Ana Sophia Jul 5
wish I could delete you
from my memory
and erase me from yours.
whish I could detach our past
and exclude this reality
in which we're apart
and not right for each other.

maybe if we met
another time and place
I wouldn't have screwed it up.
you would be free
and we could work it out.

I still persist thinking
that someday there will be an us.
Mary-Eliz Apr 8
I've seen it now
mentioned twice
by poets in their lines

somehow I must have
this mission that was assigned

I guess I wasn't quite
paying enough

boy! I sure hope
I don't end up
in detention

I must have fallen asleep
in class


better behave
this way I'll never pass

I just found out
April's poem a day

oh well, too late now
perhaps I'll try it in May
After I posted, I looked. Quite by accident, I have written a poem every day so far. Of course, it's only the 7th!
Not odd nor bizarre
Not different, or god forbid, strange
Not quite unusual or irregular
Neither twisted nor morbid
Never disgusting but queer.

Bruised, but still, beautiful
Scarred but steadfast
Resolute and radiant
Poetic T Mar 17
I always wear black
  when I walk around,
           wanting to be ready?

For death when it slyly
    collects me footsteps,
          taking my last horizontally.

Needing to be prepared for that
         moment, when I fall,
I want to look good on my deathbed.

If death wants me to pass,
        it'll be dressed in what I'm
             slumbering beneath the dirt in.
I sit and look at your picture, in pride of place.
I want to tell you how much I've missed you.
How Every Day is a struggle without your love.
When will this feeling leave me?
Until the next time you see me?
Will I be forever blue, living my life with out You?
What if when it passes, I don't know who I am anymore, without the weight of the grief dragging me to the floor?
I didn't just lose you, I lost me too.
I search every corner of my mind because it's you I still hope to find.
ha ha ha

he went mad
pointing his fingers
he walks

bullets from confusion
what are we to believe
not i but you
not you but I
we are

if we are not
use my name

“How is my work?”, she asked

If graded, 5/10.
You passed.

Happy, she was.

“But there is more to go”, later I added.

“Is there more than to pass?”, voice of  innocence.

A way long.
Genre: Inspirational
Psychorange Feb 18
What is poetry?

A catchy rhythm of words? well that is absurd

A meaningful message in this life? you never live twice

Just neuron-pathways twisting and turning into spiraling art across the curves? and a helicase is placed, splitting dna

The unknown? don't know

Because you are older. And every passing second you fill your eyes with this world, processing information that is always processing.
thoughts *with thoughts *with thoughts I am

Leaving always seemed like the way to go. A way to go that can wait. Because every passing second you are here, we are passing with you. and we'll pass on through

Bye Poetry
Just one of those things you write in night and you just don't care what you're going to think tomorrow
some have totally rejected
the protocols that were
carefully written down
choosing not to heed
their intent
taking the approach
of we'll follow
an unconstrained

the conventions state
in a transparent glass
never of our purpose
should there be
any unpermitted

adhering to terms and conditions
isn't an arduous task
they're so concise in respect
of what they ask

some enjoy free wheeling
though it will come at an expense
for not to remain within the parameters
means a quick despense
A work colleague and I were talking about our work place protocols. After the discussion, I decided to pen a poem on that theme.
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