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Maria Nieves Jun 17
There is one song that makes me think of us dancing
Us so close where I was scared that I would step on your toes
I know dancing a specific style isn’t easy
Hearing it,
Just makes me feel safe
It brings me back into your arms
I truly will say
It’s Been a Long, Long Time
Listening to all the notes from the trumpets
It reminds me of the moment we heard the song
This one song makes me miss you
The song is It's Been a Long, Long Time by Harry James
LearnfromBOBD May 16
Life is bewitched with illusions
Living life with unknown motions
Carried away with hidden secret
Nations with their different pidgins
What did I seek, that i didn’t see
What did i think, that i couldn’t feel
Mans relief, long believe
Why did I lie
I can see my truth is a lie
When will I die
Cos all lier shall perish
Cos no one knows when I lie
But I’m rich and wealthy
When will I die
No one still knows when I stole it
I wish I can give you a hint
But it won’t worth it
Or what do you think
Letter to death coordinator
Nava May 9
I was born in the hour I was

A voice learning to rejoice

A heart doing what it does

My style is not a choice
Born to the family I was
And gone on from there
Rollercoasters of redemption
And disease, beware
Cycles meant to strengthen
Something rare
My style is not my choice
Sure I have tried

But the only one that stuck

The one I could abide

Oh, the Joy of not giving a ****.
Esther Apr 19
i hope that in another universe
there's another you
and another me
and they are so

because they never gave up the first time.
Quando para mucho mi amore de felice corazón
Mundo paparazzi mi amore chicka ferdy parasol
Cuesto obrigado tanta mucho que canite carousel


Come under the shadow of this moon rock—
Come in under the shadow of this moon rock,
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at sunrise wetting the bed,
Or your shadow at dusk falling down the stairs:
I will show you fear in a handful of gummy bears.
April is the cruellest month, said
Only one person ever, who is now dead.
Leck mich im Arsch.

The topsical, wopsical,
(Have you a popsicle?)
******* ineffable
Sphinx cat
Is bald,
And is sometimes called
A hairless cat because of that.

Ta ta.

Louisa Coller Apr 14
Heartbeats; Rapid Pulse,
Pulling my back side to side.
Whines; High Irritation,
How do I express my mind?
A light mark is better than blood,
yet my mind still begs me to cut.
A poem I made while resisting urges of self-harm.
muteD Apr 1
remind me of the
each different shade
of blue
equals you.
each of your tones
resonates truth.
that is true
and oh so true
the way I feel for you.
tranquil like blue,
a lake of blue.
the way I always feel
around you
almost like a
sky blue.
a blue
that is just
enough blue
to make you
move groovy
like the Blues.
make me
feel blue
without being
like a navy blue.
a blue that has blue
on top of its’ blue.
a blue times blue times blue,
that’s you
and it’s crazy
i only feel things
because of you.
me and you,
a perfect image
of solitude.
and you are
real is you.
no camouflage
or ruse.
just you.
like you are
one of the deepest blues.
you make me feel deep
like some negative
I’d happily dive into you
like an ocean blue.
constantly evolving into
different blues
that’s you
(always you).
you are my Blue
and blue is you.
this goes out to my best friend, my boo. thank you for being you.
writing this poem was honestly really fun to me because this isn’t my normal style and adventuring out like this was kinda an addictive feeling.
Screams echo madly.

To my silly little dream.

Falling teeth and eating phones.

I put the snooze on a hold.

Betraying all my friends tonight.

This dream will never be alive.

So dance madly and chaotic.

Dreams that last like a narcotic.

The caricature of a me.

Drowning and crying in the sea.

Playing soccer on the field.

Former lovers leave concealed.

From your smile to a frown.

The last breath before you drown.

But I see that everything.

Merely a silly little dream.

Crying tears, abundant tears.

As I wake up from my dream.

And feel my heart crunch.
Attempting to write in a similar style of
The truth behind a photograph BY CommonStory
Seanathon Feb 12
It's a cocktail in which memory mixes with sensation and sound. To become even moreso drunk on you. In the remind of those moments once shared, in that certain, southern, American town.
Absolutely beautiful
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