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Hands outstretched in the dark,
What was I searching for?
I have been blinded by a spark.

A touch and a tingle.
A tinge and a sizzle.

Our worlds don't cross,
Like snowflakes in a pensive midnight sky,
Moths on a street-lit summer night.

Parallel planes,
parallel pains.

The sun won't smile,
The stars don't sparkle,
The moon was a dimming spotlight.

Sparks fade out and crumble.
Hearts played out, we fumble.

I have to speak soon,
Or I'll lose you to the gloom.
I just don't know how to-
Sometimes, it's better to follow your impulses.
tell me,
tell me how to keep the flame of hope burning
how to let myself know that i'm getting better
tell me how to keep strength
when i can't stop my tears from rolling down my cheeks
tell me how to wake up from this nightmare
when i'm trying so hard to understand why i'm so deeply asleep
tell me how to keep faith
when it has all been burnt in the fire of the blames ahead of me
tell me how to stand up
when i know I'm going to be pushed down in the depths of this weeping Earth
tell me there will be good times
perhaps your words are something that i wanna hear
tell me before i find myself lying half alive on your wet floor
tell me before my soul leaves my body you are so in love with
tell me before you lose me and i lose....
all my feelings
when you feel love, never let it go
hold on tight
until your hearts unite
Awake 01:54 am In
extreme pain that
been bothering me all
the day the only thing to do
Is to write poems which
takes my mind off the
Pray for winter to be
gone, for warm weather
to return and take a chill
from my bone's Helen
had Osteoarthritis to which I now
This being only one of
many ailments the poor
the girl suffered which make
wonder how she was able to survive for as long as she did, can have only
been shear courage that
saw her through, a true Inspiration Helen Is to us
Courage help Helen to survive all the terrible ailments she suffered throughout her life
so hard to watch her slowly being robbed her Independence bit by bit so cruel sometimes this world In which we live
Cephas Nov 14
The story behind a scar
Brings tears before a smile
Be it as it may,
Wear the scars like a badge
The smile with a pride
Yesterday may not be pretty,today not perfect, tomorrow undecided but,
Don't be afraid to voice your story
Be proud you are growing
Truth is no one's life is a masterpiece
We all have our battlefield
Paint your life to your taste but,
Johnny walker Nov 13
Living dyslexia caused
so many problems all
my school days In the
times that I grew up no
one really recognised
or even knew what
dyslexia was

Always singled out to
be seen as being thick
and made a mockery of
even writing poems I have
keep checking mostly for
missed words or spelling

Even using spell checkers
grammar the words I
write don't seem right
been going back over some
of the  poems, I've found
so many mistakes

But tried to correct them
best I could, living with
dyslexia is so hard when
words don't look right
even with a spell checker
make writing so much
Pains of my school day having dyslexia
being told your thick
She bleeds in silence
Her thoughts constantly screeching in her head
She's in pain
Is it just another life's test
Or she refuses to heal her wounds?
Pieces are what makes you whole
Kapi Laur Oct 22
w h a t     do you      w a n t     from     m e
you don't love me
you won't leave me
w h a t     do you      w a n t    from     m e
i can't give you everything
i refuse to give it twice
girl gonzo Sep 28
there is a wasteland
the abdomen of a swollen sea watching precariously as i bite into bits of dark chocolate and don't stop until the entire package is on the floor like a drunken dancer or a torn best friend
a candor that i sold auspiciously for a pair of high heels that i never wear, they just sit in my closet waiting for dirt to be pushed into the canvas of it's sole
i'll only wear them indoors when it's raining and i can hear the synchronizing of the drops on the roof top with each step i take onto the hard-wood floor -tap tap tap tap
i'll do this until the sincerity is gone from the momentum
eventually next summer they'll be forgotten in a cardboard box that has "free" written with a red sharpie and perhaps it's next owner will be forgiving, will take the loneliness of the esoteric feeling of wanting to be worn and introduce them to the vinyl floors of a cheap club or the cold linoleum floors of an expensive resort hotel
i'd like for things that I've known to have a continued story even after it's out of mine, and they do

there is a wasteland
a woman that constantly licks her lips because they're dry but they're only dry because of the constant moisture forced upon them
the reduction of catch-22 as if the joke doesn't fall smack into your clothes
trying to find something underneath the bra strap, past the skin
but you can never get through, can you?
she pulls your hand away and you're left feeling rudimentary
lacking, like the lackadaisical manner in which the lights never hit you the way you wish it did
a poem about the quick processing of restlessness
Kapi Laur Sep 23
the worst ones
are just like my father
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