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nim Jul 7
i am a sword
that acts as a shield
and, thus, falls apart.
Jay May 25
A way of expression,
A method of destruction,
A powerful shield,
A mighty weapon,
A piece of art,
An escapism...

No matter what you call it,
Poetry is beautiful.
Keep at it, young poet-
I believe in you.
Leaving this in the notes because I have nowhere else to put it.
My mother has been slowly blocking every social connection I have from my phone, so the only way I have of sharing my experiences as of now is through this website. I don't know what I'll do if this is taken from me.

Side note- my parents are very transphobic, so that's why I've had everything blocked. Once I came out as trans, my mother took matters into her own hands to try and stop me from being trans (or something..)  I hope that, given the current circumstances, you can be patient with my lack of posting. Thank you for reading; it means a lot to me.
Preet Mar 6
My Home....
The shield I had over my emotions was broke,
I turned around, consumed by fear of losing control over the last threads.
But,
He pulled me into his arms and hugged me close.
The intoxicating smell of him lingered in my mind,
I immediately relaxed in those strong arms.
The melodies rhythm of his heart was cherry on the top,
and I felt drifting away.
"Feeling better now, my Lil' fighter," He asked.
His voice was just above a whisper,
but that baritone voice sent a shiver to my spine.
I looked into his eyes,
His hypnotic gaze held my own.
His hands touched my ******* and I instantly felt butterflies swirling around my stomach.
He smiled, bemused by mischievous acts of his own and my reaction.
He came closer and joined his forehead to mine and said
"I always with you, no matter what."
That moment I knew, I found it,
My Home!
Kim Essary Oct 2020
If Love were a battle which side would you choose
For one Side will claim victory  and the other side shall lose
As one side puts trust in armor to protect and shield their heart
As the opposite side wears nothing but trust and faith  as the battle is to start
Arrows begin to sore bouncing from the hearts wearing armor made of steel
Others left wounded and scarred of the ones they don’t ****
Love Will never be felt by the ones left without injury  and walked away
But the ones that had trust and faith   That let down their guard will find true love one day
If you never let down your guard for fear of being hurt you may never feel true love
July Gray Oct 2020
And I'm hurting
And I'm collapsing in on myself
And I just don't want to hurt you

I want to shield you
From a world you're accustomed to
I want to protect you
From things that you've already seen

Because maybe you've been around the world a thousand times
And maybe you've already been cut into pieces
But I haven't
And maybe
Maybe you're the one protecting me

Clasping my hands with yours when I get nervous
Holding me close and hugging me till I want to breathe again

So please, let me stand in front of you
I'll take the brunt of the blow
And I'll know you'll be there to catch me
It's a little bit of love and mostly coming home to you.
Agents of Shield is the show that really has my whole heart
I'm gonna miss them so much, can you take me back to the start?
It was a beautiful journey I went on and now its at its end.
I can't even begin to thank you for my friends.
I've made so many from this show.
I loved to watch all of us grow.
I know we'll be sad once it's over.
But happy it brought all of us closer.
I love you so much I hope you know that.
I'm gonna miss seeing the love shown here in fact.
I could go on and on about the things you did for me.
about how you made my depression leave so I could be free.
It's the simple things like a smile from my favorite person.
It really lit up my day thats for certain.
so now I say goodbye to the show that holds a special place in my heart.
Knowing I'll never truly say goodbye.... if I go from the start.
CC Jul 2020
Truly I have the will inside me
To push my chest out and bare my dignity
Like a thumping paw of an elephant
The sound of who I am beats the ground
Every thump like a chanting
Every chant like a battle-cry
Break their bones if they strike you
Their throws are soft and formless
A fog that poisons
You are protected by the bear in the woods
A massive presence of teeth and claw
Bear in mind
Conquering the battle is not complete without armour and sword
Use your sword with caution
Sparing them for when the season is ripe
Struck whence the shield lowered
You seek for bleeding
You seek for victory
Joy is in the skin scarred without fright
Victory is in the timing of each strike
The sword has discipline in its swift blow
Should not have trace of megalomania
Should win every ****** in order to teach
Lessons to heed the definition of honour
Two victors will defy the battle
When one wins on honour
If the other triumphs pride
Dante Rocío Jul 2020
Aren’t most of us crying
At
The funerals
From our own
“Selfish” reasons?
Not from the dead one’s
Biggest treasure passing
Yet ‘cause we won’t get to feel
Them clearly
For our own needs
And desires?
Anymore?
They are most probably
Joyful,
At least peaceful,
In the new realm
Yet
We mourn
For the moments no longer
For us
To
Be.

How wondering it feels
To think
That usually we are those,
Who must and should learn
To live on and rejoice
After someone’s death
When there comes at last
The moment
When we become those,
Who leave
And are to tell others
Of
It.

Taken out of kitchen in a rush,
In the same tiny cape of black
I use when naked,
Clad,
Now standing before sudden
Church “shanties” and
Of my father’s friend no-more-together
Crowd,
I watch, cry solely
In the colours of thoughts of my eyes.

What are those measly flowers for
If they shall wither soon, Dad?
Why can’t I break now, Dad?
How much did he mean to us, Dad?
...
Dad?
...
Step blocked as such,
Adam grips calmly yet strongly
The collar of my cape
And there’s no more another place
For him
To stay,
Than the crook of my
Seventeen-year-old tanned neck.

Hold his hair, backside,
Protecting all the salty water
He has nobody yet to everyone
To offer.

Can’t move.
Don’t move.
On a funeral of my dad’s friend I cannot remember fully anymore
And who took us in when in trouble.
I didn’t think of his death then and there.
Wondered about us, my death,
The Church’s voices void of personalisation
And how He had that short hold on me
As if gripping his lifeline.
Maybe I was like that for a while.

Of funeral thoughts N*2
Poetic T May 2020
My pen is my shield,


and my words
             my armour.
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