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Poetry by MAN Jan 2015
As days do pass we look and seek
Our hearts have words we never speak
To our minds our hearts do tell
Who we love we love them well
To some we are mystery
Discovered in ones history
All out there like the news
Read a page then we choose
Adventure in the discovery
Pain in the recovery
Some will never read the book
Regret the chances never took
Life goes on till we're dead
Reality still moves ahead
Time moves slow and then real fast
Precious moments that we cast
Created like the finest art
Add our flavor do our part
To reach a common destiny
Cherish each others company
So much love we all waste
Don't let frustration change your face
Let it in then let it go
Release the breath of your soul
In our mind we make the turn
Learn from all the pain we earn
Gather it up create a giant fireball
Shoot it out release it all
Ashes blow in the wind
Time for this Phoenix to be reborn again
Challenge me take me to task
To love you as the moments pass
M.A.N 12-31-14 I'm trying to write longer for Slam competition material! ^_* I look forward to competing/performing this poem in the future..
mouse Dec 2014
i killed
a man
so long
ago
and now
his blood
rolls down
my wrists
i don't
have holes
biting through
my hands
but there's holes
inside
my heart
and through
my thoughts.

*(e.f.)
jacky Dec 2014
It all began with a ‘he’
he who said I was pretty
  when my face turns sideways and
  the right amount of sunlight casts shadows
  on the planes of my cheeks
he who kissed me in 6th grade
  in front of my best friend – whom he used to date,
  his lips were cool and moist
  moist – it didn’t feel anything.
he who requested love songs during our high school intramurals
  when all of my friends and all of his friends
  cheer us up like we were the sweetest thing they’ve seen.
he who danced with me the whole night of our junior prom,
  my shoes dangling behind him, my arms and his arms were sweating
  he whispers now, “You look beautiful.”
he who gave me wilting flowers on the 15th of February
  because I skipped school – too scared to face the truth
  that no one would do what he just did. He proved me wrong.
he who said “I love you” too late.
he who said “I love you” too early.
He who made me believe that fate, destiny, sparks, forever, and all that *******
  were real, written in His holy book. Should I still believe in you?
he who said would wait – the next month telling me he realized
  it wasn’t me he was waiting for.
he who told me to stay.
he who left. he who never went back.
and oh – he
he who was never here in the first place.

it all began with a “she”
she who danced in front of the class
  with all her sass, snaps, and we laugh.
she whose hair used to be straight
  swaying down her waist, flows smoothly when she walks,
  falls perfectly down her collarbones. Let’s not start with collarbones.
she whose eyelids flutter like butterfly wings
  making the ones inside my stomach dance like hummingbird’s wings
  her eyelashes are thick, outlining her brown eyes – her perfect brown eyes.
she who throws he head back when she laughs
  not knowing I drift and crash back to the sea
  like a wave thrown back by her chuckles and laughter
she who reads and reads tons of books
  when she could write about her day
  and that’ll still be the greatest stories I could read
she who held me close when she stumbles towards the bus station
  when she’s drunk
she who wanted nothing between us – worried it will not work.
but she made the raindrops of yesterday meaningful
  so it could wash off all the hurt from everything, from everyone.
she who changed me. – no.
she who made me face the mirrors I’ve been running away from
  all those lies I’ve been hiding alone
  all those pain, all those bad memories
she washed them all away, like a hurricane
   she dragged my whole town with her
she who made me forget.
she who makes me ache at times but it’s the kind of ache
  you’d gladly take – a suffering worth all the suffering
she who outshined all of – in the best possible way I could imagine
she who made the stars insignificant.

It doesn’t end with a ‘he’
It doesn’t end with a ‘she’
it all ends up with a simple ‘who’
that person who will always come through
for you

I learned that love sometimes doesn’t last that long
sometimes it doesn’t even start at all.
But I know one thing, you cannot fight it.
I don’t know where – maybe in his hands
or in her eyes. It will make you move like you
have no choice at all – like a puppet stuck
******* and down nylon strings
by the puppeteer
dictating your life
like you have no choice, at all.
This is supposed to be for Slam Poetry =) But I guess, it's okay to post it here.
IsReaL E Summers Dec 2014
Ive never been much until You touched the crutch is gone and now im singing a brand new song You came along and took me from the grave You saved me!......
AND NOW I'M SO MUCH MORE! HOW CAN I AFFORD TO BE ANYTHING LESS THAN WHAT THE LORD HAS CALLED ME TO BE I AM FREE NO MORE SLAVERY BECAUSE OF HIS BRAVERY HE REACHED DOWN AND PLACED A CROWN UPON THIS HEAD I ONCE WAS DEAD BUT NOW I AM ALIVE IN CHRIST EVERY NIGHT I FIGHT THESE DEMONS THAT TRY TO PUSH ME DOWN SIX FEET UNDER THE GROUND SO I TURN AROUND, AND HEAR THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SOUND
I Love you more than you could ever understand you don't know what is going to happen but you know that I have a plan understand that my hand holds molds into the kind of man that can withstand the greatest attack, I GOT YOUR BACK I say to you there's nothing you lack
and how can I resist the love of a God who knows my deepest insides knows all my sin but tells me I can win in this competi-shin' for my soul I give You control and so, I'll never lose because I choose to follow You in all that I do...
In all that I do....

                             *in all that. I do.
This one was a few years later. At my buddy nates house. He played guitar and I freestyled (not on paper) it came out allmost exactly the way it is read except I do remember stuttering at one point for a brief moment. (**** fear!) Haha hope you enjoy Peace! ^-^
Spencer Dennison Dec 2014
It's too often in this life when we pretend
that every deep-end is a wading pool
and every fool with a dream
is a philosopher in disguise;
because we weave lies into silk and grieve
every time a tree falls with no-one around to hear
but we still appear to fear our past paths
more than our futures.

We live in a world built with false pretenses
and barbed wire fences,
but we still make wire cutters for every time
he mutters of freedom reached our ear.
We make the road ahead clear
with a You Shall Not Pass mentality,
swapping between dreams and reality so fluidly
it seems that we will never truly wake again.
If I could make amends for everything I've done,
I'd take a pass,
because sometimes you'll only be sorry
if in the process you look like an ***.
But everyday, in the looking glass,
I see a man just a little older than the day before
with the worst day behind him
and a new one in store
and a future no bright, no-one could even try to ignore.

My poetry is hardly crowd control,
but I'd like to think that winter night's stroll
through my mind wouldn't be hard but it would.
Because even the urge to do right and do good
gets lost in translation
and each radio station is broadcasting spells
and each songs just a hermit crab in an already used shell.
Am I expected to enjoy that?
I'm not better, but anyone better would crush them flat.

I digress, I suppose what I'm trying to say
is that this sorry mess of a love story
has gotten to a gory conclusion
and I can still make magnetic fusion with the ashes left.
It's hard to carry on when each footstep leaves behind
a memory people can use to find you,
but my heart can still beat black and blue
and I know that I'll have a place
no matter where my road takes me to.
Spencer Dennison Nov 2014
I wasn't very good at poetry when I was young.
I would stumble over the concept of rhymes
and at times couldn't hold an idea in my head.
I'm still young,
but somewhere along the way
my mind evolved and my heart
found it's voice.
I guess you could say
I grew up...

But I was never planted in the soil
of complete certainty.
I was watered by aqueducts dripping
misfortune and misdevelopment,
as if gripping reality had become a chore
and at some point I guess
I grew bored of it.

I didn't come here to cry.
I didn't come here to spin tales
of how my childhood was worse than most.
But I think we are all somewhat haunted
by our juvenile years,
as if each playground became a ghost town
and each classroom became a lost-and-found
for what we should know by now but don't.

I wasn't very good at poetry when I was young,
but somewhere between now and then
I grew up.
But only candles grow shorter as they grow older
and I will never again find sanctuary
among the monkey bars and tire swings.
I never felt welcome
but I was.
I just wish I knew that then.
Spencer Dennison Nov 2014
We ****** ourselves upon labels,
like an acrotophiliac forcing his legs in a beartrap
that just won't close.
As if this world could ever be as generous
as tales and fables.
For every time we let ourselves feel,
we are allowing ourselves to be peeled apart
by those that think themselves better.
For every heart bleeding,
paper cut on a love letter,
we can find enough pain to store away for later.
Pain to share.

Every time I walk out in the world,
I feel pins set on every inch of my skin.
Every time I let someone in,
I'm rarely exposing myself to anything other
than a bull in a china shop.
But still, every time I drop to the ground,
I can make myself believe I've found
a reason to get back up.
Even now, I've got pain.
Pain to share.

In a world built on lies, oil
and the sweat brought from toil
of people overseas,
we can still somehow see an enemy
in who once we called a friend.
Till' the bitter end,
we cry tears like rain,
condensation on the window frame,
but it won't be over any time soon.
We shoot for the moon,
with the hope of landing among stars,
but we find ourselves frozen husks
within an hour of our departure.
Because, I fear,
there was always a reason we had an atmosphere.
But it's not perfect
and these 'exceptions' are starting to fall near to me.
But whether I die right here,
or there,
or anywhere,
I do and always will have pain.
Pain to Share.
This is my comeback after a poetically barren several months. I hope it reflects how I've been feeling.
Josh Allen Nov 2014
I’m going to be talking about 2 things today

1. school

2. bullying

let’s talk about school
in the dictionary school is, and i quote, “an institution for educating children”.

in the urban dictionary school means: A place where everyone secretly hates each other including students, staff and teachers and is a nightmare. They force you to do useless work while they also expect you to put up with peer pressure like your home life and social life.

now lets talk about my definition of school

school is a place i’ve been going for the past almost 17 years of my life
school is a place where i’ve a made a bunch of friends and a bunch of enemies

i’ve lost some friends
i’ve made some friends

i’ve dealt with heartbreak

but we all have

we’ve all gone through the make-up, break-up stuff

and now onto our second topic, bullying

i see some people here in the audience who i have taken a punch from

did i ever befriend them? no

they still treat me like i’m sort of pile of garbage on the side of the street waiting to be taken to the dump

why did i get bullied?

because i’m different

i dress different, i listen to different music, my haircut is different

but also because people like to question my sexuality

i’m straight

i am interested in females

“why do you care”, i say

“because you look gay”

how does one look gay?

do i take it as an insult? god no

there is nothing wrong with homosexuality in any sort of way

i have a shirt that says “i support same-*** marriage” and i’m proud to wear it

the point of all the stuff i’ve been saying about school is that school *****, but we need it.

the point of all the stuff i’ve been saying about bullying is that we all need to focus on important things like that because there are have been plenty of things like suicide and school shootings because of that one thing.

thank you
Layla Thurman Nov 2014
I can't bear to dream
for each time I reach out
feeling as my fingers brush the clouds
believing for a moment that I am free
It crushes me when my heart
is driven into the ground
because men were not made
to have their heads in the clouds
thats why we don't have wings.
each attempt at dreams is futile.
and yet we try and try again
what is it that makes us so resistant
to listening to our bodies scream
as we continue to cause them pain
What is it that makes us fall in love
or hate another so strongly
that it begins to consume us.
Is this what dreams were meant to be and do?
Or simply what humans have turned it into?
jennifer wayland Oct 2014
I'm sorry for being a natural disaster.

I'm sorry the way my mood changes turns you into a quiet rumble of thunder, always dragging behind the lightning bolt until the full force of nature's fury is pounding down on your head.

I'm sorry for skidding into your world like a golden-tinged summer daydream and leaving it like a levee breaking.

I'm sorry for writing about you so much that your name is carved into my fingertips like water shapes a rock formation -- my journal probably wouldn't weigh so much if all my baggage wasn't crammed inside it.

I'm sorry that I can only write in figurative language lately but the concise truth is like walking barefoot on ice and after a while it's so cold it burns:

I never really loved you.

But admitting it means hailstones of lies battering my already-crumbling storm shelter, all our sunny afternoons grayed out by cloud cover.

And I'm sorry beyond all the weather metaphors in the world, but I can't bear that.
Wrote the backbone of this in the ten minutes given during class, then tweaked it a little bit at home, but it's still 100% based on that overdone "girl like a natural disaster" thing. Got me out of my writer's block a little bit though.
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