has always been.
Next page