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m Jun 2018
im so sorry
i miss you so much
i didnt mean to miss you this much
but i dont know how to *******

stop
Rebecca Lynn Jun 2018
You know how to make me laugh,
and make me smile -
it's been a year since you've seen me last,
yeah, it's been a while.

But no man has ever made me feel,
the way I feel about you
the way I do.

I'm so glad my hearts always racing
when I'm catching your gaze and
my heart has never felt like this
all full of bliss,
baby come and give me a kiss.

I never felt quite like this before,
and I'm so glad that you found me
and so much more.
I wrote this as a song, it's not the whole piece only pieces put together. This is an original piece, sounds good with music.
Asiah Mangham Jun 2018
Care so much, yet so little
Feel so much, yet so little
What do you feel?
The feeling of everyone and yourself at once left you drained.
Physically, Mentally and even Spiritually
If someway you could come out of your body and stare at yourself
What would you see?
Who would you be?
Maybe I should ask myself these questions.
But, honestly I wouldn't have an answer.
For you or me.
What does that make me?
Who does that make me?
I want so much, yet so little.
I love so much, yet so little
Maybe...
I should stop doing so much and do so little
Or do so little and yet so much
Maria Etre Jun 2018
Type, delete
Type, type, type... deleeeete...
Ttttt, ype, dele(type).. delete.

Type, type type (space) type
deeeleeeete...

Cursor blink ...
(alternate title – A bona
er fide dog day afternoon delight).

A mere half dozen vowels
constitute the English language
    Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay
Consonants comprise majority
  
(sans remaining twenty)
     Ta Deum, whereby both
     in tandem allow, enable and provide
     avast combination

    donning brooks at bay
ample lettered permutations
offer opportunities, where methinks
mother tongue avails

     allows, enables and provides thyself
tubby spell as sigh arrange
     passions linkedin to create, evoke
and generate plenti

     of romantic expressions to convey
an amorous, bedazzling conception
describing ******, graphic,
     and iconic ****** propensities
  
this cobbler, dabbler,
     and fiddler (no,
     not on the roof) doth display
his penchant, lament bent infatuation

     with these twenty-six symbols
     that **** hen ewe to evolve,
     and breed vernacular words
     to reflect from an eBay

definitions apropos
     to the present, which
Uber state farm quixotic oeuvre,
and matchless kindling

     ******* serves as foreplay
for this heterosexual ma reed male
     caressing, finessing, and integrating
expressions of speech

     oft times spurs
     (what might seem as noun sense),
I ponder the peccadilloes
     being sixty nine shades of gray

yet quickly reroute
     ****** predilections
     albeit rolling in the hay
whence this dis straw t fellow
  
conjures affinity,
     comity and excitability
latent within the consanguinity
of bossy verbs assaying boisterously
  
an interjection tubby
     top dog capstone amidst kennel
of barking canines couching
     with another similar subject
  
each with their body electric
nestled upon a davenport faux pas inlay
in conjunction with another
     furry four legged friend,

     the direct object
particularly eye ying a ***** in heat,
     who **** okay
to buffer end an un

     pro noun sub bull underdog species,
     who feels passé
with ****** faw paw play
though averse to insult

     shaggy scoobie doo,
whose bark a role overture
     willingly doth goad her to doggy paddle
while she woofs down remnants

     of a picnic tourists left littered
while Lady and the *****
     head toward the quay
Pier ring for private sloop

     to **** per ****,
     then prematurely ******* hoo ray
afore slyly cagily approaching
     bag of cheap tricks see
     ****** exploits today.
Everything is shaped like
The world tree
But when she is around
I tend to notice
The flowery ends
I see only the angel with in the human rags of her reality.
Salmabanu Hatim May 2018
I care too much,
That makes me sensitive.
I expect too much in love,
It ruins everything.
My mind works overtime,
I think too much,
I don't sleep well,
I tend to get depressed.
But being depressed has made me realise,
The beauty in a smile,
The depth in kindness.
I talk too much,
I go on,non-stop,
People turn the other way
when they see me.
I have shared too much,
My love,kindness care and secrets,
I want them all back,
I regret being too much.


My mother lied to me today
When I found out I had to say
Oh Mother why’d you tell a lie
and from me this thing try to hide?
With a coy smile she looked at me
and spoke in a voice so softly
My dearest son it is my job
to keep you safe, away from harm
At times that may in fact include
in order to hide or seclude
the things in life you should not see
because you’re simply not ready

You may discover on your own
Much later in life when you're grown
But when you're underneath my wing
Your one concern is just to sing
Life’s worries I will take for you
The stress and hurt I will shield too
Life asks a lot and has its pains
and slowly these things you’ll be trained
But in due time; Have patience son
Life's not a race, no need to run
So take your time; stop and enjoy
One day you will not be a boy

Out in the world; learn on your own
Keep with you all the things I've shown
And piece by piece on each you'll build
For you I wish a life fulfilled
There is still much you need to learn
I shield from you all the concerns
It's somewhat understandable
You might be slightly gullible
Because you're simply not aware
So many things from you I've spared
Allowed you distance as you grew
But always kept an eye on you

I gave you room to let you fly
To stretch your wings; explore the sky
And you may not have seen me there
but I did not just disappear
No matter the heights you could reach
I always had more I could teach
So even though at times it seemed
Untethered and were not a team
Could not be further from the truth
Clark Kent changing in a phone booth
When needed became Superman
If duty called I lent a hand

Free range to fly all on your own
Solve problems with the skills I've shown
A carpenter; I gave the tools
But up to you how you would use
My hope that given in due time
the skills you had would exceed mine
And there you'd fly so high above
As I look up; heart filled with love
Amazing heights I know you'll reach
This life we live is up to each
of us deciding what to do
And I'll always believe in you

And just remember as you fly
Wherever you go or how high;
Into the world I've sent you off
to learn life's lessons as their taught
So when you look you might not see
Think I have gone; Can not find me
But whether up or down below
I just want you to always know
You are my son and I love you
No limit to what you can do
The distance might be further now
But since your birth I kept this vow
That you would be under my wing
To keep you safe and watch you sing

Obviously I meant to have this ready
and present it yesterday but it
just didn't work out that way.
=)

Written: May 10, 2018

All rights reserved.
Grey Apr 2018
Skin on skin, fingers intertwined, lips crashing like waves on shore,
forgetfulness in each and every action as they dance
in this basement with a hole in the drywall and the scent of stoners in the air.

Her lips are smooth and warm, his are cold and… and harder somehow.
His lips are magic, soft bruises ****** onto swan necks,
Hers are fiery drumbeats and the backbone of bass,
hers are magical kisses at 4 in the morning that feel like flying through the sky,
freedom even greater than the birds carry into dawn.
If light had a feeling, it would be these drink-fueled lips and their dance.

Her skin is coated in memories.
It dresses itself in scars,
clothes the too-much of it she has in worry.
It is her armour, and it is her weakness.
His skin is clothed in Nike, pale abs hidden by a swoosh,
a little baby scar just underneath his left pectoral muscle from falling out of a tree at age 6.
His skin does not care about her scars, nor does it notice its own markings,
his skin wants to consume her like his lips already do.
He does not care if she wears armor or pain.

She lets it,
He takes her away.
the dancing becomes something more than dancing,
moans float through *****-coated tongues,
originating in ****-smoke polluted lungs.
The song fades from earshot, even though the speakers still shake with the drums.

They came to this uneven carpet and hole in drywalled-room to grieve,
but distraction feels so, so very good, certainly better than their memories,
and one dance turns to 3, turns to too many,
their pain is buried underneath the blanket laid out on the floor.
The album ends and the speakers fuzz with feedback,
but she sleeps as if she is dead--
and death is what brought them here--
he rolls over her to fix it with a flick of the wrist.
The music begins again,
but it is gentler, softer, now.
A lullaby.

And he follows her into the ever-changing landscape of dreaming,
her pink-tinted chest as his pillow,
hand resting on the edge of the worn,
black blanket that covers her stomach to mid-calf.

Their skins rest, and the pain fades away just as the stink of  sweat and smoke floats away,
lost in some other part of this endless, liquid-dark night.
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