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Ylzm 5d
from old unchanging darkly grasped
in story unfolding and the yet untold
but ear strays and heart schemes
the old unheard and story unchanging
Christina O Jun 24
The marks we make don’t get to come with us when we leave.
They stay with those left behind as stories we wrote,
and pages to be read.
The soundtrack we created hopefully will be played.
And the songs that walked us through,
may they be reminders of who we were.
Not forgotten or lost.
Always there in some simple way.
miki Jun 8
i wish i hadn’t let you go as quickly as i did
i think you would like me better now
when i tell stories, i don't exaggerate things
and i don’t act like a child
so much has changed
nothing has stayed
but i think that it’s okay
i’m not the same girl that you knew when you left
but really, neither are you
i know everything was for the better
but, i just think you’d like me better now
Angela Rose Jun 4
It didn't happen overnight
In fact I never thought it would even be a possibility
How could it?
There are so many incredible differences among us
It didn't happen the way people say it will
But it happened, and it happened strong
Somewhere between the four hour a day phone calls
Somewhere between becoming each others emergency contact
Somewhere between screaming the wrong lyrics in the car at each other
Somewhere between laughing so hard about birds, we are in tears
It must have happened some time between crying to each other about the hardships we have to face
I mean it had to have happened somewhere along kissing and holding hands in my parking lot at 2 in the morning
Anyways, what I am trying to say is I have some how found myself irrevocably in love with you
Steve Page Jun 3
I read my favourite graphic novel and I see
I need more breath between the panels
The images come too quickly
They combine with the dialogue to overwhelm me
and my ability to process, to ingest
the action and our conversation

Can you afford me more breathing space,
more margin in my morning kitchen shuffle,
can you allow me the time,
maybe as much as the day after the night before
to properly process without the stress
of having to readily express a miserable conjecture
of what I’m feeling, what I'm missing

Then I can signpost where I'm heading
I can pause and recap, provide an opening to map
where my story is going
and then perhaps I can take us with me.
This started as a rift off an online workshop by comic book artists and finished at a poet's retreat.
Yemaya May 18
meant to transcend paper
this complex hand
reaching out
to hold your mind
for just a moment
Nigdaw May 3
we don't share saliva anymore
tongues fighting in a mouth arena
we don't lie in our sweat anymore
our battle won ****** achieved
we don't stare those stares anymore
the ones that look into the soul

I know you and you know me
is that the end of the story
or is there more to tell
Someone's story just ended in a
blank page
No goodbyes or tears stain
the margins
An unfinished line hangs on
chapter eight
Haunting words will be this story's only
"Hello" is forgotten where the ink bleeds
"the end"
And the book closed to never continue
Kassan Jahmal Apr 21
I'm drinking young, as my body gets older,
three girls, and immature conversation on a long sofa.
The drinks get colder, and colder, my chest gets warmer;
on whiskey shots with no body armour.
I taste a sound, and smell a colour of doing in my head
over social trends,
Partying with people who aren't really my friends.
My bladder feels like a knife tip on my hanging joys,
Taking long pees, and taking chances with any girl; when I've
got the confidence of the boys.

Disco lights under the party life, a quick mix to dilute my
drink with some sprite.
Not something I love, but I'm learning to like.
Hype me up with cheers, line out my favourite gin, and
put aside those heavy beers.
I've got a sweet tongue for fun, a mix of sweetness and
alcohol like my favourite chocolate. Raisin and ***.

Too scared to cough; I might just throw up,
but I can't seem weak; so I'll just bro up.
Acting proud while yelling, "another cup"

I pass out, and wake up in a house that's not my house.
In a bed wrapped in a pink fluffy towel.
The someone by my side, if I can remember wasn't too
hot; but sort of mild.
By my skin marks; she seemed a little wild.

But I notice a wig on a mannequin head,
I peep to see that it wasn't the same girl from last night
lying besides me, on that bed.
She had her extras off on the dressing room table display,
She woke up saying, "good morning bae," and I went on exclaiming, "eeeyy"

She offered me breakfast, but I decided it was best
to break fast out of there.
She begged me to stay,  as her one charming prince,
but you know I didn't even care.

I wasn't too sure which neighbourhood I wound up;
but it was rather me getting **** in unfamiliar corners,
then getting bound up.
******* in a relationship that I never signed up to.
Maybe I had too much to drink... with both drinks and her
kisses by the mouthful.

How the story goes, and soon ends,
All in the story of events.
This was inspired by a real-life story I was told. Just added my own personality and feel to it.
display Apr 15
the hardest thing to do in a world of lies
is to learn to trust again
the endless void of crippling apathy
consumes as a chasm of pain
the hardest thing to do in a world of hate
is to love yourself to death
the endless void of crippling apathy
was not allowed first breath
it was born dead
but not allowed to die
disgraceful abomination of the chasm of pain
if life is cloth this is its stain
my god did not bear witness to its worship
no soul left to claim
and so his silent pleas were thrown aside, worthless prayers in the rain
no soul left aside
in the chasm of pain
allowed life but to live
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