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Sarah Michelle Apr 2017
What a pleasure;
a woodland drive on the edge
of a cliff
with James Dean,
glamour by the sea
A star at work,
fawning over me
We will be
in the gossip magazines,
you and me
and evening chatter
about how things
are supposed to be.
D Apr 2017
I will not wear what everyone else thinks I should
no, I will wear whatever makes me feel good
and if that's ripped jeans and an oversized tee shirt,
if that's what makes me feel good, then that is who I'll be
and there is nothing anyone can do about it,
for I'm just being me
written 2014
edited 2017
In hollowed halls I roam until the dawn
The minds and bodies are already done
I walk across my mind and not the room
Eaten by my thoughts of impending doom!
But there is a dwindling light from afar
It floats in my mind and falls in my heart
Steve Page Apr 2017
I will make old bones
Keep a silver mane
Flash bright emerald eyes
Scatter mischievous kisses
And carry a sweet song
With old school style.

Until I take that closing bow,
I - shall - be - Glorious!
Some ladies do it on their own terms.
Grez Mar 2017
I was told poems mustn't rhyme
Those that do show infantile minds
A child can rhyme two with glue
Or find a metaphor for the sky being blue

Rhymes are easy
Essence is hard
I use conventional flow
As my not-so-trump trump card

Stop. Branch out.
Find the words to reach deep down.
The soul wrencher's
The tear jerkers
The love felt on a whim
From first sight
Unable to project true depth
Just imagery
The easy kind
.
.
.

Stick to the rhymes for now
Best to do what you know how
Appreciate feedback <3
Beth Seymour Feb 2017
You see her in the coffee shop
Out of local mainstream
Sipping her black coffee
In her skinny gray jeans

You see her ambling round town
In the places no one goes
Her wild auburn hair
Hiding the white earphones, the players
Of music, only exclusive to her
Like a band at its first gig

You see her in food stores
Drifting between aisles
With an aura of mystery
Where she buys only coffee and kale

You see her browsing thrift stores
Picking out clothes
White shorts, button downs, black tights
You know she can afford more, but
You know that this is her style.

The style of the hipster.
Just an experimental piece ☁
He pit
work with
celebrity as
flat crest
hone its
barter where
in fold
of space
and time
with directive
in marketing
score that
with the
code that
holds famous
till another
day break.
Francie Lynch Feb 2017
Firstly, I'm not a body-shamer.
To each their own
(a good phrase, though grammatically incorrect),
But sometimes I find it hard to understand
The tatoos, the piercings, the colors and placements.
The usual answer, if I dare ask:
     I'mhxpressthinmythelf.
Good for you.
Does the diaper pin through your cheek
Tell us you're a Dad or something.
     Na.
The quarter inch bolt and nut through your ear?
Are you a machinist or a plumber, or something?
     Na.
The doll-house plates in your lips?
Are you a Duck Dynasty fan?
A member of the Audubon Society or something?
     No. I'mapontingxprschmyselpth!
Sorry, what was that?
     I'mapontingxprschmyselpth.
I'm sorry. I don't quite get what you're saying.
I don't mean to be rude,
But could you express those plates for a minute... I... I get it.
Max Watt Dec 2016
Chased alone by Exterior Judgment he found himself face to face with The Mirror,
Its surface winked at him, but the person who stared back from within did not.
And then came his Interior Judgment. He asked of The Mirror,

“Phase me out,
Obfuscate me,
Obliterate this judgment I feel.
Make me concrete
against which solitude will
beat its relentless fist
so that I will no longer bleed or bruise”

And so came his christening, the depth of shallow water.
For years he paddled and splashed there knowing his time would come,
Because this was where real pleasures lurked, just beyond his reach.

“Cloak me here,
Keep me invisible to all,
Except those who matter,
And then take me blindly to my coffin”

And one day, while he lay in the pool, he felt the world’s foot on his back,
And he gasped for air, though for what use he didn’t know.
Years later when he finally captured his breath, the only words left were:

“Make it stop.
Make it stop.
Make it stop.”

And now he stares back into The Mirror and the Mirror glares back.
And he wonders who he could’ve been.
Where all those years had been spent.
Robin Carretti Dec 2016
Trees we hike dark coal
"Horror"
He whispers blade eyes
Cut her not to like
White drizzle wedding
ghostly take a hike
Her bare skin shivers
Knocking on heavens door
Those skinheads hit her floor
Life's cruel wicked costly
Silver bullets hit the smoking
potheads
Chattered teeth hearing sound's
He shifted so close desirable
( tasty mound's)

The Stranger  Billy don't B fool
joker
  Dark-love complicated **** it
Computer slammed her fingers
All Choked up Elvis twist

Deep-house music strangled rope 
 seated,
Touching a nerve dead-beat
Harvest-hair Rocky horror seat
Trembling in your
 Rocking Chair
No flair black tears red tip check
of word fears
Elevated you deadly crumb's
in a row nothing to show

Blood was dripping
Someone's eyes pop-out fixated
Dark brain felt polluted
white chalked her stalked
You were being watched
Eye's stalked daggered

Rows and Rows
Cosmic dark Gothically
Webs caught in webs
black tears
satanically
Parasite horror website
Bood ***** bite
Loud drips from the sink
discolored
Wrinkled Hand's Slime Sticky
Her long neck lastly tricky

Rocky-Road yellow brick
lightly pricked Emerald city
Eye's melt fingers slipped
The poppy, eyes I tripped
He's no lover of mine cheaply.
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