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M May 2019
my torment is one of clouds and flowers
freckles upon sun-kissed oranges
like roses through honey
& vivid eyes like the abstraction of Renaissance pieces

oh butterfly how you make my heart melt
chocolate brownie wonders with giggles on top
your effervescence brighter than a summer's day
entrapping my purity within your oppressive interior

our silences are filled with images of my creation
a cornucopia of passion for even the loneliest of wordsmiths

I leap into our pool of nostalgia for old time's sake
only to find your words transform into serpents.

whirlwinds of emotion now whispered into the ears of another
burning adorations into scarred remains
a work in progress. as always, comment what you think down below!
Connor May 2019
His smile is like an
Evening on the beach.
The waves rising to
Meet our feet,
Tickling our toes.
The breeze flowing,
Sighing as it passes us.
The last birds are
Returning to their
Home and families.
The butterflies in my
Stomach are rumbling
With excitement;
His smile makes my evening.
Kind of trash, kind of cute. It's not about me, but this description I gave makes it sound like it is lol
Dillon Balnius Apr 2019
Translucent memories
Leafs falling from the trees
Green flowers
White rectangles
Blue circles
Fire in the water
Strength has faltered
Vacant in the mind
No track of time
Hannah thomas Apr 2019
Don't you dare tell her
that you ever loved her
Don't you dare teach her
that that is what love looks like

How dare you teach her
to feel so small
How dare you teach her
to swallow her words

How dare you look at her bruises
and call them friendly reminders
How dare you teach her
that love can be violent

How dare you hold her heart
like it was made of thorns
How dare you leave her
like she was the poison

How dare you treat her
like she did not spend her nights
******* the venom
out of your veins

How dare you speak of her like dust
when she was the only one bold enough to love you.
I used to believe the things you told me, but I am no longer the little girl you disregarded.
River Reed Mar 2019
Stories are to Scheherazade—protection from a looming King, as love is to all beneath the deepest sorrows of life.
Her Mar 2019
Crisp like an apple
Sweet as a grape
Deep like a fire
Cool as the morning dew
Gentle like the morning sound
Secretive as the light creeping in
Warm like my bed on a winter morning
Hard as my mother’s words
Happy like my fathers smile
Addicting as cigarette smoke
My crumbling home calls to me
Gigi Feb 2019
Constantly finding more of me through each and every simile
Jade Welch Feb 2019
The ache was a parcel:

I knew it'd arrive soon,
but when it did,
it wasn't as great as I had expected.
kiran goswami Jan 2019
And on some days
I just can't write.
I skim through pages
and
scribble my name a thousand times
and
End up realising,
I just can't write.
My diaries and notebooks lie open,
Blank,
White.
I look at my own words
and
End up realising,
I just can't write.
I stumble upon words
And fall insides holes of oxymorons,
And I end up realising,
my name and writing together are also an oxymoron.
I look for inspirations and motivations
But end up realising,
I just can't write.
I personify my emotions,
Add similes to my feelings,
Just like a heart broken by love does.
But I still end up realising,
I just can't write.
I read poems and stories
Of writers who could write,
Feeling, maybe someday even I would be able to.
I battle with metaphors
and
Scratch the onomatopoeias,
I injure the meanings
and
Spill my thoughts through my veins.
I shout " Alohamora " to my heart a million times.
I trace through the lines of the endings of my stories.
I try to go on like the brook forever,
and
I hear the voice of the solitary reaper in the daffodil fields.
Yet, as the day ends,
I end up realising,
I just can't write.
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