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alex Oct 2017
tinder bio reads as follows:

looking for someone
to keep the promises
i make in my poetry
i know they're not your responsibility
sorry not sorry.

i don't **** with one night stands
unless you keep my poem promise
to never fall in love
with the happiness
that i can't have.

ask me about my
existential dread
(god knows i have
plenty to talk about)

6'2 if that matters
it always does
(does anyone even read these)
i really like the symbolism in this one
Kire Oct 2017
This fire inside me,
Burning to be let out.
I dampen the flame,
Hiding it from view.
No one can find this inferno,
That I am so desperate to quench.
Yet it is still being fed,
By the very hand that created it.
My efforts are futile,
For there is no escape.
The scarlet glow is ever present,
Always at the edge of my vision.
Flames constantly licking at my brain,
Impossible to ignore.
The fire constantly singeing my thoughts,
Tainting every memory.
What this fire is sated by is beyond my reach,
For there is a great chasm between.
This fire inside me.
My first poem. Inspired by a deep secret.
Nira Oct 2017
On Friday,  it was a rose
Intoxicating her with its smell
Playing with her weak heart
She was building her private hell
It's thorns pricked her fingers
Drawing blood as red as
The lipstick stain on his shirt
She was fooled again, alas

Yesterday he gave her a daisy
So simple and so dainty
She had never hated a flower more
A symbol of her naivety

He gave her a forget-me-not
Vibrant blue like his eyes
He planted it in her soul
Like another one of his lies
She would never forget him but
She was already fading from his mind
Like the forget-me-not dying
In a vase, after biding it's time

Sunday brought a tulip to her door
A symbol of their undying love, he said
Then why was he making out with
A redhead on their bed?

He got her a flower everyday
Perhaps apologies for his infidelity
But flowers can't fix everything
Flowers can't cure her jealousy
He got her a lily and an orchid
A sunflower and a bloom
But all she saw was the redhead
With the lavender perfume

How was he stupid enough to think
That flowers could fix everything?
Did he not know that her heart
Broke everytime he got her flowers?

Many more flowers came her way
She wanted it all to go away
Images of him and that redhead and these
Dead flowers would forever stay
Each dead flower was kept by her
In vases filled with cold water
A futile attempt to save their sinking ship
But they were deep underwater

Now he's gone, leaving these flowers
Vases containing dead bodies
He's gone, but what about her
Held on by memories?
Each flower was a pretty little lie
A blue eyed boy gifted to a girl
So many flowers died for them
But in the end he left her

-n.g.
oni Aug 2017
how lovely it is
to be a werewolf in disguise

full moons come
in the form of pain
transforming me
into a monster
I am but air
in this hall of-
unreason

And I am square with myself;
I am alive, I do not breath
yet, I do and I must,

see-
the light
because I am the light and so are you,
you are there in all black dressed,
to the nines in the curtain rail twirling in the background.

I don't know what it means,
that's why they call it poetry.
a poem about the weather in Manchester
Roisin Jun 2017
pride was her weakness
but then pride caught fire
now her pride is burned

pride was her weakness
but then pride grew tired
now her pride is yearned

pride was a relic of her insanity
her pride, her vanity
hit with reality
she is no longer proud.
Pride - a deadly sin.
Noah Ducane Jun 2017
Paired down in heaven, the hawk-eyed sun
Gleaming bitterly through five limbs sees
The jeweled moon behave despondently-
Say from man dream beats the foam and bleeds
Like Prometheus sullen prose on infinite Oregons.

Take from your time the frost-eyed sun altogether
Staring sharply through a blind and smoldering world,
A love of truths so tried and secret.

Shall we in mercy take our gains under the rose-lit morning
A trial for time and truest?
Sense for the sun is swimming in our heart
A love of radio and silence.

Bleached like my Albatross,
Come in quiet a world safest
That burns black embers
In the woods of our soul since forever
And sound.

Sound down the heavens
In the silent hour of their hell,
The tide of time on a bone-white beach.

From what high altar looking in his place,
God of man,
The god-man and holy to his place
To forge the eye of seasons,
Seven in their number,
And stretch out solitude
On the blistered ground.

Shared down in source,
The last of the kings,
Holy in his crown
Of bodies that smile
So wide and honest each.
Shadow Wolf May 2017
Forever in a deep dark unforgiving storm
Until there was a break in the clouds
An area of sunlight
Relief from all troubles
Finally some brightness
Until the clouds start coming together
No longer a trusted safe space
Get out an umbrella
And get ready for the storm
Back where it was in the begining
Jim Davis May 2017
Symbolism, metaphor, similitude
whatever for
Why not just come
right out and say it?
Well,
it's
been said before!

©  2017 Jim Davis
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