glamour of a piece of art

beauty of a masterpiece

is a hidden story of a dark

unheeded by anybody.

the scribblings, the scratches

ain't waste thrown in bin

they may look chaotic

but they have deeper meanings

the scratches hide pain

the scribblings hide tears.

the mess hold the words

buried inside the fears.

unsaid words, unexpressed feelings

unheeded tears and Unnoticed scribblings.

is like the moon with the scars

cuz its in the darkness it reflects joy.

the beauty of the masterpiece

lies not only in the piece

but in the moonlight

and scribblings.
From a writer to every other writer, never thrown away the rough parchments of your masterpieces cuz you never know that you might be throwing away some words that might help you through your own problems.
a year of training and I'm still unable

to lift these sandbags from my eye curtains
at 6', 179 lbs (19% body fat) I can hold my own, but I still find myself losing the battle against fatigue, especially on mornings when I decide to fast.
she looked a bit smothered

in her ranch dressing
on the interwebs wanking

and looking for ***

you might get some love

if you put down the tech

I have been people-watching

and the things I observed,

have left me much more

than a little disturbed

our future is doomed

as the youth of our nation

lack basic skills,

like communication

clean their cars out

for Facebook

'cos they think that the world

gives a **** how their face looks

and they want their neighbors,

friends to see

their perfect,

plastic "family"
I feel the urge,
I feel the ache,
I feel my stomach
start to quake

must find my throne
exalted seat
a place where I
can find release

I wonder what
it's all about
as lines and verse
just slides right out

and when it comes
the proper time,
I raise my seat,
observe my rhymes

I can't resist
the urge to look
at what came out
at what I cooked

and when I'm done,
I pull the ****
and send it down
to all you slobs

to make you gag,
to make you think
besides, I'm proud
of how it stinks
Dylan Mcconnell May 2018
One day...

One day the anger won't be so hot.
I will subside from being mad at you leaving.
I will have compassion for you instead.
I will lessen my hurt and change it into a beautiful masterpiece.
I will recreate my anger into art.
And that art, that ******* art, will be the most beautiful art I create.

One day the sadness won't be so darkening.
I will be able to breathe from the fact you left too soon.
I will not hide behind you, depression.
I won't **** myself in spite of you.
I won't live in fear anymore.

One day the shame and guilt won't swallow you so whole.
I won't hold myself to everything you said.
I will understand we all **** up.
I will be able to recede the waves from swallowing me whole.

One day *** will take me from everything I hold whole, and recreate me.
But not today, not tomorrow, not 5 years from now.
Stephanie Jan 7
Can I take a day?
I just can't do it, is that enough of an exuse?
I couldn't get up this morning because I felt like vomiting from the simple thought of interacting with others, is that even an exuse?
Is it ridiculous that I cried myself to sleep last night and couldn't get any sleep because of memories and moments that have been long gone for years?
I don't even know how I remembered those certain moments because I'm pretty sure everyone else forgot about that little insignificant slip up I am too cowardly to let go.
If my fingers shake from picking up the phone in order to make a phone call to call out, am I making a big deal out of what other people do so easily?
Is it odd the way I bite my nails in fear of social interactions or upcoming deadlines?
I wouldn't have to fear that deadline if I had just done my work on time but I'm left with extra mounds of work to finish because I got distracted and disheartened from finishing something so easy.
Did you know I lie awake looking at my wrists and wondering what it would be like to cut just one little line?
I swear it will be just one time I wouldn't want everyone to know I actually meant those suicidal jokes, that would just ruin the punchline don't you think?
Even if I feel not up to doing anything, does it matter?
Excuse me for being sensitive.
I apologize for not being like everyone else who has their life together.
I apologize for being such a disappointment to my family.
From the way I burned through books I bet they thought I was going somewhere, preferably harvard of course.
It didn't matter how lonely I was, the lack of friends meant that I wasn't out doing meaningless stuff like forming a connection with other people.
Oh dear me, I was the teachers pet in middle school every adult loved me.
They had high expectations for me.
It didn't matter that I was isolated and considered the oddball.
They thought I was a genius.
Their approval was the only thing that was relevant about me.
Imagine the surprise it was that I didn't get straight A's.
Harvard never sent me an email of acceptance.
I was simply anxiety ridden me.
What a disappointment, they expected me to go to some prestigious university and discover the cure to some fatal illness.
I was supposed to go places.
I am deeply sorry, if I cry could I be excused?
So considering all of that and so much more, can I take a day?
Every time I feel myself falling, I try to grab onto you.
Slipping my arm through yours, hand locking around your waist.
Broadcasting your warmth from every pore - I relent, knots unwinding
for that second before you steel up tall, lock your chin, and frown.
Then you shake me loose. I can see on your face that you don’t want to push me away
Which is why you’re not. You’re shaking me over the centre of the earth
But it is my gravity that will claw me down and **** me.

This is your epicentre. The point where all your earthquakes start:
You did not push me down the whole. You merely shook me loose over it. Differentiation.
Hey so lately I've been struggling a lot with my partner. We don't go to bed together anymore. Anyone who reads my poetry (so no one) will realise that perhaps it hasn't been good for a while. Last night he came to bed at 07.30am - we hadn't even been out. This is not the life I look forward to.
Kathleen M Dec 2018
You're a dumb dude
Secretly filming the ****
You do shady *** **** and write poems about it
35 and writing like your 15
With poems like yours it's not hard to be mean 
Your just a man out of his prime bent on the obsene
The cops coming to your house clearly didn't freak you out
So maybe I'll tell your mom what your all about.

You **** and I hate everything about you. Stop writing poems about me.
A ****** little poem about a creepy guy I was seeing, he did some shady **** and I had to get the cop's involved. I found out the other day that he has been writing poems about me and posting them to social media. So this is my response. I may post this series to his social media depending on how I feel about it, I probably won't but I might.
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