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Tatiana Mar 2018
Not all of us are great.
Not all of us are evil.
So where do you fall
on this spectrum in life?
I fall right in the middle.
© Tatiana
TeeCrush Mar 2018
Of a beautiful heart, and creator of precious art,
You are an artist of a different kind.
You’ve a mind with which I’d love to intertwine.

You are more gorgeous than anything to be found in our skies,
And I’ve found that there are stars in your dark chocolate eyes.
They shine so bright that I can see the gleam,
They are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.

When you smile, there is a glow,
You’ve such a sweet smile,
You could cure sorrow for miles.
You’ve the prettiest lips I’ve ever known.

To come across you in my day makes me so glad,
because when we’re together, there’s always laughs to be had.
You’re my favorite person to be around,
and because of this - your laugh has become my favorite sound.

Burning aspirations, with the intensity of a thousand suns
Captivating creations, to leave viewers speaking in tongues
Charming personality, you are precious and a work of art,
Surpassed my expectations, you are the queen of my heart.

When it comes to creating, you are so skilled - you could forge dreams,
So talented that you’ve created masterpieces - without the means.
I’d love to create alongside you, in art and through and through,
I want you to paint my love with the color of you.

As an artist myself, I’ve learned from someone else,
That to make a pretty color, it takes a combination of four, three, or two
But there aren’t enough colors in the world -
to make justice to the beautiful spectrum that makes you.

And if one day you called me your love,
I don’t think I could ever mind.
But if you decide not, that’d be alright, for I’d still love you blind.
You’re the greatest, you’re the best, you’re the perfect pal,
My Vintage Gal.
I wrote and read this poem to a fellow artist in an attempt to make my declaration. She wasn't into me.
H Phone Feb 2018
Ravished by love or violence, it bleeds.
Amply present in the sun’s morn glow.
Ignition of a candle’s fuse, it burns bright.
Nature’s leaved veins extend in its wake.
Boundless oceans hold it in their foamy arms.
Otherworldly bodies at night, it envelops.
Wind blows through its vibrant petals.

Beauty cannot be captured with one color alone.
It’s a spectrum.
Recently, I was challenged to write a poem about my favourite color, but I'm bad at picking favourites...
Banan Nov 2017
As i gaze scattered
from the window
of my frozen dimension
 
Upon the blue shade
of your rain promising sky 
I catch warmth,
like the soft sun
in a winter morning
And the hue marveled  horizon of the twilight 
You're painted by colors
out of the spectrum 
With Immaculate reflections
i cannot defy
Within the depth of your eyes
id seen they birth of the universe
from the dead stars
And in a moonlit night
i dance in the rain
So you resurrects the roots
of my dead trees
Luna Aug 2017
I better not crash someone else's car
Or ruin someone else's life
Balance they say
It a learning curve they say
Wiggle your nose
While rubbing your tummy
Im tired of being tired
Of never being good enough
Never pretty enough
Or funny enough
I stutter
Stumble
Bump into stuff
It's a curve now they say
But it's not a learned one
Without happiness, you would not know depression
Without depression, you would not know the bright future awaiting
If not for depression, we would not know what fills us with joy
If we were never depressed, we would all be ploys
If we never gave up back when, we could never try again
If we never felt the bad, could we feel the good?
Could we feel the world as we should?
An arm-in-arm progression, an isolated discretion
If we never cried, would we ever write?
If we never felt, would we understand our plights?
Open your knowledge to feed on sadness
An abyss of happiness sink below our madness
what about the future?
what about the past?

well, what about the present?

right now there’s so much going on,
like how i can feel the vibration of the mower
in the distance,
the little scratchy nubs all over my body.
i’m trying to see from behind the scratches on my glasses
but my eyes are so drawn to the 9000 shades of color that
are so pervasive and sensitive.

and your talking is hummed and hushed,
like your morals,
because you fail to practice what you preach,
and what i’m figuring out in the present is that
i’m doing the same exact thing to myself maybe slower,
now, it seems, but
somehow even quicker.

and the clutches of that Mazda clutch we crashed
when we were fourteen are crouching to my level,
trying to say hello but all i hear are bubbles
in the pond where your little sister tried to drown herself.

the spiraling candy slide has me nauseous and ready
to spew chunks all over mom’s new ornaments,
and the plane changes again, the doctor’s office
and white gloves reaching inside my mouth to shut off
my anxiety, my perplexity,
to show me the worm inside that’s making this happen.


but all he pulled out was my brain,   entirely whole,
and i snatched it from his hands
and smothered my hunger
with such a satisfying snack,
fingers included!
                            what the **** did i just do?              Was it that Demon called Panic that, personified as moi,
took me on that train
without my permission?
                                    
                ­i really will never know what it is   that i have
               that is so special enough to be able to see
all 9000 colors in the spectrum.

they’re so vivd, it scares me, honestly,
                               and in the dark i feel fine, because there’s nothing
to see, but,
in the light, for real this time,
i wish somebody would take out
my eyeballs,
                                          and walk me like a
                              dog for the rest of my life.
Eiram N Jun 2017
To exist in the light,
we must be mindful of the dark
and every shade in between.

A close friend of mine who has depression tells me she knows that it can be difficult not knowing.  She says it was why she was afraid, because the happiness she felt was arbitrary and that sooner or later it would be replaced with soul-******* and mind-numbing hopelessness. Too happy, meant that it was a step and crash away from being too sad. Every good feeling had a sour ending.

But I’ve realised that such is the rhythms of life, and the balance that keeps us in check. This is the human condition where compassionate and noble people also experience shame, wounds and discarded pieces no one wants to see. People can hold breathtaking beauty while inexorable darkness runs through their veins.  

Light and dark both hold the innate understanding
that one cannot exist without the other.
It is for the same reasons that we must let ourselves have access
to the full range of our humanness.
The poignance of a well lit room
overshadowed by impending doom
the effervescence loom
the smoke screen hues
lyrical debauchery of the cacophony of the bees
the monotony of human bee-ings
the trees sway unrest
the roots melt with soot
the oaks bent their heads
raise a white smoke flag in silent victory,
Where are we lifeless or livid again ?
Are we questioning dreams of ourselves?

These veins **** as a toad hops,
onto the gravel of a broken pavement
from a shallow pool of naked warmth,
somewhere deep hidden under these falls,
a white sleeve of corporate piety;
human mirth of bilious greenery,
crackling like bones,
the froth of jealousy pools
as teary eyes roll over
rapid.eye.movement sleep,
it lurks behind crimson bushes,
eyes glinting like headlights,
glitter fury.

You’re an abomination to every blood-poem
I’ve surmised so far, no matter how far.
Your eyes match the size and shade
of my backyard moon orchards.
A satiable reflection of what we used to be,
In a spectrum of green.
I cease to be.
Zane Gorham Apr 2017
Each mind is situated on  the spectrum of belief and reality.
Both ends suffer in their search for the truth.
The man who spends his life navigating the spiritual realm.
He attempts to find the greater purpose for everything.
Every blade of grass, each eroded stone a symbol of something bigger.
The nuances of life analysed and expanded upon to their very limit.
Given meaning in the name of God or the foreshadowing omen of an individual.

The man who traverses reality, grounded in science and logistics.
His mind filled with hypotheses.
Observing outcomes to explain the inexplicable.
He fits his grass and stones into the puzzle of a greater system.
In doing so he is God and the purpose for all things he assigns.

Both men strive to be the voice heard by the masses.
Their findings recorded, read, believed.
In the end does it truly matter.
Two lives spent.
Kneeling, yearning for some kind of affirmation that their time was spent correctly.
That they added anything to the greater scheme.
Pages upon pages filled with every detail in a grain of sand.
The end comes, the ink runs, the pages wither to dust, knowledge lost, purpose forgotten.
The world keeps turning.
Some notes about my insecurity on taking the right path in life. I feel I may never know the answers I seek and I don't even know if the answers truly matter.
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