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Haueru Mar 21
I'm sorry I don't say this much.
I would like to thank God, Couldn't imagine having another Mom.

You see I been watching and thankful

Your sacrifices and your unconditional love

Today I would like to say
I don't know where I be if not for you

Today I couldn't stand if not for you
Showing me I was strong

Today and the rest of my tomorrows
I know that I have a loving mother
None the less doting to call my mum

For today let me just say thanks for loving me and having me as your son

                                               To Mom
                                               Your #1 fan
Juno Aug 2020
whatever happens, promise
you’ll remember what it’s like

to fight for something even if
youre not sure if you’ll survive.

to beg for mercy, plead for help,
but no one bats an eye.

so take a second, “momento mori”;
remember, you will die.
i haven’t been very active recently because of covid, but i hope to write more now.
ps. this poem may or may not be about a fictional character.
Nina Feb 2020
"Why do you take photos of me all the time?"

Because someday,
You are going to leave me
And the only thing left of you
Is these photos
That will keep memories of you safe
penelope Dec 2019
Tomorrow I'd go to school to see you; I only had a mind for melancholy and romance, and no room for myself. This was me today, and perhaps tomorrow I'd switch for the organic, unplanned me or-

She'd switch for nobody, and she'd abandon the idea of "I", because she'd no longer understand what it meant to refer to herself, nor did she have enough thumbs to condense her being into that mysterious letter that everyone else seemed to use without conflict.

It disowned itself, ashamed of synthetic sense of self, its fabricated empathy.

Temporarily, until it wakes from its nightly slumber and tastes the sugar of the words, "Good morning". She'll find some spirit to fill her shell and deem herself human.
Nina Jul 2019
He asked,
"What am I supposed to feel looking at these old photos?"

I guess
i wanted him to never forget those memories
The ones we had together
And how much happiness it has brought me.
But also remember that it's all gone
And i have been ruminating about those times
How deeply sad i am

Maybe you felt nothing
But those pictures,
Brings meaning to me,
Even if you don't feel the same
McLeod Jun 2019
Thin as paper,
Green as a bush,
Doesn’t talk like a dictator,
Ground like mush.

Swaying in the wind,
Whistling like above,
Staying there as if pinned,
Swaying like a dove.

Crunchy for a bug,
Disgusting for us,
Running like a sparkplug,
Yet makes no fuss.

Reborn as if new,
Rustling as if happy,
A new place, it grew,
Not like a tree, not sappy.

Like a forest,
Where it blows with the air,
Singing a chorus,
That’s never there.
A Grass Poem I made for school.
If I am to die tonight
Let all my secrets spill
About the lives I lost
And those I saved
As part of my fight
Surging thunders for its thrill
Forgetting the true cost
Of what my heart truly craved

If I am to die today
To the countless I saw
It is to which I thank yee
For memories I cherish
Beyond what words may say
Farther than the eye may see
And last long past my perish

If I am to die tomorrow
Let the sands of time
Slow to a wounded crawl
So I may find myself drunk
On the serenades of friendship
I have longed to enjoy
And resurrect my memory
From endless sorrow
As my mind so focused on crime
Tried to seal away everyone outside
Its wall
And keep inside worthless junk

If I died yesterday
I shall beg the angels
To let my soul wander
So I may visit all
Who I let reside in my heart
To simply remember
The beauty in them I loved
From bonding miles away
To moments alone upon a hill
And treks into the valleys
Leaving myself to ponder
The purpose of life I left behind
Forgetting the reason to brawl
So I may truly part
Into the warmth of heavenly embers

If I am to die
Let me take each moment
To make what wrongs I can
Let me flourish
To give what life I have left
Its fullest fulfillment
Before it's fooled
By another conman

If I am to die
Let the one I love
Know my true embrace
Without a source of doubt
Far past all fear
To which I may cry
When the wedding with white doves
Brings deserve joy upon her face
As I repeat the words to assure
"I am forever yours,
My dear"
M Feb 2018
começaste. eu rendi-me. no escuro, só se ouviam os sussurros dos nossos fôlegos. os teus lábios nos meus. meus nos teus. percorri cada traço como pude, tentando decorar o calor da tua pele. perdi-me. soube-me a pouco a pesar de ter parecido uma eternidade que teve o seu fim. quero voltar. voltar a descobrir o sabor que me provocou tanto desejo.

apanhaste-me desprevenida. perdida talvez. carente. mas não tive medo. quase que te quis como a quis a ela. ela que algum dia, há uns anos atrás, me teve por completo. não comparo. mas como é bom sentir…

agarrei-te sem querer soltar. talvez um pouco muito. mas nem por um segundo pensei em parar. como te disse, não me arrependo. posso não te conhecer como outros de conhecem, mas te conheço melhor do que muitos alguma vez te irão conhecer. foi bom e se queres saber, não me importava de repetir. mas não sei se algum dia voltará a parecer tão certo como então.
Stanley Wilkin Jun 2017
Shadow crept into my life one dismal winter’s night
Perverting me with its touch.
They came from the shadows
Formless beings made of hatred,
Of greed.
Without a care they plucked me from my nest
My life
As if I were but a simple pebble from a beach
A memento for their wives.

I was not for their wives, however
But for those of a greater disposition.
Those of antiquated lineage
The founders of our way.
Those with jewels on their fingers,
Flowers in their hair
Perfume floating in the air.

Before long I was swept away
Into a new life of servitude,
One from which there was no escape,
No Sanctuary.
Shackles on my hands,
Lashes on my back
I did their bidding with a smile on my face
To distract me from my pain.

It was no use.
Months floated by
As if my life were but a dream.
The same routine.

Months became years
I was still theirs.
My face still belonged to the back of their hands,
My back to the clap of their whip,
My ribs to the force of their kicks.
No reprieve for a lowlife like me.

I came to accept my life in time.
It was my fault.
The woods were never a place for my kind
The son of a prefect,
The pretty little boy with slaves of his own
Who belonged to him.
Their bodies
Their souls.

Only now do I realise there was no luck involved
In fate’s betrayal of her child
I deserve this
This life of servitude.
By my son: Stephen Francis
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