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Some way I know this pain,
It shamed me to love the way it flowed,

I'm looking at my scars,
Beauty in the burdens.

But I only masked my true pains,
For every night I bled outside,
I also bled in.

Find the blade that cuts your heart,
And get away...
So you no longer have to search for the blade that cuts your arms.
Response to "Inside that Counts" by Atlas
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2986
Jules Jan 23
You
Sing the stars out of the sky
Tame them, make them stay
On earth.
This is a response to the latest featured poem.
i am the ripple on the pond
\
the pebble you've cast
makes me see my own reflection
/
i
in response to "i am the moon" by jordan lockaby
To speak of my pains is my release from which.
It is not merely my drudgery within the muds of self-wallowing.
It is an awakening when I read my own words and learn who I am in that moment.
It is a point from which to move on, a stepping stone.
When my fires burn invisibly,
Blissfully I stand across the path of my pain,
Aging to wonders I'd never known, but,
I dare.
Jon Thenes Nov 2018
Under the curse
There is a loss of humour :
Childlike excitement is friction in memory
and become
a tinnitus of love
upon your compressed exhaustion

It takes a persistence
the insistence of the stubborn
a guesting
to transverse the yawn within
to make you a new spell

This could bring about your
day-to-day skills and willingness
Regain the hum
Observe the silliness and the tune of your make
Recognise the scope
and think a smile.
Written after reading 'When the world lost a smile' by Poetic T.
Emily Nov 2018
When it comes to me it's just,
messages left without responses,
phone calls left without attempts,
and efforts left surrendered.
I lay here contemplating,
thinking,
why don't you show me off?
Kimi ZS Oct 2018
The summer freckles the
boys, tucking in the grasses
in their masses, forgetting
what their mothers sang. Their
love burns in blood-stream blaze,
becomes heat and nothing else and
nothing else. Our sun set late, so they pray for consenting
girls that feed wrists into freckled hands to
brand themselves, bruised and brown.
A response to the line "The grasses forgetting their blaze, and consenting to brown" from 'A Sunset of the City' by Gwendolyn Brooks. The line is embedded in the last words of each line.
Martin Dove Oct 2018
Life is a struggle
Armed with a bare-knuckle

Born out of ancient rubble
Collecting what chance has to offer

If you have what it takes
It rewards you with inequality -
Objective prosperity with emotional disparity

But if by chance you are misplaced
You get to see the devil’s face
Just as real as that loving gaze
You strive to see and tend to praise

Dazed by the gravity of objective reality
No matter the cost, we strive for more clarity
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