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Nicole Rountree Aug 2018
Words flow but are not a river or a stream.
Passion exuded but it’s not in a dream.
Poetry causes tensions to cease and desist.
Words so calming and smooth the ears cant resist.

I am a poet—even if it’s in my own right.
Brain won’t stop sparking synapses.
Time won’t stop the prolapses of an ego that won’t stop getting excited because of the reactions—from me—a poet— a limerick mind assassin!
untitled Aug 2018
those that see beauty in everything feel the most discontent.
there are extreme emotions that one who is creative must process--
an unforced authenticity and tenacity to stay focused on a subject,
and to devote the same amount of attention to each entity, that you lose a sense of self and a sense of the world around you.

we use stress as a way of pushing us forward,
and only in moments of extreme stress does an amazing happening occur.
and for this, we are deemed odd, as a normal person thrives where they are most comfortable.

the originality that visionaries possess is exhausting, yet we admire it.
we allow for many things to flow in our minds without halt,
all notions and ideas taking up precedence, and this may be our greatest fault.

day break to sunset, my mind is racing non-stop, constantly,
to the point that sleep does nothing to quell the overthinking brain,
as my lucid dreams act as a force to keep me awake at night.
my mind is in a perpetual state of fantasy, sometimes during everyday life in bouts of daydreams,
imaging new situations and being unable to describe it all.

when I try to silence the thoughts that persistently flux through my mind,
my talents feel wasted during this time of artistic deprivation,
and only do I feel truly sound when I create new artworks for a few to discern.

sometimes I feel as though my mind feeds off on my depressive states,
as it takes the deepest of emotions to generate proufound art.
while I wish to be happy, I have a need to be in a bit of a sustained disarray.
something I wrote in December
(after my finals)
Lily Aug 2018
The teenage boy struggling to fall asleep said,
“What am I if I'm not the skinniest guy?  
What am I if I don't have enough abs?
What if I'm not the stereotypical strong man?
Can I still be somebody?
Can I be somebody if I don't have many special talents?
Or if my special talents are what some would call weird?
If I don't make the pros, am I still good enough?
If I don't go to college, is that okay?
If I lose my friends or my family, will I still know who I am?
Will I still be me?”
At this point God stepped in and said,
“Of course you will still be you.  
I created you, I made you, and even if
You don't know who you are, I do.  
You are my special child,
And I knew everything about you from the very beginning.  
So don't worry.  I love you.”
And so the boy let his head fall,
And his eyes close,
And surrendered his everything, his all
To the one who knows.
stopdoopy Aug 2019
You make me want to write poetry,
but I fear I lack the talent to eloquently
put together the words,
to tell you how wonderful you are;
even in the most mundane of moments.
TB Dentz Jul 2018
Wherefore art my purpose in life
I'm filled with passion, love, and fight
Bursting with spirit until I'm overcome
By social anxiety and a long line at the grocery store

I want to be good but I'm without determination
I've been taught leadership, sure
And I don't want to be a follower
But do I want to make others into followers?

Is it possible to do good and not be a hypocrite
To organize people for a purpose
Without taking advantage of them
Without rewarding their efforts fairly?

Verily I remain a thinker, a ponderer
And regrettably not a man of action
It must be a moral quandary that keeps me at home
Because I could never admit that it's only fear of failure
The main reason I'm not the president. Of anything
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
I am a proud Queen
Regally dressed and God-blessed
With my head held high
I may be sensitive, but I am a Queen.
I will carry myself as such and not engage with anyone or anything that harms me. It's beneath a Queen to waste time squabbling with those who loathe her. Why should she give them the time of day? All trolls will get blocked.
You won't pierce me with your negativity.
I'm a proud poetess who keeps getting better at her craft.
Lyn ***
E Jul 2018
I don't know if I got what it takes
To be as talented as her.
I don't know if I got what it makes
To sing as soundly as him.

I don't know if my fingers know
Where the strings on the guitar are
I don't know if I'll be as famous as him
When I'm in my bedroom doing nothing.

I don't know if people will care for this poem
When it isn't even as good as yours
I don't know how long it will trend
If it even will, anyway.

I don't know if I'm playing with fate
Or if love is the way to go
I don't know if the dream is correct
Or if it's just one big mistake.
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