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Poetic T Nov 2017
scary faces fade
pumpkins feed a family
bellies so thankful
Katelyn Billat Nov 2017
I grabbed at my chest,
Wanting to rip out my lungs
as they suffocated my heart.

I originally thought you
poisoned my heart but
Maybe your
Apple pie
Maple syrup
Cinnamon
Fragrance
Corrupted my lungs and
Turned them evil.

They squeeze together and
Dis-form  themselves just to hurt
My heart.

I cant breath when I think of you,
No, not in a good way.
Milica Fara Oct 2017
Pie
This is how you bake this pie
Find some hearts that are really ripe
So ripe that are almost rotten
I recommend you familiar ones
Fake ones that made you fall for their owners
But you need to be careful while taking them out
They're in 1000 pieces and glued 1001 times
That's why you thought they're pure at first
Because broken hearts change people
And you were hoping they're changed for the better
But they were just using you for revenge
And if you touch their hearts with those warm hands of yours
Glue could be melted down
And everything would fall into the water
So make sure you use gloves, darling
Once you prepare main ingredient
Everything will be easier
Mix it with the pinch of sugar and put it between two sheets of dough
Turn up the temperature in oven on highest level
Then bake it until it becomes golden
Trust me, you will enjoy the smell
And when it's done this warm heart syrup running down your mouth and fingers will cure you
I promise
Saint Audrey Sep 2017
Nobody likes me now
I don't care
Everybody hates me now
They've got some nerve..
Everybody's looking down
I'm feeling cyclical
What should I do about

These *******

Pariah
Sin in over abundance
Liar
Reality could never change
Despondent
Sacrifice util it's incumbent
Pariah
You love the fair exchange

Gauge the metric
By which you judge
The proper usage

Harsher than the light on my keyboard

Often peckish
Killing skeptics
The proper usage
It all falls in the same vein

Forgiveness to a fault line
My god
All I've ever wanted was a new design
Hiding away in the suffering
Fudge the figure for the slumbering

Drab as they may come
Welcome to the whole **** phylum
Encroaching on the underlying theming
And everyone seems confused

I took the world
In my hands
Looked down
Then up again
They all were screaming
About the meaning
Under god
Claiming that they were free men

No resolve left, I stopped listening
par
Saint Audrey Aug 2017
Syllable death knoll
This appropriate age ends
Busting out its rib cage
bored
Joe Cottonwood Jun 2017
In the store it catches his eye.
The boy asks, “What’s that?”
I answer: “Pocket pie.”
“A what?”
“A pie that fits in your pocket. Want one?”
Of course.
Back home, parked, we stay in the front seat
of the truck. The boy turns the radio on.
Age two and a half, he chooses rock.
I drink a beer. He bites crust, apple goo.
Saturday afternoon, April,
sweet as pie.
First published in *Your Daily Poem*
Mihir Kulkarni May 2017
She doesn't think
I'm much of a guy...
I meant much of
An interesting guy.
I did say "interesting" before...
Didn't I?

Why?
Why does it matter?
Oh I love her I think...
We will go well together,
Like bread and jam
wait.. a better rhyme...
Like bread and "butter".

I must tell you...
The amount of efforts I make!
Even wrote her a poem to which
She said "For God's sake!
We are not in 19th century. Get new..."
It made me feel like leftover cake.

"Swag", she said
Something you lack ***;
I opened net and googled it
After our short conversation.
The guys must do this and that
Looking at it I went into depression!
(Have you seen the latest trends?
I'm soooo far behind. oh good heaven!)

Back home I sunk in my sofa low
I was ****** exhausted,
Nothing I did pleased her
Didn't get her one bit excited;
She wanted someone bad and strong
And all she got was a guy *******.

Why is it that...
Her crush drinks a bottle of whiskey down,
In one gulp and calls her cutie pie.
And I can't even pull off a leather jacket,
I'm just a ******* teetotaler orange juice guy.
In this world full of jibber-jabber,
I look at her as if She's my only high!

Okay!
So I'll love her silently and pray,
Like how Earth keeps Moon
Neither too close nor far away;
A miracle is all I hope for
(like the guy she loves shifting to Burma)
Then she'll have no other way!

I know...
I'm not a bad boy!
Why o God you've made me this nice?!
She loves to play with fire and you've
And you've...
Made my heart outta ice!
Sometimes you feel bad that you're a good guy.
Zellie Eugenie, embodiment of  French elegance,
  consummate graciousness of a native Texan,
a lady ever and always, so delicate and so strong.

You are still my role model, Nana,
even far away, where you live now.

Your voice stays vibrant in my heart,
even after all these years of you living in Heaven.

It was a summer afternoon, expansive, warm,
like the residual, slight drawl of your San Antonio accent,
when I brought a little bucket of these dark, juicy berries,
picked from your own tree, into your sunny, quaint kitchen.

My parents were rarely away, so this time
when we could just be the two of us,
me staying in your ruffly, cosy guest room,
was treasured by us both, and each.

This, as it turned out, would be the day when I learned
to bake my first pie, beginning a life
devoted to fine cuisine that still stays at my core.

Your hands, feminine and capable,
skillfully gathered flour and shortening
into the shaggy, powdery ball of promise
that establishes each new pie crust.

I think you taught me then how to use tapioca,
added to the berries, to soak up some of that
deeply purple juice, as this first pie
bubbled to completion in your well-used oven.

Every time I use my mother's solid maple
rolling pin, sliding it forward on my palms,
I am one with her, and with you.

Do you get to see each other in God's home?

Or do you live in different neighborhoods?

All I know for sure is that you both reside,
forever adored, respected, emulated,
as best as I know how, inside of me...
from whence these tears pour, blurring
what I can see of what I humbly write
to bring you closer to us, way down here.

Zellie Eugenie DuBarry Downing Regan Wright,
your courage in following your heart, and withstanding,
as you must have, the criticisms of a world, of a society,
that likes to put us in categories, especially as women,
still informs my own courage under similar circumstances.

And so honour and admire any and all couples who remain together,
loving, supporting, respecting one another,
while allowing each other to grow into more of themselves.

Some of us, having put everything we have into each,
yes, each, of our marriages, have yet to reach the place
where we are on equal footing with our one true beloved.

May the dear Lord continue to watch over us,
as we bend and search and grow, and may we, too,
even much later in life, know what it is to be happily married.
©Elisa Maria  Argiro, 27th December, 2016
MindsPalace Nov 2016
Pie can be made with fruit,
Pie can be made with chocolate,
Pie can make you smile,
Pie can make you *****,
Pie can be elaborate,
Pie can be quite simple,
Pie could be literal,
Pie could be a symbol…

The Pie of Life is hot,
Or maybe it is cold,
You could heat it up,
Or maybe it's too old,
The Pie of Life has flavors,
It's dynamically unique,
But what's your pie like?
It's changing as we speak.

Every day it changes,
Sometimes we eat,
But not until we die
Is our Life Pie complete.
Our choices are the flavors,
Our thoughts roll the dough,
Our actions bake our pie,
So what have I to show?

Our pies explain us,
My pie is my success,
Is my pie good enough?
Do I have enough, or less?

Thankfully you've offered me
Ingredients to help me try.
Our friendship is, I'm sure,
A nice addition to my Pie.
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