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Lotus May May 23
we sing our love—
      are we in the same key?
the notes seem to fall flat
      our hearts are missing chords
                                         why can’t I ever match your tempo?
                        the harmonies sound dissonant—
                                   as if we’re doing our own solos
         we dance, trying not to step
                on each other but somehow
                            we are always a little
                                                                ­   offbeat
Serendipity Mar 24
Flowers grow between my ribs,
and in the cracks of my mind.
While those around me call it beautiful,
it is getting hard to breathe.
Marco Feb 27
Like ships in the night
we pass - side by side - not breaking our stride,
not looking left, not gazing right,
barely glimpsing each other, like light-
houses, signals blinking brightly.

For the longest time we were alone
still are, no change tonight, we won't;
I've felt your presence long ago,
it was a silent gift.

How did we not recognize each other
after screaming for so many hours?
Listening to your soft cries  (your blue eyes),
Norwegian wood between us guards your lies -
you pretend to be rich and pretty;
I know you're just the janitor of the ferry.
The first mate, the captain, all remotely
far away and you're all that's left -
you are the second best.

Thankfully I'm not picky,
I don't care if you're not pretty,
I only need to see your hands and heart -
the rough patches are a part - of you, of me, of all the world,
and you're so out of reach, of sight,
and I know that it won't feel right; despite that
we shouldn't feel alone tonight.
And you have a wife-

and I know but I don't care.
You won't hesitate to stare,
and I can feel your bitter look upon my back,
the fingers that won't touch my neck
no matter how much I beg and plead for you to take me
and love me, unconditionally,
before I fall into the sea,
the water claiming me fully,
the waves brutally forcing me
under themselves, generously,
drowning in my bed.
Erian Rose Apr 2019
isn't a bad thing
the offbeat
isn't wrong
everyone is special
in one way
or another
and that's human nature
we're made to be unique
be ourselves
in front of others
that's why I love
living in the offbeat
Lyvana Nyx Aug 2017
I wanna write poetry
That grabs by the throat
Seizing your secrets
From your tasty open mouth
And speechless tongue

I wanna write poetry
As wild and free
As this burnt out bleeding ash
B l o w i n g
In a soft never-ending breeze

I wanna write poetry
That howls with the loneliness
Of a cold shooting star
On a cloudy bleached day
Missing the meteor showing
By a few thousand years

I wanna write poetry
With odd jumps and
That captures music
And dance
Andy everything
Between the odd cacophony
Of unwell put together words

I wanna write poetry
That SCREAMS with the
Silent fury of a
Self-inflicted cage
Locked by being lost and used
But open yet to like minded needy hands

I wanna write poetry
Not with rhymes
But with the rhythm
Of my off beat jazz
And out of tune,

I wanna write poetry.
First poem I wrote after years of not writing at all.  I'd never written poetry before this really, but I became very interested in it a few years ago, and even more so in the recent months and it was the first one I thought was alright.
Luis Garcia Feb 2015
the problem with poetry
is that not everyone understands
the crap that you are trying to convey,
the message is always encrypted in cryptic code,
you have to get past the firewall before you can see the


many of us
don't have the time to pursue the purpose
of a poems meaning
because we are busy deciphering
what the **** our own heart is trying to say
while simultaneously trying make sense of it,
so that we can post on hello poetry,
hoping that maybe a handful of depressed poets
might take the time to view it,
let alone like it,
or possibly even comment
or **** maybe even share it, assuming we said anything of merit.

it's in our nature to ignore
and call others ignorant
and believe that we are intrinsicly more important.

Luis Garcia Feb 2015
Can you hear that?

It's the sound of the desolate,
the ruined, the barren, the dying.

They groan and moan and cry

If you listen closely, you might hear it,

it's the same sound you make
when no one is listening.

Patrick Conroy Jul 2014
I've been called
A freak
A ******
A headcase
I've been told that
I'm crazy
I'm insane
I'm bizzare
I've heard my actions are
All of this may be true
But it's me.

— The End —