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mk Oct 2015
turning someone else's pain
into our poetry
is a crime we're all guilty of
putting ourselves in their shoes
just to be able to recreate their distress
on paper
momentarily,
just to feel something
to be able to write
to connect with the words we type

we're empty inside
we've been ****** dry
exhausted our pain
completely drained
with all our worries having drenched the paper
too many times before- flooded.

we turn to someone else
internalizing their woes
stealing their sorrows
so that we have something worth writing about

we need to write
it is vital for our survival
so we turn to victims of hurt
of abuse, of loss, of misery
we turn to you

we are
bloodthirsty; savages

pain is our medicine
it's what keeps us alive
i suppose it's a good thing
that there's enough to go around
-they'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Steele Sep 2015
Sweet dagger, pierce that midnight beauty,
that walks like cloudless climes and starry skies.
Go now, men, and do your duty.
Steal the schemes of other rhymes.

I am the captain of my ship; I am the master of metre and time.
I've mastered the art of thieving wit.
I've stolen the fame of men long dead
and staked my claim to the fruits of their minds.
I can write words yet unsaid;
But I've not the mind;
I've not the inclination;
I've not the creativity
to write my own lines.

If this rings too close to home,
perhaps you ought to write your own.
More likely though,
you'll just steal mine.
Found one of my poems on another poetry web site today.
This is why sharing my poetry is hard. Some **** is just going to try to use it to get known. Joke's on you, random dude. With a word, I could make you famous.

You sure you want that?
Silence Screamz Aug 2015
My heart is a machine
Broken gears and rusted
No longer ticking
It's cold metal and busted

I see the people
through slanted lenses
Cracked and diffused
Blank stare, no senses

Touch my drunk hands,
For feelings are sot
Grab and behold
Twisted up knot

I am not human,
my heart is not real
Get far away,
it's nothing to steal
Scarlet Niamh Aug 2015
Where did my love go
After I gave it to you
So I could make you happy?

Where did my light go
After I gave it away
For only you to use?

Where did my heart go
After I gave myself to you
So you wouldn't have to be lonely?

Where did my mind go
After I let my guard down
And you took it all, just for you?
~~ Don't give everything away to people who don't deserve your everything. ~~
If I was to write a poem
On the story of my life
Words would fill those pages
As the stars steal the sky.*

© Melissa Carlson 2015
Kee Jun 2015
I
I know that I'll never be enough for you.
It hurts,
Because your everything I want.
I want you.
You don't want me.
I wouldn't walk a thousand miles
But I'd tell you my deepest secrets.
I'd trust you
But would you trust me?
Could you trust me?
Could I be your everything and more?
Why can't you see that I still like you?
That I still hold on.
That I'm here.
You gave up on me.
You let me go and I don't even know why.
You continued to fly while I kept falling
Then I hit the ground.
I realized that you weren't coming to save me.
I realized that you stopped.
You stopped being my everything.
Gone.
Never coming back.
Alone
Now I'm alone.
Arcassin B May 2015
By Arcassin Burnham

Static t.v's,
Stare at it 40 hours and tell me you don't feel them pulling at you,
Bringing you down,
Steal things you found,
Take what your names pronounced,
And for what!
So you could drink your sorrows away,
Devil's nectar eating at your face,
I got three words for you,
Leave me be,
Nor redirecting to you,
I swear Its just me,
Put away all the check books,
Words as blue as the sea,
Blue wine is what I drank,
It feels alright to me.

________


Conflicted,
Misused,
Abandoned,­
A shot in the dark,
But except the sun reflects,
Off the waters only if you tell it no,
Never takes it for an answer, just a blur,
A lost figment,
So your imaginary friends will never accept,
Resentment is not a good thing to throw at anyone,
But if anyone is wrong,
Then they have every right to ignore everyone,
Tie your shoes and run,
Looking around town for a bit of thrill as in fun,
So while its may,
You may believe all your sentences are important,
Hoping writers block will stay,
Only for a couple of minutes and get lost in distant extortion.
I need a drink right about now.
Life's a Beach May 2015
Instead it's earned, like a payment
plan. Every drop of sand quickened or slowed
with actions, words and loans of health.
Death is the epitome of stealth
So far away when young, yet the last
lap of it, you run,
It's breath on the nape of your neck
Like scorch marks, track marks
The ****** skid marks of a life too short, yet too
long, yet too unexplained, yet too peaceful, yet
too daring yet-
Everything.

Death is not something to steal, it is natures
to take.
Death's scythe is a rake for fallen souls
If I had time to learn every religion, I'd probably
believe them all
In the hope that penance is a myth.

If life is a gift, then
death is the end of the party.

Do not **** others, for that would be taking cake
that is not yours.

and do not **** yourself, your life is not your
own to take.

But, take solace, Death will rake you soon enough, and
then, maybe only then, will you feel the regret of wishing away
a lifetime.

Do not steal
Do not ****
Do not scorn
The master of nature, which
must take us all.

Amen.
Word Therapy Apr 2015
First the illicit thrill
Becomes routine habit
Run of the mill
Like you're invincible.

Once, your heart beated
Feverish, hesitant,
Now you swagger, unheated,
The cheat can't be cheated.

The check-out girl, Lizzie,
Is trusting and smiling
Then she turns away, busy
And you're suddenly dizzy.

To your pocket inside
Go the chocolate bars -
Though it's undignified
There's a strange kind of pride.

Then - out of the blue,
In front of the world,
One day she asks you....
And what can you do?

...But collapse to your core
Like a worm-eaten apple
Pray to fall through the floor
You are Named, evermore.

Oh - the shame! she's disgusted
You're a thief, you're mistrusted
All that shock and self-loathing
For those moments you lusted.

Poor girl, she won't be aware
That her face and her voice
Will feature forever
As worst memory, lowest nightmare.

You'll be chilled to the bone
And you'll ask yourself "Why?"
Without job, wife or home,
Foolish, guilty, alone?
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