The secret lives that we live
The poems that I write
You have no idea
Not that they are about you
Except this one
And a couple more
Ok, maybe a few.
Even lousy writing is terrific practice
Or so they say
I have been practicing
Painting ink on a page

All I can produce
Is sketchy scribble
Illegible and unintelligible
Words that I let dribble

Leaving the canvas blotched and stained
Maybe some will appreciate my thoughts
It is my medicine
From going insane.
anne r May 13
Nang ‘di masilayan ang iyong mukha,
Ako’y tila ba nanlumo’t nanghina.
Salitang “mahal kita”,
Bakit ba ‘kay hirap sabihin?

Nakita ko ang iyong litrato,
Kailan pa naging ganoon kaliwanag ang mga ngiti mo?
Na para bang ito’y konektado,
At kumikislap ‘yan mga mata mo.

Abutin mo ang aking kamay,
Halina’t sabay tayong maglakbay,
Laban sa mundong puno ng lumbay,
Ikaw at ikaw pa rin,
Ang nais na makasama, habang buhay.
I scribbled some words on the edge of a napkin
Hoping at home they would make sense to read
But all I could see was disjointed confusion
And perhaps that was all that I ever could need
Kush Feb 13
I see war movies
in the night a little late
That's only place I find
People with greater pain

I see it when I'm sad
I see it when I feel disabled
I see it when I need pals
I see it to feel less miserable

I saw a man in wildfire
And another burning it
There was one in vicious smoke
There was one making it

I saw the little devil blast
I saw lots of flying metal
I saw men killing fellow men
And it squinched my heart a little

Men lost their lives in war
Some only died half
Curse with a lot worse
They'll have to die in parts

Love doesn't pierce your flesh
Or leave any visible scars
But for I know and all I know
I'd rather be at war
Nylee May 2017
Stuck with the same thoughts ,
How will I conjure something new ?
Feeling nothing different ,
What should I scribble about ?
Using same pattern ,
I have done this before .
Next page