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shamamama Jan 2019
"What's your birthstone?  
I don't know, Oh, I know--it's rock."

Black rocks baking in the sun
dot this beach
Like chocolate chips in the dough
They call to us
Come climb,
Come hop on us
Find treasures hidden behind and between
All our dark shadows,

Lying as still as stone
A large rock shape,
Oh, it's grayer
and duller,
and there's sand sprinkled on it,
And it's moving!
It's Living Rock,
The monk seal napping
from its morning meal.

Yes- we watch others walk right by him
caught in their words,
Unaware of the living amongst the rocks,
Living Rock doesn't care
His belly is full

Gray sleek shape
massaged by the wind
with feast in your belly,
So mighty tired!
You taste your sleep for days,
Clouds cover the day's starlight you seek,
Your body begs for light, and yet
Nobody can wake you from your slumber
Not even the high pitched voices
of children playing
nor the fishing lines in and out of the tide

What of your dreams
Oh Large Gray Rock
Do you dream of the ocean tossing
Fish  into your mouth?
Or of the warm sun coming
to bake your skin?

The salt water dances up your nostrils,
You lift your head in mild protest
Then let it rest on your
Ancient bed of coral and shell bones
My feet love to dig into your bed

No insomnia for you sea creatures,
Maybe I should count monk seals
Instead of sheep when I want to sleep,
Your body clock measures time
Not in days or hours
But in meals, in hunts
In fullness, in emptiness
Your sleep is well earned
My friend

We can learn from you.
You bask, dream,
Then awaken renewed
To taste your ocean again,
Rock, monk seal, ocean,  beach, renewal
ClawedBeauty101 Jan 2019
In the Mirror I see I'm stained
Draped in an ink cell, shelled in pain

Bent over with soaking black tears
Why must I live in this cloak of fear

Hunched over frozen in a case of black ice
Slipping and sliding over the constant fights

Trapped in a fishnet of lies
Choked by the chokers of cries

Hidden behind a curtain of bangs
Constantly licking my bloodthirsty fangs

Watching from afar cloaked in shadows
My ears cuffed and pierced, arrested, abused, and exposed

Eyes painted in Abyss' rain
Wrist spiked with black frames

I am a walking talking, cold night
Physically Freezing, and drenched in blackness' fright

Now hand me your blade, and let me begin
To slice the tar that is sticking to this light within

The thick, inky muck that shells and suffocates
Is a monster that feels controlled and constrained

You don't want me to shine, you don't want to see me bright
You enjoy seeing this jewel locked up tight

Won't I be broken free from the rock?
Afraid my colors will attract too many thoughts?

Let this angel rip her wings out from underneath your rule
Let my eyes finally look up, I won't be fooled

I am disgusted with this gothic disguise
I'm breaking through, going into the light
And There is NO WAY you're going to stop making it shine...
Just let me out...
Jiya Jan 2019
they say screaming isn't art
they say it tears your ears apart
brings no substance to the heart

but screaming can be art
a soundtrack to the dark
the da Vinci of the heart

it depends on your tastes
your lifestyle, your faith
the friends you are so desperate to make

but let's make one thing clear
no matter how you feel
screaming is beautiful
to those with the right ear
so don't try to tell them that it brings only fear
a poem about my love for metal music and how many people tend to perceive it in the wrong light and never give it a shot.
Bryce Jan 2019
When we stopped at the mission
The cracked Adobe was a message from god
Saying,

Centuries are just cracks in the stone, my world runs on diamonds and hydrocarbons
On charming interactions
On moments of synchronicity
On rubbing out heat to be dissatisfied into the void
To give feed for the new ones
In the feral zodiacs.

She frowned at this answer, said she wanted something less ethereal,
Something tight to clutch
Like the Parthenon's Corinthian columns
Or the great gables of a Neverending tabernacle
She was a greedy and godly girl

I was stupified, staring intently at the cracks
Asking what strange beings were created in between
Tracing the canyon routes with my hands, pressing the palm against the grooves
They were warm with lost sunshine, they had dust and life and creatures of God that sought not the gaze of us, but the eternal love of the dark

I have neglected many times this fact of life, pretending to be a stone in a world of pulsating flesh
Wanting to be abused eternally in exchange for experience

To be Boulder--
With granite cheeks and dusted neck
With cobalt eyes and chiseled chest
Tectonic movement, sparring feet
And left forever towards the seas.
Mackenzie Dec 2018
He has always been there
Throughout each year
Every struggle
Every falling tear
every car ride
The sparkle in his eyes
Always kept me alive
He is precious
He belongs to me and
He is my rock
**** men but
This poem goes out to mans best friend
I love my dog
M.D
Riley Cartwright Dec 2018
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I'm Scared Of Burning
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I'm Scared Of Drowning
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I'm Scared Of Soaring Too High
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I'm Scared Of Hitting Rock Bottom
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I'm Scared Of Life
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Marya0324 Nov 2018
Each time that I assume
I've reached life's rock bottom
I discover new depths
With each hopeless problem
I sink once more, further
With each soul-crushing blow
Can someone hear my voice?
I'm suffocating below.
When will it ever stop?
I'm so done with it all
When I try to stand still
I continue to fall.
Day tripper. (An Acrostic)
~~~~~~~~
Day tripper.
An Angel of the streets
Yes  looked good in the dark with light behind

Though her behind sagged She were a tripper
Ripping through every penny that she made.
I knew her when she was young n beautiful
Pimps ran her life now and oh how she’d aged
Persecuted by the cops with the tricks to play
Eventually she became the tripper every day.
Rita was the meter maid of Liverpool they Say

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Written by Philip.
She had a ticket to ride
But she don’t care.
November 4th 2018.
A nodding tribute to the Beatles.
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