Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lavender Menace Mar 2021
Oh, Baby let me sing you french lullabies. I swear I can make them come out in clouds of lilac smoke.

because darling I love you and I'll hide it if your scared, just please remember that I'm always right here by your side, forever waiting for you to be alright.

my jolie fleur I'll always care so just know that a thousand suicides will never drive me from your side.

And lovely I will sit mute for you on this floor,

with open or closed door I don't care I'll never tell you that I want more. but sweetness if I could speak I'd tell you that I want to hold you Kate. your my universe tho so I'm down to give you space. now I'll leave you alone, I wont see you, hug you, kiss you, love you, not for a week or forever if that what you really want. and **** I know I've been selfish when your going through a lot, yet it spills from my head when your gone, like blood on the white carpet you left me to stain. how on earth did I do this without you here to make me laugh?

you're not laughing anymore

now it's only ticking, ticking do you miss me? because i really ******* miss you. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do, with these thoughts spilling from my mouth on to a page staining it like you stained my ******* hands when you touched me.

L E A V E M E A L O N E

please come back to me.

these thoughts are eating echother like lowly leaves on a thinking tree and it just keeps on thinking, thinking, why won't you speak to me?

im sitting right here outside the door we built together. and I listen to you scream those french lullabies we used to sing.

and if you let me dear, we can scream together.

so baby.

let me scream you french lullabies, I swear I can make them come out in clouds of lilac smoke.
i wrote this poem after a hard breakup, it took me a long time to finally relese it to other people, i geuss its sentemental.anyway tell me what yall think in the comments
Adriana Makenna Mar 2021
The night washing over our heaving, fleshy carcasses. Like two crayfish in a current.

So you are telling me.
We ****** in a whirlpool of sound. In a dilapidated guest room.

There. Moaning into you with my eyes, I ravenously endowed our fevers.
And you make it into pretty words.
Prettier than I could ever polish my sprawling lobster legs into sounding.

Who talks like that.
A poet’s muse does it seems.
annh Mar 2021
La, I am an honest deceiver,
For whomsoever shall lend his lies to me,
Will be repaid threefold in pretty devilment.

Channelling Stoppard, who imitated Marlowe, who emulated Virgil. Originality is nought but petty thievery. ;)

β€˜You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute,
And now and then stab, when occasion serves.’
- Kit Marlowe
Jordan LC Murphy Jan 2021
ℭ𝔬𝔩𝔑 π”…π”©π”žπ” π”¨ β„œπ”¬π”°π”’

𝔉𝔒𝔒𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔀 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔒𝔩𝔢 π”²π”«π”΄π”žπ”«π”±π”’π”‘ π”žπ”«π”‘ 𝔲𝔰𝔒𝔑,
𝔐𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔑𝔒 π”žπ”«π”‘ π”ͺ𝔢 𝔒𝔀𝔬 𝔦𝔰 π”Ÿπ”―π”²π”¦π”°π”’π”‘,
𝔖𝔬π”ͺ𝔒𝔬𝔫𝔒 𝔱𝔬 π”₯𝔬𝔩𝔑 π”ͺ𝔒 𝔴π”₯𝔦𝔩𝔒 β„‘'π”ͺ 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱 π”žπ”«π”‘ 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔲𝔰𝔒𝔑,
𝔖𝔬π”ͺ𝔒𝔬𝔫𝔒 𝔱𝔬 π” π”žπ”―π”’ 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱π”₯𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔀π”₯ π”ž 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔒 𝔬𝔣 𝔑𝔦𝔰𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔒𝔰,
π”π”žπ”Άπ”Ÿπ”’ 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 π”ͺ𝔒 𝔱π”₯𝔒 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔫 𝔬𝔣 π”π”žπ” π”¨ 𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱,
𝔗𝔬 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔑 𝔱𝔬 𝔱π”₯𝔒 π”₯π”’π”žπ”―π”± 𝔣𝔬𝔯 π”ž 𝔭𝔒𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔒,
π”‰π”²π”€π”žπ”·π”¦ π”©π”žπ”²π”€π”₯ π”žπ”«π”‘ π”ž 𝔰π”ͺ𝔦𝔩𝔒 β„‘ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 β„‘ π”₯𝔦𝔑𝔒 𝔴𝔒𝔩𝔩,
𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔱π”₯𝔦𝔰 π”žπ”«π”€π”²π”¦π”°π”₯ π”žπ”«π”‘ π”­π”žπ”¦π”« π”Ÿπ”’π”₯𝔦𝔫𝔑 π”ͺ𝔢 π”€π”©π”žπ”°π”° 𝔱𝔬 𝔱π”₯𝔒 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔑,
β„‘ 𝔣𝔒𝔒𝔩 𝔰𝔬 𝔒π”ͺ𝔭𝔱𝔢 π”žπ”«π”‘ π”₯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔀𝔒𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔀 𝔲𝔫𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔒𝔑,
β„‘'π”ͺ 𝔱π”₯π”žπ”± 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔀𝔩𝔒 π”Ÿπ”©π”žπ” π”¨ 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔒 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔱π”₯𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠π”₯,
ℭ𝔬π”ͺ𝔭𝔩𝔒𝔡 π”Ÿπ”Ά 𝔑𝔒𝔰𝔦𝔀𝔫 π”žπ”«π”‘ 𝔰π”₯𝔒𝔦𝔩𝔑𝔒𝔑 𝔴𝔦𝔱π”₯ 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔨𝔒𝔰,
𝔖𝔬 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔑 𝔭𝔯𝔒𝔱𝔱𝔢 π”žπ”«π”‘ 𝔒𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔫𝔀,
π”œπ”’π”± 𝔱𝔬𝔬 π”‘π”žπ”«π”€π”’π”―π”¬π”²π”° 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔒 𝔬𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔒,
β„­π”¬π”Ÿ π”΄π”’π”Ÿπ”° 𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔨 𝔑𝔯𝔒𝔰𝔰𝔒𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔒 π”‘π”―π”žπ”­π”¦π”«π”€ π”ͺ𝔢 π”©π”’π”žπ”³π”’π”°,
𝔄𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔀 𝔴𝔦𝔱π”₯ π”―π”žπ”·π”¬π”― 𝔦𝔠𝔒 𝔰π”₯π”žπ”―π”‘π”°,
β„‘ π”‘π”žπ”―π”’ 𝔢𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔨 π”ͺ𝔒!
nevaeh Jan 2021
the words you say
he smiles we fake
the way you save face

all the pretty, empty things

let them go
hit me, scream, cry
throw something, be mad
tell me how much you hate me
scream until i hate you back
let go of the pretty things
be empty
sick of the passive aggressive, just be aggressive.
quinn Jan 2021
can i be one of the elite pretty too?
there are an apex species,
and they come in so many wonderful forms.
they don't have to crush their jaws together
or **** in their bellies or fix their hair
when a camera is staring them down.
they smile and a million people smile back,
but less brightly than them.
they have a ticket to the highest floor of the building
in the pockets of their jeans that just fit them nicely.
so easy to love and want and crave,
and all for a construction of our own.
from the 23rd of january 2020. i just want to be pretty, is all.
She's always on my mind
And never let me sleep
She's so one of a kind
that you will ever meet

She's so beautiful
Beautiful like clothes
She's cute pretty, simple,Β Β 
and makes you laugh like jokes

She's very talkative
A person you can vibe
She's very positive
Perfect to be my wife

My heart beats so fast
Everytime she's closeΒ Β 
I'm so in love with her
This woman name is Rose
This poem is for the one that I love and her name is rose hehehee
Wilder Dec 2020
Sometimes,
when the face in the mirror isn't who I want it to be

and those thoughts,
those ******* disgusting worms crawling out of my brain,
to simply drive me insane

I think it's subconscious,
I never quite think it,
before the thought is reaching my hand

A little mascara
brush through my hair

(I want to feel pretty
again)

A dusting of powder
touch up my chapstick

(this face
THIS FACE ISN'T RIGHT
THIS ISN'T THE PERSON I WANTΒ Β TO BE-)

-
It's ok to be.
-

Switch up the perspective:


I Will fix my issues,
one brush at a time

A swipe of lipstick
layer eyeshadow

Please don't clump, mascara
Add some concealer

(I NEED TO FIX
THE VOICES IN MY HEAD)

Some brow gel
Some eyeliner.

Top it off
With a



[[I hear voices say,
voices far away
"say cheese!" click]]


I-
I'll be O.K.
someday.
and hey, you made it this far, smile! :)
averylia Dec 2020
You who stirred the words into my soul,
Brought them to life, animated them
With allegory and wit.
As if the Nine Muses had sung to my ear,
And Calliope herself had donned me
With the poems she'd once writ.

Or Sappho of ******, among secretive violets,
Absorbed by the lyre, she pens to revive it;
Not the song, or the tune,
But the calm way the song moved
The violets across the field-
This inspiration, she could wield.

Don't you see now, how it's not poetry the poet will choose?
For every poem the poet pens one shall require an equal Muse.
Calliope is one of the eight Greek muses. She is the muse of epic poetry.
Sarah Flynn Dec 2020
there was this boy who
got ****** at my friend
because she rejected him.

he called her ugly,
and we burst out laughing

because two minutes ago,
when he was flirting with her,
he didn’t think she was ugly.
two minutes ago, he called her hot.

he didn’t call her ugly until
she used the word β€œno.”

he stormed off after a few
more ignorant words,

but I wanted to ask him
what he meant.



was she suddenly ugly
because of her appearance,

or was she suddenly ugly
because he realized that she
had a voice, and she certainly
wasn’t afraid to use it?



was she suddenly ugly
because of her appearance,

or was she suddenly ugly
because he realized that she
was more than just a pretty face?
Next page