Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Just GS May 9
Isn't this what you wanted -
This voice, does it help?
No matter, what's been written -
Best keep it to yourself
Your words, yes you with the pen -
Tell truths best unsent, let it die
You opened this door,
To a world made to hide
Friends who knew better
Gone, left you behind
Family, leave them
Less burdened by whys
Madness, you have it -
They need not admire
Talk to yourself
Alone they are fine
I said, talk to yourself
Alone they're just fine
They pull, I push - until they just let go..  i trust, someday they'll look back and say this was the best thing he could have done, maybe even see the love I left behind, inbetween these lines. Goodbye hellopoetry. I wish you all the best.
Tony Tweedy Mar 27
Born of mind and heart and folded by the soul,
thus a poets words are forged.
Cast upon the fickle breeze or dispersed by howling gale,
perhaps to find new minds and hearts in which to grow.
Dwell? or Grow?
“How come the saddest writes
Seem to get all the likes?”

There’s literally a proverb for that,
Misery loves company;

Even in the 21st century.
I was thinking about this the other day
jg Oct 2018

Look at all we have,
Can't you see i'm your better half?

When the world is falling apart,
Who has been there to hold your heart?

When the light seems dim,
I've shown you the way by caressing your golden skin

& when the air gets cold,
I've given you my whole body for you to hold

Baby, please tell me you still feel love when i look into your eyes, because i can't take no more lies...
Jack Code Oct 2018
Exterior? I'm not affected
But deep down
The pain is profound

I need to stop doing this
I'm ruining my friendships
I'm not exposing myself out of bliss... Yet,
i'm ruining my friendships

He needs to treat you best
You ain't like the rest
Your kindness...
Was the reason for my blindness

I wish you all the best
****, I'm done with these tests...
MawaLin Oct 2018
Her most deadliest weapon,
Is carried in her silence.
Özcan Sh Mar 2018
I take the pen in my hand and dip it in the dark puddle
I swing my pen and write on my white notebook.
I write and write and you read my poems.
through the poem you understand me how I feel because the poems are not just poems it's my feelings that people will never understand how I always feel.

Poems are not just simple text, they are the feelings of the writers they wrote.
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
When will I really become known,
Is it when I write a book to call my own?
How can I solidify myself as a real poet,
What can I do to become a real laureate?
Am I just going to keep writing poetry
Because of my mastery of words and artistry?
Is that enough to usher me into the spotlight,
And make me win awards before hitting my twilight?

When will I consider myself a real writer
Is it when I have a New York Times bestseller?
I have kept my hands off the intellectual property
Of another poet even though we have no propinquity.
Even though I've followed these poetic etiquettes
It doesn't automatically place me amongst the elites.
So what do I do to progress beyond this rhyming phase,
To Whom do I turn to effectively plead my poetic case?

I do wonder about achieving greatness that ambition.If I will ever become great, will it be achieved through poetry?
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
Don't think nobody's interested in your life as it unfolds.
Truth is, it's the lowest depths you fall in that fascinates them.
Interested parties and haters hang around by the boatloads.
It's the wounds you sustained on the way down,
the maggots and the pains you go through to heal,
it's the struggle to bring yourself back that keeps them around
they want to come and watch as you struggle to your knees,
They watch you as you climb slowly and painfully back to life.
Watch to see if you're capable of rescuing yourself.
As always, your success is of least concern.
Human have a tendency to take pleasure in each other's struggles
I hope from this poetry that everyone will learn,
That behind all the facades and facetious bubbles
Exists the dark sides of all human beings.

Humans are a conflict and cruel species ...that's our dark sides!
We sat there at the bar were I always preferred to hold court .
"Hey man Rebecca tell's me you write".

The young kid said as he took a seat next to me .
"If you can call it that then yes I do bud".

"Well to be honest when Rebecca told me that I looked up your work ", "Your style isn't my cup of tea but you are a skilled writer".

"Oh yeah I'm Brandon by the way ".

The young kid said sticking out his hand .
I shook and braced myself for whatever boredom I was about to endure .

"So you write also I take it or you just a critic"?.

"Oh I'm no critic I write but I write science fiction it's simply a more free forum to me with endless possibilities ".

Wonderful I thought to myself not only am I sitting next to someone who thinks there a writer they have to be a godammed science fiction writer!

"Do you ever read science fiction"?

"Not if I can help it".

"Oh why is that "?

I took another swing of beer decided to light a cigarette maybe the smoke would drive this mosquito of a person away.

"Bud I will be honest I write what I know , "And time travel and space ships and bio mechanics is just a little out my depth you see".

"Well it can get complex I suppose ".

"Well kid honestly if I have to spend five chapters explaining the environment and setting up the story I've already lost interest".

"Yes but the freedom it gives the writer is without limits the pallet is so vast".

"I'm happy just staying in my corner kid and I am no painter so I prefer a page to a canvas".

"Well I think you would really like my work maybe I could share some with you sometime".

"I'm good bud".

I ordered another beer the kid beside me just kept silent least for a second .

I kind of felt like a ***** so I told the bartender grab one for my friend here .

I was a ******* but anyone who had the ***** to put themselves out there still was owed a ounce of respect even if I didn't dig there style .

"Hey thanks is it okay if I call you Jack"?.

"It's my name bud so feel free".

We sat there spoke about the flustrations of publishers and rejection slips all the normal ******* that goes along with writing .

"Jack how did you break through"?
"  I Mean you get published you get read how did you do it"?

"It's no secret kid ,I just kept writing through the ******* ".

"You see eventually if you dont go away and your work is good someone will say yes ".

"It's no different than chasing women , You take a room of fifty women you ask every single one of them to dance someone's going to say yes ".

"I thought all women love to dance ".

"Most yes ,But not all and usually its more appealing from far better looking men".

The kid laughed and replied well I guess you got a point there .

"Jack you ever think about writing about more than just ***** and chasing women "?

"Nope ".

"It just seems so limited give me the moon and stars worlds unknown that's the sight I yern to see".

I laughed as the bartender sat two beers down took my money off the bar and stared at her nice round *** as she walked away to get my change.

"Kid you can have the moon and stars I'm doin just fine with the view down here".
Next page