Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
hey Mar 2015
Who are you to tell me how to dress when you look a mess?
"Hah! You look so ridiculous!
What are you, some sorta freak?"

"Well, you look so status-quo,
very much like everyone else.
Wearing this, I'll meet interesting people,
wearing that, you'll meet boring people.
To be certain,
I am at least one kind of freak,
but at least I serve to entertain:
you're welcome for the free smile."
Life is the biggest Festival:
Dress accordingly.
Eleanor K Mar 2015
Potential is not made when you are a child,
Though, at that age, your elders will search for it.
Potential is made when you pick up a pen,
a pencil, a marker, a paintbrush,
For the first time,
Or for the millionth.

Perfection is nearly caught by a camera,
And never by the hand.
But, if paintings looked like a digital picture,
What would be the point of such expression?
If you are looking to draw with such precision,
Look and find another passion,
another hobby, another profession, another way to vent.
If you are looking to find yourself,
to find peace, to find wisdom, to find enjoyment,
Pick up your hand and take the tool.

The artist's style is found through mistake.
A style, is a lack of perfection,
to show the world through your eyes, to alter it.
What you don't understand,
You will toil over, stress over,
hate yourself over, be frustrated over.

Look away from your mistake for a moment.
What is left, is what is yours.
This will change slowly overtime,
As you become better at both strength
And weakness.
The battle between these two opponents,
Will guide your journey.
The art itself is only a mirror of reflection,
Showing all you have done, your past,
your struggles, your joys, your imperfections, your toils,
This is an artist's style.

Pick up your pen,
Your potential is now.
Jayd Green Mar 2015
you are a collection of my favourite senses.

you are the smell of smoke
of a fire that’s just burnt out
the drifting
curling grey
the ash
glowing still

you are the too-bright sun in my eyes
blinding
disorienting
and yet still beautiful and necessary
the pagan in me
worshipping your descent to earth
like an angel
who simply wanted to greet me

you are the feel of a fur coat around my neck
soft and warm
comforting, like a mother’s touch
but also a thrill, unsettling
the feeling of death kissing my throat

you have the taste of aphrodisiacs
chocolate, wine and
avocado
the juices of our chemistry
dripping from the sides
of my mouth
your smile wide
at the open euphemism

you are a collection of my favourite senses
and when i kiss you i am

senseless
sun stars moons Feb 2015
this world is a tough place to make it.
for artists striving and struggling, in every corner of the artistic world, it's tough everywhere.
so, friends, strangers...
I wanted to share with you my newest expedition.
Hand-picked vintage finds from across the world.
By yours truly.
https://www.etsy.com/shop/spectrallightvintage
Check it out,
tell your friends,
maybe you'll find exactly what you've been searching for.
Stay tuned for new product, updates, and exclusive discounts for my fellow poets.
Thank you so much for your support.
xoxo
check it out on instagram and etsy!
I should feel the sharp sting of Betrayal,
as easy as it may--
I have forgotten many Memories,
and forgotten which ones have Stayed--

You gave your so called love to Another,
You gave "our song" as "hers"--
As I was once a beautiful Angel,
am now the devil that you curse--

and How carefully do we tread upon,
the cracks within our faults--
are only the things we let up on,
pretending to exalt--

So it seems only right that I would write,
a Vindictive note Of You--
But darling, I haven't an ill-intent
and the past, I cannot rue.
Angel by Jack Johnson, one detail I remember.
M Eastman Jan 2015
Sometimes I write landscapes
sometimes I paint abstract thought
sometimes emotions split
the iron I have wrought
Arcassin B Nov 2014
By Arcassin Burnham



We,

Only,

See,

Love,

In bits and pieces,

Of,

Us,

Together,

Maybe if you would have called a little bit sooner,
Maybe turn the sky a little bit bluer,
I never seen you in a dress before,
I never seen you in a dress before,
Smile could light up the moon,
Also in its darkest hour,
Beauty to make you do anything,
She had the power,
Of Lovin you.



Tease me into an open casket,
Forgive me if I ever had the thought of looking ratchet,
I never ever judge cause that's your fashion,
Basic teens never quite get a reaction,
She was sure she had me sprung,
She was sure she blew my mind,
She was sure she made it work,
Theres no clock that can handle her time,


There's no other way to be afraid,
There's no other way to be a shame,
Even though your the one to blame,
Two never made it out as a result of getting yourself into an unknown,
That's leaves home grown and clarinets and trumbones,
Everyday is a new wave of doing wrong,
There no there way to say this,
But my boy your going home.
love / style / death
Topics
When thou lost order within thee,
Allow truth for the remedy,
Thou seek not being obsolete,
Ambition is one-third the piece,

When fair is foul and foul is fair,
Answer with a righteous prayer,
And once the sword of truth runs there,
There’s no desire for foul to dare,

Thy second bit is quite a sweat,
For love is nothing without debt,
And once this virtue lays a threat,
Preserve the balance with one step,

The final triumph is through the hail,
Indifference is the frozen stale,
And once its staggered breath gets pale,
Thy will gets handy when they’re frail…
Next page