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Poetic T Sep 14
The web we weave,

                only catches the
flies of our misdeeds.

We may have droplets,
        of regrets hanging
           in the morning
but they dry up.

remember life is a web intricate,
           and flawless.

the only ones that can cause ruination
                  are ourselves.

           never catch what you cant handle.
devine Feb 13
what is it
just another sound
i begin to knit
for another round

come to think about it
it never quit
i’m feeling it
from the bottom of a pit

one sight in years
unbearable tears
liberty sounds lovely
but it is heavenly

they say this is worth
anything else is dirt
i take it for granted
letting myself pricked

does it get better
it does taste bitter
does it ever end
i can only pretend

cause this is the sewer
where people suffer
idling the reality
and nurtures it within

frankly
i’m aching for light
but alas
the thread lasts

and there’s nothing i can do about it
Pyrrha Sep 2018
Carefully the needle penetrates into my skin
With every new puncture the thread follows along

In and out again and again
Till it reaches the end and finally
A harsh pull, a few tugs

Then the string is snipped free at last
Its been completely sewn shut

Only after you closed me up
Did you ask me how my day was
How I was feeling

But what could I say
With my mouth sewn shut?
cait-cait May 2018
i am holding an axe...

empty towers stand tall in snow
-
yet
still i climb ,
(each step) —

like
a toy upon a shelf
(i am freezing)/

when
you rip the stuffing out of
me
and try to sew me
shut ,

but the
wound is not healing
(it never will)

and
the walls get stained with nicotine::
(i miss when they were white)

when i come back to, i am lost -
scared
(because it is dark)
.

i
try to howl ,
gurgle instead:
and then
i start to weep-
(and my tears all freeze like little pearls) .
.

when i look for them again,
(those girls)

they have turned into
wolves
(i remember my axe)

and they look me in my eyes —
glimmering//

so
spit on me, again,
i say

i
dare you —
this time,
i am not afraid to bite.

(they do not come back for me)
.
the other title for this poem was “i look at you or maybe you look at me.” I let people on my instagram vote which one they liked better. This is about feeling alone in a battle against many different people you care about. I spent a long time working on it.
Nicholas Fonte Mar 2018
Why is this tragic?
"We reap what we sew"
Even if it ended in failure
Did you not see your face glow?
As you held that fabric
And then started to weave....
You made that suit
Not only that, it's cute
That's why you became a Tailor
You must believe in your own sleeve
found beyond
that
factory

her boyfriends breath
blew me
away

we were persuaded
her fragrance taunted me
it
still
taunts me

her braids trim me
to
this














that old wooden chair she is duct-taped to
her her head forced back
her braided pony tales
tied to the back legs
how she had
grown
grow
into
me
i
preach
who was
she


this madness
brawl with me
what
love
have
i
applied


oh eyes
of
beauty
seek from me
that sparrows wings
May
strengthen me


what light shown
from mine palm
that
******
be known

how mucker further
must she be beaten
her screams
her screams
her screams
are
my
reasoning
?





















...
..
.
she has me buried
with her neck
collar
and
her
eyeshadow
...
we made him cry
i
am
the
one
left
to
wipe the tears
when we tell the truth
?
















...
..
.
we honk
b Jan 2018
i can smell
the liquor
through the phone
while
you
rip
up
all the stitches
you scrambled
to
sew
together.

i don't know why
i keep
wasting
my time.
on these
careless
pursuits.

i cant
tell who
is supposed
to win.
sew
sew
sewn
sewing
stiches
stitched
to my sleeves
tears soaking
simplicity
magnify
times
me
in
i
find myself
me'ing me
perfectly
time hurdles another fence
passport in hand bus stop timed
frequently flown boot soles
composite toed mistletoe
kiss me rosey cheeks
love me dearly
love me
most
love
me
ghosts
learning to sew
?













...
..
.
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