The fierce winds that split fragile columns blow back cerebral gusts into the architecture of fantasy. The palace of intellect withstands an avalanche with its armies of random faith. They are the soldiers prepared to defend thought. They also serve our temporary foundations. A building is blind with its empty rooms. Such realities cannot construct themselves while emotional tigers tear at the linen curtains of air. This animal needs to become a seamstress. We must learn how to sew our designs carefully and part from the claws of our subject if we are ever to express its grasp on us. Life tends to manage our divine center the way hurricanes play with dust.

© Matthew Goff

Shitty Girls Apr 21

Come here
Talk to me
As long as the skies shine bright
And in the darkness at midnight

Come in
Let's we playin'
I'll let everything opened, doors and windows
But my heart, it'll still closed

Shitty Girls Apr 21

Someday i'll find someone who takes my hand and hold it with his heart, he's taking me to somewhere, to the place where he thinks i belong to. He takes me to a house. But after that i'll tell him. It's not a place where a girl like me belongs. "Come in and stay with me, we'll be happy," he says. But i take off my hand from him and say, "this is not a place where the broken hearts go, maybe i'll be happy with you, but my heart, it will always be a mess and still broke in pieces, and you don't deserve to stay here and having fun with me. I'm not happy as you see."

I turn my body, i am ready to go but he takes my hand and says "you're not happy as i am, and thats why i took you here. I want to make you happy and forget about everything that messed you up, about everything that broke you, about him. I want you to be happy. Because i love you, and i'll take every risk, i'll try to make you extra happy, just as extra as he made you this messed."

Beau Scorgie Apr 17

We threw a mattress
in the back of my car.
Some clothes.
Some food.

I packed eight books.
He packed a skateboard.

We drove along
the freeway
behind a car
the same as my mother's.

I thought about when she left
and all the tears I know she cried
driving away,
northward bound.

She drove for five days.
That's a lot of tears
and math
I can't do.

The driver had the same tanned skin
my mother has now,
and sun-bleached caramel hair
I imagine she would have too
had she not preferred
the taste of licorice.

I've been reading
the subtle art
of not giving a fuck

and too many a-fucks
I've given
about her leaving.

Let me record
the last fuck given
in poetry
and move on.

So my love and I
drove on,

We're best together.

nelsya namira Apr 16

one of them drifted
leaving hearts wounded
some heals
some others never stay the same

the next one built
a new town
paving path
to a new home

third's a charm
he managed to glow
and growing pain
into flowers

the other one picked
a different road
and he killed his old self
to become a butterfly

and the last one's on his way
slowing the ride down
becoming a man of his own
while staying on his roots

Divine Dao Apr 2

Inside a warm
and cozy place

there's a
quiet open space
where time drifts

The languid dance
for your romance
is no longer torchering
your heartache's gloom
the inner dungeon's doom

To write is a relief ~
Regardless of majority's Belief

When The Poet Writes
The world
Sublimely lucidly Subliminaly By
Bye and 'thru' You

Floods are the mighty
Thought waves

And all burning

The poet is Turning
The dispersed consciousness
Stream into desirable river of
Delusions or delightful dreams

In the world of a poet
Nothing is as it seems

Focus reaches
fresh spring's
Babbling Brook

Wordish witchcraft rests
On your high peaked
Mountain's hook

Vexren4000 Mar 29

The songs of women,
Are not few and far between,
Poems and songs, of love and longing,
So plentiful in our realm,
One can look and see thousands of songs named after fallen angels,
Tens of thousands of verses citing the pain and pleasure of love,
One could look for eternity and never find the end,
Love such a prominent emotion,
That almost all musical progression, in this world
Sits on the backs of spurned lovers.

Kevin M Ryan Mar 24

Stark ipseity
Trance tranquilty
Oxidized reality
Fear what's inside of he

Hardened, weathered wear
Reinforced steel layer
An unrecieved prayer
From this dweller of a lost lair

Killing none with his righteous ammunition
A dark dancer omitted his foreign recognition
Of which I received in a dim rumination

He felled so foul, triggered the end
A sterile head rolled off to a shallow ditch
Gone are the days of the Baphomets

An order of the forgotten rebel
Who lost their way to that downed castle
Where it's said the bell tolled one last somber knell

This tale is old and long forgotten,
Scribed on tomes molded and rotten
The story holds nothing now but a ghastly haunting

I don't know what this is.
Mikayla Smith Mar 16

Her heart was
A quill that wrote
The universe into
Star-studded wonder.

Her mind was the
Blank canvas that
The heaven's drained of
Black and washed
In white.

She was poetry
In essence,
A poem in the
Faded landscape
Of life.

Zeus Mar 7

I’m no Betty boop I’m not the prettiest bird around
so it’s hard to explain how I deal with the daily pressures, these writings are my mask, I hide behind the words and pour my heart out hoping to be heard out, I’m not looking for attention I just want recognition.
Right now I don't know what to do because I prefer the dark cold alone nights with nothing but the moon my music and my words which I dot cross and dash out, the world is my canvas and my mind is the pen which I use to express my pain,
I’m not sure if you'll understand but I had to give up everything because this voice within my head destroys everything I touch, I can't hold like she wants me to cause I might ruin her good soul,
But I need somebody, I’m not just the perfect somebody,
I look around and see the pretty girls wondering if they see me, I look around and see fast cars wondering if I’ll have more than one,
I look at myself and wonder why I’m so an understood am I doing something wrong or am I doing everything wrong, I know it's one of the two, am I deep? Or am I just one of the few?
emotional writer but I feel nothing except this numb feeling, I’m not sure if you'll understand but this pain is within and it’s the only feeling I know, I might be hurting I might be loving it still feels the same

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