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Styles 2d
I love her sweet and sour
the taste, I devour
addicted to the scent .
Finger licking good.
Like a strong whiskey sour,
an acquired taste,
established pleasure.
I liquor lace,
she comes with haste
to the third power.
Styles 2d
I devour,
  each moment,
  we encounter,
each other.

        Every second
        of every minute,
        and every minute,
        of every hour.
I’m a broken poet
Who longs to write
About sadness
love
heartbreak
Although, I haven’t experienced either

I’m a broken poet
For, I have so much
Left to say
Yet, I search for words
Every single day

I’m a broken poet
For, my words
Do not spill
On these empty sheets

I’m a broken poet
For, the words
That I write
Do not reach
People’s hearts
They get lost
In the depths
Of this crowded world

I’m a broken poet
For, my words
Do not carry the pain
And suffering that
Other’s have felt

I’m a broken poet
For my words
Do not feel
Like a warm hug
From your favorite person
On a cold day

I’m a broken poet
For my words cannot console
A broken soul
To not give up
And sail through life

I’m a broken poet or
I’m not;
Maybe,
I’m just a broken person
With words left to say
But no one to hear them
-RB©
Zack Ripley Mar 11
It seems like it's getting harder to know
if it's OK to say or do something these days. Maybe it's because I'm getting older.
Maybe it's because I care more.
Regardless of why, I must admit I find myself somewhere between sad and scared.
Sad and scared that I can't keep up.
Sad and scared that I'm slowing down.
Maybe you are too. If that's the case,
I'll tell you what I've been telling myself
when I feel this way: it's healthy to be sad.
It's healthy to be afraid.
And if you're being healthy,
you don't have to feel guilty
or let it ruin your day.
I’m clamoring in the stale sheets.

Twisting and turning my body and mind.

I’m drowning in the streaks of defeats.

Awakened and humbled as night and morning slowly become intertwined.

I’m flailing in the wind of obsoletes.

Accepting and acknowledging my unrefined state of mind.

I’m progressing in the ability to make peace.

I’m going to be ok.
I’m going to be fine.
I’m going to be ok.

I love myself, finally.
Styles Mar 6
Ink
I was the ink
on her pristine page
I wrote in a language
only her heart could
convey
Zack Ripley Mar 3
Some welcome the darkness like an old friend.
Some believe the light you see when you die
is the beginning, not the end.
At the end of the day, I guess the message
that I'm trying to send is that you can find hope or a way to be at peace anywhere
Zack Ripley Feb 25
History is like a mirror;
the closer you look,
the more you'll see things
that you don't want to see.
The more distorted the picture becomes.
But, if it's your history you're looking at,
the distortion offers a rare chance.
A chance to change the way
you look at your past.
Zack Ripley Feb 19
Sometimes, I wish I could stop breathing
for more than a minute.
Because breathing means I'm fighting.
And God, I can't tell you the last time
I thought I had a good reason why.
Maybe it's in my blood.
Maybe it's just a matter of time.
Or maybe, just maybe...
you don't need to have a good reason to fight.
Piotr Balkus Feb 9
They have children,
they have homes,
they have money,
they have jobs,
they have good cars,
and many more things they want to have.

I have paper and pen,
I have my poems,
that's enough.
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