Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Haylin May 31
We press our bodies together
Forcing separate atoms to form one
Of a new breed,
But it will never be achieved
We don’t bond
Just periodically breathe.
annh May 27
I used to be your little cream puff;
But these days I just feel like a medium-sized cabbage.

By way of explanation:
chou, choux m. - cabbage;
mon petit chou - my little cabbage, my sweetheart, darling;
pâte à choux - puff pastry (named for the dough's resemblance to a small cabbage);
chou à la crème - cream puff
danahslade99 Aug 2018
Melancholy;
Melt in lands
Unholy
In an abyss of

Harm supressed;
Between two palms pressed
Together.
Remind us we are

Desolate;
Descending to a
Solitary fate
Where days

Gloomy;
Glue me
To my memories
Cold cruelty and

Shame;
An attempt at shadowing
The untamed.
Logan Robertson May 2018
can no nation rise enough
in the window
to puzzle

Logan Robertson

5/05/2018
Play on words-connotations, innuendo, enabling this poem to be read both ways.
Irene Poole Sep 2018
I think I’m angry
With you
The double dichotomy of words
Both with and at
All encompassing the ever growing redundancies of phrase upon fragile phrase
Hand upon hand
Your hand a sliver in my heart
It beats
Beats like a funeral drum as the fires and pyres are lit
Beats like fists on chests
A piercing war cry
“Cry for help,
No one will hear you” stuck in the quicksand
:a fly in honey:
“Oh honey what have you done?”
I think I’m angry
With you
But
I’m angrier without you
danahslade99 Aug 2018
We press our bodies together
Forcing separate atoms to form one
Of a new breed,
But it will never be achieved
We don’t bond
Just periodically breathe.
Lyda M Sourne Jul 2018
Stories sing of ways
That shed light on
Situations

Tall tales spake
Of things
With green envy

Thy name wilt one speak
Before the moon sets
Upon one's kingdom

And bite one's thumb
Shall one joust in word or sound
Even the ocean could not contain enough salt to pass around
Lyda M Sourne Apr 2018
And I swallow metaphoric medication
Until they burn down my throat

And similes are like cereal for breakfast
With which I refuse to partake

My words bleed out
Personifying my grief

Hyperbole is too big a mass I can explain
It would take years to finish

Would roses choked in thorns be a symbol of oppression
Or a nature of destruction in beauty

Take me to the emergency room
I'm sick of this language I speak
Styles Oct 2016
You teach others how to love you right,
by loving yourself right,
First
Now, read it the other way.... leave a comment if you think it works both ways.
Steve Sep 2016
Moses liked a cup of tea
He brewed it skilfully

© Copyright SE September 2016
Is really true!
Next page