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killian Mar 16
where does a moon like you find herself on a Friday night?
when the sun takes a rest, when you finally 'come bright
will you say something clever, will you open my eyes?
will you deceive me in your sun-cloaked disguise?

you leave me fiddling with crumbs of anorthite
you leave me staying alone, alright, albite
but all you say opposes how you ostracize
but––and––i'd never want you if it were otherwise

would you ever tell me what's wrong and what's right?
where the first place was that ever knew any light?
how that place lived for millenniums without any skies...
oh, there's something about you that is just so wise...

how could I ever tell you goodnight?
we're reaching higher and hotter in fahrenheit
and here comes the dripping dyed sunrise
you're really going to make me soliloquize?

even after I've been so **** polite
you take me, you make me a victim of spite
after the rocks of your soul you'd advertise
like i have no other choice but to burglarize

me took you, a one stand night
so **** fulfilling, can I get another bite?
you take my brain, you make me unwise
spin me in circles and close my wide eyes

and in your cold night you gave me frostbite
you shut off communications, you **** satellite
but I'm still all about you, I still fantasize
to take you unwanted, we still romanticize
sarah Feb 25
looking back now at the screenshots of my conversations
i realize that the sunshine might have just been rain
maybe that's how i cope; replacing pain with contentment
to wish to go back to a time i once wished to escape
Em Jan 17
I bask in the glory
Radiated from the sun
The heat works to encompass me
In its loving embrace

Shining over the earth
Dropping and raising petals
Never stopping
Never ceasing to exist

There were gods named after her, after all.
i dont know what im doing?????? im tired but i haven't posted here in a while
the sun is good, the sun is gREAAAAAAAT,,,,
Skeleton Prince Apr 2018
Perceiving the taste of yesterday's forgotten sandwich.
I, soon feel the caress of my fingers subsiding the itch for a ***.

With tears of penitence.
I, recall the woman I've romanticized other than you.
Content with passion they had shed onto me.
Kartikeya Jain Feb 2018
Do not romanticize
to a point
that you become
a part of it.
John Benjamin Apr 2017
It is not some dusty frame,
            hanging rusty nails;
                        chaotic mess.

            No es amor solo amar, to you,
                      just some language you,
                                can't comprehend.

Distraught, despaired, disheveled,
                a dystopian novel notion,
                     There's no need;
you don't need to patronize.

Cold hand upon cold hand;
       lifeless smiles colluding.

                                 And as if you were a Monet sunrise,
my impression of you is that of drunken brush strokes,
                                                        ­                   dull blues,
                                               and angry orange hues,
Left on display within a rotting, wooden frame.
Anonymous4070 Aug 2016
A man in the moon?
What a foolish thought.
It's not a man up there,
really it's not.

It's a boy with craters for freckles,
a mischievous face.
Stuck in an endless,
eternal race.

He chases the girl,
with stardust for hair.
He rarely catches her,
but the boy doesn't care!

For every now and them,
when they finally meet,
he feels a feeling so pure,
and so utterly sweet.

Sun and moon meet,
planets collide.
It looks like nothing more,
when you're on the outside.

But every few times a year,
that little boy swoons.
That hopeless romantic,
the boy in the moon.
one of my favorites I wrote while on poetfreak
jennee Aug 2016
her eyes would go
to all sorts of faraways
body, mind and soul disconnected
yet merged into the perfect embodiment
breathing in a world filled with plastic and insincerity
behold are her hands that work wonders and as her words of pure,
she is the clearest vast of ocean and slate you will ever come across to witness

a flower amongst a field of defiled individuals
she is, if not, the closest to perfect

The Tinkerer Jul 2016
Cotton clouds,
Chariots of the moon.

Carry with them my love.
From me
*to you.
Racquel Tio Jun 2016
I've learned to sort my pain
into stanzas
containing all of the beauty I don't feel.

so I write the poetry I can't live
and live the poetry I can't write.

with each word i attempt
to romanticize
skinny thighs
a mothers lies
or a daughters cries
in hopes that one day I'll watch my memories
the way you read them.
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