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Cross Boundry Sep 23
When people
Talk about love
It always seems shallow.
But really,
How can creatures as simple as I
Be expected to use such a limited medium as language
To express a feeling, an emotion, a pull so deep
A process so quick yet so intricate
As the wide, beautiful waters of love
The raging, welcoming oceans of love;
The ever-confusing, always painful waves of love.
Its never shallow depths that drag me down.
And in the same way love is water,
                                Love is fire
Scorching heat, licking flames, crackling tinder, flying embers.
Love is as complex as fire and water, earth and air, infatuation and attraction.
It hurts beautifully and pleases terribly.
But we look for it in everything.
So if my love poems sound shallow,
if my songs are superficial,
my art simplistic,
Forgive the language’s
lack of expression.
For if the world meant ‘I love you’
Then I’d give you the universe.
it never made sense why i felt so strongly for her
What a depth of
Depth of thought
Depth of wisdom
Depth of understanding
Depth of emotions
Depth of feelings
Poets on HelloPoetry demonstrate
What a deep messages lie
Cliches are put to shame
Trash doesn't find trash to hide
The poets are eulogised
Difficult for shallow or no poet like me to survive
Please interpret this poem both ways.
Mitch Prax Sep 1
How am I meant to
dive into your heart when the
water is shallow?

10:38 PM
I feel like Darkness speaks to me
And I know she is not a person
But if she was we would be best friends
I'd keep her by my side and let her hold my hand
But no, she is not a person
She could never say she loves me back
Still, I'll keep her inside
Because her hugs feel like home
And her eyes look like my own
And she never lets go
She would never let me go
Like happiness did
True story
Bryn Kennell Jul 8
Oh ugly butterfly
They think less of you

When you were a caterpillar
There was hope
The children caught you
Placed you in a jar
Picked you leaves
And watched you grow

From a cocoon
Sprouted wings
But "oh no"
They were not colorful

The children released you
Just let you go
"Fly away ugly butterfly"
They scream and shout
"We do not love you
for you are not beautiful"
The children did not love him, for he was not beautiful.
Nigdaw Jul 6
not there for the birth of love
nor the conception really either
already moved on to pastures new
greener grass new playgrounds
I will miss you as you were
a delicate beauty blooming
in the warmth of summer sun
skin un-sinned flesh un-tarnished
a curiosity of unexplored emotions
badly answered selfishly shattered

I have lived a life of absence
never there when needed
only answering the call of lust
never the one to bring flowers
just invasive thoughts and gestures
never the one to talk on pillows
after passion in the darkness
the timeless time of lovers
the loveless time of *******
like me already gone

the attraction of a moth to a flame
Jana Pelzom Jun 4
I am running out of things to say,
There is yet much to feel,
Is it really worth anything ?
Relatable or not relatable;
What does it really mean?
I am running out of things to say,
Because it seems
I have now stopped listening.
Hypocrisy ©️ 2020 Jana Pelzom
liakey Apr 23
give me a number,
the appropriate label,
and compare me to the rest.

set me aside for a rainy day when you’ve exhausted through your list.

lets face it,
i’m just another: nothing more, nothing less.

everything i am to you
is that which you can see.

you simplify me down
to something for your frail mind read.

sometimes I wonder if this feeling is the voice of my own perceived inadequacy?
will someone ever really just love me for me?
Many were born,
accepting the image;
my love is torn,
as she blends in assemblage.

Out with the old,
and in with the new;
the poets, while bold,
will dwindle to few.

I'm one of the brave,
who dared SAVE the beauty,
and still managed to behave,
as her gaze passed over me.

What is it here,
that my heart hasn't got?
maybe I'd sell myself, dear,
to give people what they're not.

Chase, chase the love,
of what may fill the empty,
glamour, and shine might move,
but your memory'd never leave me.

All in a daze work,
they'll measure the rhythm,
it'll make me a ****,
but I could stand in line with them.

Vying for the affection,
yet selling the dream,
no objection to injection,
of their soul snatching scheme.
A perfectionist.. but on what level? And which one counts?
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