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hybridstorm May 16
Burning beneath the ice,
bubbling effervescence,
torment it bears in violet,
silent as the owl lies the truth,
in the depths of the unknown soul.
Plead it to speak,
it stays quite.
Hope it comes out,
it stays invisible.
You have to befriend it,
for it is a dominance most uncooperative.
Truth is like the seed of poisonous fruit. You have to take all the risk and open the fruit, only then can you get the seed. Truth is many a time bitter and heart-wrenching. It also waits to push matters to the worst of limits before coming out. However, it is a power very furious. It could cause apocalypse or could be the apostrophe in your life begging you to hold on. Truth is very mysterious. Many people spent lifetimes trying to find it, others do so trying to deny it, there are others who try to hide it and some keep it in close confide. What your truth may be, wear it like a badge, for it is like a friend who demands your complete acceptance and understanding.
Ashley Kay May 10
Home, (is) the broad chest
of daylight
Sounds of the birds
Shepherd me to a doorstep,
Like a ledge of a canyon
Enthralled and petrified
Little pebbles descend,
And the skin of the bedrock
Leaves my palms raw
I found this thing when I was a little boy.
It's a beast of some sort; it has fur,
teeth, and a long tail.It's pulse sounds
like a ticking clock.It's beautiful and
hideous all at once.The thing makes me
feel immortal, like I'm a part of something
big and important.Sometimes it eats
everything in sight. And other times, I think
it might be starving.
It smells like ****, death, and *****.
But sometimes it smells like lilacs and
autumn and different women from my life.
I haven't been able to tame it, but I
feel like it's my friend.

It runs away from time to time.
I stay awake staring at the black sky,
worrying that it will never come back.
I walk the streets looking for the thing on
dark nights and foggy days.
Sometimes, I find it hiding in a patch of
tall grass- all wet and *****.
But usually it comes home on its own,
when it's tired of the vagabond life.
It does tricks that make people laugh
and cry and think.
When strangers and friends see the thing,
their reactions vary: Some people hate it;
they want to **** it, they never say that,
but I can see it in their eyes.
They say, Who needs a thing like that?
But other people appreciate the thing; they
love it and the way it makes them feel.
They say, I want a thing like that.

Sometimes I think the thing is almost
holy, the way it walks into a room and
looks at everyone with its searching eyes.
I'm sure it knows magic.I have a hard
aching love for the thing.It has the
most disturbing eyes; They change color
depending on its mood. When I look into
the thing's eyes, I see people and places in a
different light.Smells take shape and waltz
around the room.I can taste sorrow and
loneliness; I can here the wind blow ripples
across a small pond surrounded by cattails.

I've had the thing so long, I don't know
where I begin and it ends.
We don't always get along, but it's usually
because it won't behave the way I want it to.
It puts up with my selfishness, and kisses
me on occasion.It has no perception of time.
I'm getting old.I'm no longer the boy I
was when I found the thing.I like
it best when we walk together and try
to make sense of this carnival ride of a
world.It sleeps with me every night.
Sometimes, I hardly know it's there.
But I like it best when it snores and dreams,
and I feel its hot, sweet breath on my face.
Sarah L May 2
You call me bitter.

Yes, I am bitter.

Why wouldn’t I be?

The taste of your

failure on my tongue

burns from how you

taught us that our

creativity tastes of cough

syrup and fear and

that failure tastes of

our very own blood.

You call me restless.

Yes, I am restless.

How couldn’t I be?

I dance to the

exhaustive rhythm of discovering

that I identify with

test scores and not

by the rhythm that

stirred me from my

forceful and deafening education.
I watched an interesting TED talk about America's education system.
My throat is a bear cave
The claws of my tears
Have scratched through
Rock and limestone
Leaving the interior
Raw and red
Then comes
The boiling lava
Traveling down
The dark tunnel
Molten rock
Destroying everything
In its path.
I hate this feeling!
Meysa Apr 19
like ivy around my thighs
a disease of the tongue
take me
LightToBurn Apr 15
Oh my freaking god
Here comes this ******* again
*******, and you too
a senryu
(similar to haiku)
by Michael R. Burch

What stirs within me
is no great welling
straining to flood forth,
but an emptiness
waiting to be filled.

I am not an orchard
ready to be harvested,
but a field
rough and barren
waiting to be tilled.

Keywords/Tags: tillage, raw, potential, barren, field, tabula rasa, blank slate, palimpsest
Be careful when wishing for blessings,
Creating the world of hidden expectations.
Before the dawn and the sunset,
There are too many breaths.

You walk the earth uncanny
Creating ripples around you.
Your steps are light as feathers
Your words are sharp as knives.

Be gentle when talking to people,
Forming the thought you are carrying.
Before the dawn and the sunset,
There are too many deaths.
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