Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
PaperclipPoems Jan 2016
You think you know me
Because you know of patterns
You know the way of people
And you've been told the way the world turns..

You expect my next move
As if we are playing a game of chess
And you anticipate your next win
Upon my unmoved guess..

I tell you now,
that you know nothing of my mind
I move with the waves of my heart
My chosen next move is mine.
KL Taguiam Dec 2015
Our bodies sway to the music,
twirling,
sliding,
hopping,
on the slick wooden floor.

Our hands clasped together,
in this melody,
our feet draws intricate patterns,
as beautiful as the galaxies
in the expanse
of the cosmos,
on the slick wooden floor.

Our hearts beat faster,
and faster,
blood rushing in
our veins,
our breath mists
as we feel our energies
ebb away.

Our bodies exposed
to each other,
caressing,
holding,
each fingertips,
embedded on our
heated skin.

Our bodies touching,
our hips swaying
to the music
as we dance on the
slick wooden floor.

Our sweat drops,
our clothes crumpling,
as we dance along
on the slick wooden floor.

Our senses tingles,
becoming sensitive,
to each other;
each touch,
each whispers,
each exhalation,
everything within us,
are enjoined.

We move
in sync
with the tempo
of the music,
on the
slick wooden floor.

The exhilaration
of this dance,
will forever
be remembered.
Rafael Melendez Oct 2015
A road without road signs and faded paint, with ways that lead to every wrong direction. And we drove on that deep black ice throughout the night.
A dance that was no fun, and left a feeling of dissatisfaction, filled of bitter patterns. And god, it left us dying for water.
A recorder, with eyes that were too close together, and a mouth that would only open for a kiss.
The tape I played choked you up, and you died alongside me.
I had become what I never wanted to be.
Murmurings of words
so long unspoken,
now sent out across
the curved expanse
of our spherical home.
Murmurings of all our
voices and languages,
coalesced into one.
Winging out into open
space, like the nimble
murmurations of birds,
never quite touching,
yet deftly creating
virtual shapes,
markings recognizable
only from a distance.
Do birds' own souls
unfurl and unfold in
these undulations?

Starlings find aerial
corridors, travelling
together swiftly, so
to stay warm. Do we?
These murmurings,
our word-murmurations,  
fly out into the space between us,
swiftly curving back, and then back again,
before dipping low, then nesting deeply,
so very deeply, into sweetest sleep.
(My deepest thanks to Dylan Winter for his phrase "aerial corridors".)  ©Elisa Maria Argiro
+


"Bluffin' can open many doors."


-
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic beauty

Catmonk B: "You cannot add anything to this quote. You can only say yes or no."
~
Nameless Jul 2015
Depression bites at your ankles, feels like glass shards embedded in your feet with every step you take,painful at first and then numb.
Whispering sweet nothings in your ear
"you're garbage"
"you're ugly"
"*****,
****,
useless,
why are you even alive?"
With every step you take your bones go brittle and break.
There's a parasite in your brain, there's an elephant on your chest, and everything gets heavy.
Your eyelids start to close, falling into a deep slumber to get away from reality.
But instead you have nightmares,
of that day ,
of that night,
of that month ,
of that year,
and they repeat themselves over and over again making sure you never forget; and you won't.
Finally you wake up and it's been two days since you last got out of bed.
You heave a heavy sigh as the pattern starts all over again.
Devon Jul 2015
i'm wanting
like hard brittle things
want to break

stuttering, trying to explain
to the organized, box trained
how badly i need a little chaos

cause those patterns out there
in the stars
make way more sense to me
than your day planners

And i've tried.
half my life i've tried
the people pleasing parts of me, still ******* trying
to play the expected parts
so much so
that my own offspring - my own blood
looks at me now with foreign eyes
reflecting the familiar disapproval

as I burn up the parts of me i'm done with
the parts they told me I had to be
letting all the "ugly" colors bleed through

everyday I get a little closer
to what i'm supposed to be...
*and I hope you find your way out of that box, baby girl. i should have been a better teacher*
Shylah S Mar 2015
The best thing about life
is finding the simple patterns.
One too many patterns found today, and I realized finding patterns makes me happy.
Lilly Gibbons Feb 2015
There's a truth in the last moments you share
With yourself before sleep invades
It's those minutes that capture rare plots you construct
From bits and bobs gathered along the way,
Where everything is reckless, hope is renewed,
Manifestations of moments once true,
And all of the doubts that persist in real time
Subside to reveal who is who.
Deliberate intentions of force.
It cannot be examined nor researched in full,
Who is it that is teaching this course?
This awareness is yet unexplained.
A yearning for life, a wanting for more.
A manufactured reality, can it be obtained?
Every soul is experiencing such radical perspectives.
No matter how much you think you understand, you don't.
My
body
aches.
Hating what I've done.
Hating who I've become.
Where did I go wrong?
Has it been that long?
Have I forgot what it means to live but merely i exist.
Whatever the circumstance is I know I will live.
I will fight for health.
We are warriors of light.
In this hollow place.

We must thrive, or we shall die.
Next page