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Watered down poetry
Streams down the page
They're not filled with tears
But with rage
As they try to find a way
To express how they feel
While they know
The words will never be real
It's poetry in mass production
None of them exactly right
They used to be the world's defense
Now it's them we fight
The words will never sound right
As they don't do their job
To describe what I feel
To describe how I sob
Over how you don't cry too
'I don't love you' I repeat
I've reached the limits of my power
Watered down poetry is all I'll be
A poem every day

poetry in mass production
When someone says I am a good
I say no not me
Not because of sadness
But because of joy,
Have you seen that Big Dipper
Or the seven sisters (Pleiades)
Lately by any chance
If so those are art
I did not create
For they’re perfect
The artist
Some unknown entity
You're an eggplant with brunet skin
Sometimes, you are white tinged with green
Your taste tints my tongue with sourness
But fades leaving by traces of sweetness
Your svelte, stately, and sonsy figure
Always fills my eyes with azure
Yet, my lips long for you.

Josh Wealth Pampam ©
16/10/20 12:45 GMT
My first love poem. Let's see how it read.
My loving boyfriend
You don’t know this my love
But you are my re-animator
My Herbert west
I want to know you intricaties
Of you beautiful mind
And soul
I want you to explore my body with your hands and smiling
And as I do the same with my smiling eyes and hands
I fantasy about making love to you
As we kiss sweetly.
Examine me
Re-animate me sweetly
I wish I could’ve warned you
about how heavy they can get
how they’ll refuse to leave
and instead
unpack in every room
they will pile up to the point
where you won’t be able to lift yourself up
you might think that the only way to survive
is to find a tool or two
one too many drinks
less food on the menu
any escape route that’ll drain you
but you’ll soon learn that
being empty
weighs you down just like them
that’ll never stop trying
to devour you
-elixir- 19h
Once again,
I dance alone
in the dark rooms
of my mind,
while I hold on
to time as it drips
off my eyelashes.
My heart won't
let go of you
but my mind
stops me in
my steps,
as I see your
3 of 30

Pampering myself with the scent of the old ink,
The sound produced by the pen suddenly turns into a melody,
Letters collided and produced words,
Which indulged me as I turn them into metaphors

I started to define the curves of his lips,
How his tears flow down as he begins to bleed,
The way he laugh and make hearts skip a beat,
His anger and sorrow that turns up the heat

As I put the little details of him in each verses,
He began to learn how to use a pen and a paper,
Created a prose which contains lines,
Another being he is starting to define

A lady with long curly hair,
Fiery eyes which can easily tame,
Rosy cheeks and curvy lips,
He started to depict beauty― his poetry which isn't me
when will i ever be someone's poetry?
All that glitters isn’t always gold
Take my words and let them unfold
Maybe it was the night
That took me ahold

I always wanted to be right
I can feel the knife carving,
Into my heart
Into my head

Will you leave me out in the cold
Turn to dust
Oh, how you are so bold.
Even when you're going through hell,
Even when you think you've found
The bottom of the well,
You still have a story to tell.
And in a world of 7 billion people,
Someone's bound to listen
Whether or not you're under a steeple.
And while you're at it,
That's the best time
to chase your dreams.
Because you don't have much to lose
When you feel you lost yourself years ago.
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