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Yassine 5h
Reveal on your beliefs
And i will get you on your knees
Some are made to Speak
Others are made to Feel
No matter the Shapes and Colors you take
You remain in the Bleak
Ella 6h
believing when the world crumbles
She won’t crumble with it
The girl in the red dress
A wild horse- a beauty galloping at full speed
Never forgetting her worth or her means
full of fireworks
With a passion overwhelmed
by the aching love of the world
The girl in the red dress
Who is freer then any being
Because she lets herself be
Yet more tied down then she seems
The girl in the red dress
Who will fight ferousicialy for anything
And anyone
To the girl in the red dress
Who has the wisdom of the moon
And the brightness of
The sun
The girl in the red dress is the person I want to be.  She is  the person who is me, but it’s taking me a while to find her vibrancy. This poem is about finding yourself and being brave. One day, I will be the girl in the red dress. I dream of that day.
Poetry for me since sadly losing my wife has now become the love of life
just can't stop writing not that I want
In a way poetry saved my life, So all of you who are thinking of taking up poetry writing then, please
For I know you'll never look back, write what you feel, believe In what you write, don't be afraid to just write
For sometimes to you It might not make a whole lot of sense, but others will see through your words and read the true meaning of the feeling you
Then we all become poets In our own rights, and this world becomes a much nicer place thank's to the poetry you all write
This Is a poem written In hope of encouraging more people to believe In themselves and put pen to paper and write poetry
and hopefully they love It like I do and the world will be a much nicer place through their
Becca 10h
I dove through a deep sea of myself
to find the crystal
I had been looking for all along
Gabriela 13h
I am a heirloom of my mother's sadness and my father's dreams
I am a shell filled with fears and wishes

I am a flower growing in the sidewalk
I am that person you walk past by when you're in a hurry to meet your lover
I am the friend who forgets your birthday but stays up late holding your hand

I am warm skin and quick heartbeat
I am a numb mind and shaky hands
I am burning tears falling over a smile

I am amor fati and memento mori
Gemma 17h
You do not exist .
Breathless, meaningless, self absorbed intolerance
Draw bags under my
eyes and attempts on
my wrists.
I am content ,you know,
Something I'll cheerfully admit.
If depression was a lesson
I'd be a professional
But my profession would be part of my past
And I would have moved on to something I couldn't resist-
Self love.
It's taking a long time to learn this discovery
But I've come to terms that I won't settle for chosen
I want to be respected
And really there's no hurry because I'm moving with the wind and nothing can stop me.
So many distractions
And only a little time
And I'm really trying to try
And thank you thank you thank you-
Because I'm forgetting who you are and I'm feeling kinda in to this.
Gabriela 23h
loving myself was like a broken mirror
never knowing how i look
who i am
what do i have to give
completely, fully
if i'm not torn to pieces

i can only see parts
in some pieces, shaped like diamonds
i am a daughter, a friend, an artist
someone worth figthting for

in others, the pieces like sand in my eyes
the only thing that these fragments reflect
are pure darkness
interrumped only by a sharp, crystal clear type of pain

i am the broken mirror
i give the parts of me that are bright
and keep the ones that scare me
so that one day i can fill the cracks with silver and gold
and maybe then, i will know who i am
I've been watching poetry slams lately, i tried to let go and forget about the "rules" (not that i followed them a lot to begin with)
Kat 1d
Ask me to picture a memory
And I'll probably think of my worst
I'll probably remember
Raised voices and angry words
Sharp like shards of glass;
Blood running down my arm
In rivulets of red;
The dark of a closet
Where I hid from parents, pleas,
And a face streaked with tears;
A young life slipping away
Silent after so much suffering

Ask me to picture a memory
And these are the images I see
But I know I have good memories filed away
Locked in a box in my mind
Encased in an enclosure
That anxiety and depression
Have not destroyed
And all of my
Photos, journals, music, mementos,
The words, the faces of family and friends  
Can serve as keys

When I feel
Sad, lonely, angry, scared
I want to take out these memories
Blow the dust off their surface
Caress their faded corners
Run their edges along my rough skin
Relearn their shape, their smell, their sound
And feel the contentment coursing through my veins
The bloom of happiness in my heart
The ache of nostalgia in my stomach

I want to remember
Stories shared
Under a starry sky;
Snow glistening on a mountaintop;
Cathedrals and cobblestone streets
Echoing with the languages
I learned to understand;
Duets sung in a distant land;
Late-night conversations
Dissolving into laughter

These memories
Show me what I have to live for
And I want to live each day
As if it might be my last
Because my experiences
Have taught me that it might
I want to fill this box
Until its contents overflow
Bulging out the lid
Spilling into my mind
Until they leak into my consciousness
Replace my sorrow with serenity
My anger with amusement
My hurt with hope
My panic with pleasure
My regret with relief
Until you ask me to picture a memory
And I pick something happy
I often think of a box as something that keeps bad things hidden away, but I like the idea of a box holding keepsakes that can be kept safe and accessed by you at any time.
Whether it's an insult
or compliment,
their "two cents"
should never equal
your self worth.

Pay attention
to what makes you
                                                                                                        and realize
                                                      you are                                                      
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